Chapter 8.2 - Englene Station

Oh bother

The corridor erupted into chaos as Hank’s pistol shot whined past the advancing zealots, striking a sparking panel on the wall behind them. The missed shot didn’t slow the white-robed mob; their fervent chanting only grew louder as they charged, weapons raised high.

Erin took the lead, waving the group of workers forward. "Keep moving! If you slow down, they’ll catch us!" Her voice carried authority, her usual sarcasm replaced by steely focus. So the Stellar Express workers, terror in their eyes, stumbled into motion, clinging to the shadows of the corridor. Alaya kept close to Erin, her sharp eyes darting to every corner, every sound, every shadow.

"Mrs. Chen!" Erin called over her shoulder, "What do we have in this station that can slow them down?"

"Emergency bulkhead controls should be just ahead. If we can seal a few of these corridors, we might buy some time." - she answered.

Behind them, the zealots closed the distance, their chants blending into a feverish roar. The first wave carried improvised clubs, pipes, and tools, their fervor a more dangerous weapon than their makeshift armory.

Mercer gritted his teeth as the zealots advanced, their fervor unchecked by reason. He activated his shield with a sharp hum, the energy barrier snapping to life in a faint blue shimmer around his left arm. In his right hand, the stun baton crackled as it powered up, arcs of electricity sparking at its tip.

"I hope you remember," Mercer said coldly, his voice cutting through the tense air, "you left your flock astray when peace was offered."

With that, he lunged forward, the baton sweeping in a controlled arc. It struck the closest zealot in the side, releasing a burst of electricity that sent the man crumpling to the ground, spasms jerking through his limbs.

But Mercer had no time to savor the small victory. Seven more zealots surged toward him, their eyes filled with righteous fury. and joined the fray. Some wielded metal rods or tools, while others carried nothing more than raw determination, fists clenched tight.

The Inquisitor stood back, his arms crossed as if observing a test of faith. "Subdue him!" he barked.

Mercer stepped back, his shield absorbing a glancing blow from a zealot swinging a wrench.

The female Inquisitor’s crimson robes swept dramatically as she led Douklan through the chaos of Docking Bay Twelve. The fervor of the Revelation Choir zealots filled the air—a cacophony of shouted prayers, chants, and the clash of makeshift weapons.

Douklan followed, his expression grim and his grip firm on the stun baton and pistol he carried. He had no intention of truly harming anyone, but the need to maintain his cover weighed heavily on him.

The Inquisitor barely glanced back as they approached the source of the commotion, her steps purposeful and unyielding. Around them, smoke curled in lazy tendrils from fires still burning in toppled cargo crates, and the distant wails of injured workers added a haunting undercurrent to the riot.

As they rounded a corner, the scene burst into full view.

Mercer stood amidst a growing mob of zealots, his stance wide and balanced, his baton already crackling with energy. Nearby, the first zealot who had charged him lay sprawled on the ground, groaning as he tried to recover from the strikes. Seven more zealots, emboldened by the crowd and spurred on by shouted commands, advanced toward him with grim determination.

"Subdue him!" the male Inquisitor barked from the rear of the crowd, his arms crossed as if the confrontation were some kind of divine test. His crimson robes cut an imposing figure, standing in stark contrast to the white-robed masses.

Douklan froze for a moment, his mind racing. He needed to think quickly, to find a way to both maintain his guise and prevent Mercer from being overwhelmed.

Corbin continues following along with the escaping workers and draws his pistol. He's not sure if Hank was firing a warning shot or if he missed, but either way, the zealots have chose poorly. Targeting the lead individual, he fires.

Douklan mentally facepalms. ::We were supposed to lead them AWAY FROM THE SHIP!!!:: he screams hysterically in his head, but on the surface, he nods to the inquisitor and rushes forward with the others, his baton raised.

Mercer stepped back, his shield absorbing a glancing blow from a zealot swinging a wrench. He retaliated with a quick jab of his baton, forcing the attacker to stumble away, the shock sending him reeling.

Two more zealots rushed in together, one aiming low, the other swinging high. Mercer twisted, his shield catching the higher strike with a flash of energy while his foot lashed out, kicking the other zealot in the knee and sending him sprawling.

The tide of attackers pressed closer, their numbers threatening to overwhelm him.

In that moment, Douklan approached, angling toward Mercer with deliberate steps. His heart pounded as he drew closer, his baton held low to avoid drawing too much attention. Mercer’s eyes flicked toward him for the briefest moment—enough for Douklan to catch the faintest glimmer of recognition. A silent understanding passed between them.

Douklan slowed his approach, subtly positioning himself between Mercer and the thickest part of the mob. He turned to face the zealots, raising his baton high and shouting, "Hold! Let me take him! He’s mine!"

The nearest zealots hesitated, their fervor faltering at Douklan’s commanding tone. For a moment, the mob stilled, their weapons lowering slightly as they glanced between Douklan and Mercer.

Then, Douklan ran towards Mercer and shifted his weight at the last moment, pivoting sharply to the side. His baton arced down with a crackling hum—not toward Mercer, but into the back of an unsuspecting zealot who was raising a jagged piece of pipe to strike.

The zealot crumpled, twitching as electricity surged through him. Before the others could react, Douklan spun and swung again, this time catching another zealot in the arm. The man cried out, dropping his improvised weapon as he staggered backward.

---

Unfortunately, Corbin's shot didn’t hit anyone, but it ricocheted off the wall, forcing the zealots to pause. Then one of the zealots, a burly figure with a ragged robe and a wild glint in his eye, reached into his clothes and drew a small, weathered stun pistol. He raised it with a shaking hand, aiming directly at the retreating group.
Corbin’s eyes widened while the zealot squeezed the trigger, sending a bright arc of sonic energy crackling down the corridor. The shot whizzed dangerously close to Hank, who ducked instinctively, his injured ankle nearly giving out under him.Another zealot, emboldened by the first, produced a similar weapon and opened fire. This time, the arc shot past Erin. She dove behind a crate, her med-kit clattering to the floor.

"We can’t outrun this!" Erin yelled, retrieving a pistol as well. She turned and fired a hurried shot toward the zealots, not aiming to hit but to force them back.

9 zealots advanced.

Mercer is in it now. Just moving and reacting.

Hank says, "If we can't make it, get us a defensible position and start defending."

To Alaya, he says, "We failed to get you to the ship uneventfully. Do you have anyone that can use a stun baton or pistol well? Each of us has a pistol and baton. We will share the weapons for our mutual defense."

To the Captain, "We didn't make it past the cultists. Corbin, Erin, and I are trapped with the SE workers and about to be assaulted. I think Mercer is separately surrounded. I'm not sure where Douklan is. We need help. I recommend taking out the leaders quickly. The rabble had been distracted, but the leaders galvanized the rabble. Hopefully taking out the leaders will demoralize the followers."

Mercer’s world narrowed to the immediate, the hum of his shield, the crackle of his baton, the shouts of zealots, and the press of bodies. He sidestepped a wild swing from a zealot wielding a crowbar, his shield flaring as it absorbed the glancing blow. His baton snapped out instinctively, connecting with another attacker’s chest.

The stun baton discharged with a sharp crack, and the zealot staggered back, his muscles locking up before he crumpled to the floor, twitching. Mercer didn’t pause to admire his work. Another zealot was already on him, swinging down with a pipe.

He raised his shield just in time. The impact sent a jolt through his arm, but the energy barrier held firm. Mercer shoved forward, using the shield to push the attacker off-balance. A quick pivot put him back on the offensive, his baton arcing out again.

"No combat trained personnel here. But we will try"
"Roger that, Hank. I'll try to contact Mercer and Douklan as well, but for now we're stuck here defending the CeeVee. Some of the crew are gearing up with powered armor to force their way to you. Try to hold off a little longer."

Douklan draws the stun pistol and fires it.

Attack

Hank surrenders his baton to Alayna and takes a shot at their attackers.

Corbin will seek cover behind whatever is close and fire again at one of the armed zealots.

Douklan, wasting no time, drew his stun pistol in a fluid motion, aiming at a zealot who was charging toward him with a makeshift spear. He squeezed the trigger, and a crackling blue bolt shot forth, striking the zealot square in the chest. The impact jolted the zealot back, but he only staggered, shaking his head to clear the disorientation.

"Persistent, aren’t they?" Douklan muttered, shifting his position to avoid another attacker.

Mercer, locked in his own battle, saw the momentary distraction as an opportunity. He stepped toward the same zealot, his baton crackling with energy as he brought it down on the man’s shoulder. The hit landed solidly, the electric charge coursing through the zealot’s body.

But the zealot didn’t go down. His face twisted with pain, but his grip on the spear tightened, and he turned his fury toward Mercer. With a roar, he thrust the spear forward, aiming for Mercer’s torso.

Mercer’s shield flared to life just in time, absorbing the blow with a burst of light and a sharp hum. The force of the strike pushed Mercer back a step, but he held firm, bracing himself against the onslaught.

The corridor was a cacophony of shouts and the high-pitched whine of energy discharges as the crew and workers scrambled for survival. Hank leaned against a wall for balance, his injured ankle throbbing with every movement. Gritting his teeth, he raised his stun pistol and aimed at the advancing mob. One zealot, his face twisted in fanatic glee, surged forward. Hank’s finger squeezed the trigger, and a bright burst of energy arced out, striking the zealot squarely in the chest. The man let out a guttural cry before collapsing, his makeshift club clattering to the ground.

"One down!" Hank though, already scanning for the next threat.

Nearby, Corbin crouched low behind a stack of loose crates, his breath steadying as he drew a bead on the zealot with the stun pistol. The man had shot and missed again. His erratic aim made him an immediate threat, but his wild movements complicated Corbin's shot. Regardless, the engineer fired, the blue streak of energy striking the zealot’s arm. His weapon was knocked askew, and the zealot staggered, momentarily stunned but not out of the fight.

Erin darted between cover points, her pistol raised, ready for the next shot. Alaya, gripping Hank’s baton tightly, stayed close to the Stellar Express workers, her eyes narrowed with a mixture of fear and determination.

---

The zealots pressed their advantage, their chants rising in intensity as they closed the gap. Two of the armed zealots raised their weathered stun pistols, their movements jerky but their aim steady enough under the circumstances.

A shot crackled through the air, slamming into Hank’s side. The stun charge rippled through his body like an electric jolt, making his muscles seize momentarily. He grunted, his knees buckling slightly but not enough to bring him down. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, his pistol still clutched tightly in his hand.Another zealot fired, the sonic burst catching Corbin in the shoulder. The engineer stumbled back, the impact throwing him off balance. His cover didn’t provide complete protection from the angle of the attack, and his face twisted in pain as the charge coursed through his system. He hissed sharply but managed to stay upright, his resolve holding firm.

---