Alistair Raven and the Stormtrooper in Stilettos (Book 1)

Part 2 - Chatter 24

Everything had been going swimmingly until they reached Chancery Lane Underground station. Then, the proverbial had hit the fan. Alistair and Balderick cowered behind a derelict ticket booth filled with cockroaches as the firefight intensified. Balderick snacked on the scuttling cockroaches as the Loyalists set a sound defensive line, fortifying themselves within the abandoned ticket hall, though that said they were cornered by Futurist Guards hell bent on their capture.

Alistair buried his face in to Chelsea's shoulder as both sides traded volleys of shots. Rocket raced back, avoiding gun spatter as he detonated a string of charges at the second entrance; collapsing, the rubble formed a makeshift blockade to keep further Guards from flanking their rear. Flash rolled on to his stomach and fired off splats of protoplasm acid causing Guards to recoil as the caustic residue ate through their armour causing an industrial stench to waft through the ticket hall.

"Enjoy the acid trip," Rocket jeered gleefully, helping Arcadia load more shells. Flash signed from the other side and Rocket nodded his understanding, whilst Arcadia gave them a thumbs-up. All three soldiers' switched ammunition, brazenly jumped up, pumped out a number of concussion shells and dived back down for cover before being targeted themselves.

In the thick of it, Alistair could make out shadows and silhouettes in the Guards' lights. Thatcher and Arcadia took turns bobbing up, shooting and ducking. Their electro discharges sizzled Guards like sausages on a BBQ as the Futurists returned fire with real steel bullets. With an abundance of ammunition, they peppered the ticket hall; the Loyalists were far more judicious with their shot selection and it showed in the body-count. Guards writhed about in pain, either jagged, frizzled or splattered but the Futurist chain of command couldn't have cared less, ordering more Guards in to the station.

"They must have tremendous recruitment officers," Julian quipped as Guards dragged away their fallen comrades and padded the positions with fresh troops.

"Cut the chatter," Col Rose ordered. "And find us a way out of here!"

"I know a way out," Rocket cynically joked. "In a bodybag."

Gun shot spattered up the walls, flicking grout and tiles in to the air, obliterating plexiglass dividers and sending streaking cracks through the tile work. Julian shielded his head, wiped his face and smeared sweat and white caulk across his nose and cheeks. Julian grew weary of the masochism and with one of Col Rose's spare rifles, dexterously bagged his quota, before squatting and allowing the return spray.

"Will someone please tell these clods guns don't kill people," Julian pleaded. "I do...with guns!"

"Which way Alistair?" Chelsea shouted over the din. Julian's muzzle bursts lit up the hall like a strobe light and Alistair checked for any conceivable escape route via his goggles. Finally, after several false starts, he connected the dots and figured out a possible passage.