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"Team Voltron," He swallowed thickly, starring into his drink with averting eyes, prepared to leap into action on a moment's notice. "Check in."
Team Voltron was a renowned US-Based task force forged of the best pilots, spies, and hand-to-hand fighters that the country could get it's hands on. A group of six, they were nonexistent to a select handful, and even then, they were known only by their codenames and designated undercover personas, true names not even known to other teammates in the case one went rouge. Shiro, known only to the others as Black Paladin, was their acting leader, head of one of the most destructive operation in their nation's history, and proud of such a title and of his 'coworkers'.
The team's coordinators, Allura and Coran, as their codenames were, has assigned the mobile five to an undercover mission in London after a string of murders committed by an organization, the Galra, who'd been working as an active, international criminal organization for the past several years. Voltron and the Galra had gone head to head on several separate occasions, the group even capturing him for a short while, robbing him of an arm. Certain members were supposed to appear at a high-class gala, thus so would Team V.
One of the assistant bartenders took a rag and rung the inside of a pint, azure eyes meeting his for a brief second before he continued on. In this mission, he was assigned to the name Matthew, the label pinned on his acquired uniform. The most Shiro knew about him was that he was of Latino decent, roughly twenty six, that he grew up with a multitude of siblings, and he owned an impeccable aim. He was the team sharpshooter, and called himself as such off of missions. "Blue Paladin reporting. Nothing new, like it's been for the past two hours."
"Red Paladin, reporting." He was positioned in the back of the room, swirling a glass in one hand and fidgeting with the other. The Red Paladin went by Jordan on this outing, mingling with his surrounds without a hitch. Red was his right-hand man, the second in command of Team Voltron on account of his military background and his impressive skill set, mastering countless forms of hand-to-hand combat in his twenty eight years of age. The only drawback was how aggressive the man could be, extremely defensive over his past and identity, though he was reliable and he always came through when the time came. "I've got nothing. Yellow unit?"
"Yellow Paladin checking in. I've got a lead, she's in between Black and Red units." Yellow stood near the entrance, hands crossed akimbo over his chest as he impersonated a nameless bouncer. Yellow was the most human and humane out of their team, someone who knew how to smile and read people like a open book. Yellow had accurately guessed his name the first day they'd met, figured out Blue's favorite food within thirty six hours, and was the only soul who could make Red laugh aloud. Though initially Shiro assumed the man was a pure, gentle giant, he learned quickly when he witnessed Yellow snap a man's neck in a matter of seconds.
Shiro slid his hands, both metal and flesh, together, glancing at the Blue Paladin before turning in his seat toward the mass of slow dancers. "Yellow, details."
"One of the female dancers. Green dress, auburn hair, solid 110 on your ten o'clock. She's got the same walking stature as their agents and knife scars on her torso."
Shiro's head went into a pivot as he stood, adjusting the half-a-size-too-small bowtie that near strangled him. His steps were calm, counted, calculated as the leader scanned the bobbing head and shoulders of the high-class civilians with too much money and too strong perfume. He squinted his eyes, making a move to retrace his steps-
Before he stumbled over his feet as he saw the most beautiful woman he'd set his eyes on.
Don't get him wrong, Shiro and his team were the American equivalent of a squad of James Bonds, and thus they been plenty of places and seen plenty of men and women who could've taken anyone's breath away with even the smallest moment of eye contact.
But this?
Pale, pink skin layered with a multitude of freckles that must've numbered near a thousand, with bronze hair that scrapped her shoulders. Calculating, warm yet frigid doe eyes that looked through him as if he was not a thing but glass, blush red lips curving back into a soft grin as she stepped toward him. Her dress made every other look like rags; jade falling just shy of her shoulders, diving to the small of her back and wafting out to the ground and slathered over by golden lacing as a true Cinderella's clothing would, giving the appearance of an unzipped article of dressage. A matching ribbon was tied around her neck, only adding to the absolute teasing that her wardrobe was.
She was with the Galra? Could he join?
Before he could say a word to his teammates, she'd neared him, eyes holding a strong façade of being gentle and mouth quirked upward. Shiro made a reach for his gun, but the woman slipped her hand in his without a word midway, tugging at his cybernetic appendage and pressing his knuckles against her lips, seemingly unfazed by the metal.
"You know," She began as he attempted to keep a hold of the entirety of his training, English accent soft and not quite fitting for her rough voice that set him off. "Normally this goes the other way around."
He scrambled together a coy smile and an accent, though mentally he was fidgeting- he normally couldn't feel with that hand, but he certainly felt that. He snatched up her other fist in his own, mimicking the stranger's action as a pathetic form of revenge. "You don't seem like the kind of woman who does things normally."
"Ooh, so he's pretty and he's smart," She remarked, guiding his prosthetic to her waist while his teammates began to question him through his earpiece about name and other details, but his voice was silent toward him, the girl owning all of his attention. The stranger lead them towards the mass of dancers, clicking of her shoes against the polished floor and the light, string music the only noises filling his ears.
"You think I'm pretty?" Shiro questioned, raising an eyebrow as he felt blood pool under his skin.
Did she drug him? That was the only explainable reason for this sudden stupidity, right?
Her back was cool as his fingers rested against it, spine curving gently against his digits. Her hand intertwined with one of his own, her other latching onto his tuxedo's jacket as their eyes glued onto the other's own set. Her dress pooled out from behind them, filling his peripheral with a river of silky forest green material and only the stranger.
"How should I answer that?" She sked, the pair taking their first steps as a new song began to play. This one was heavier and quicker, as if it was the background to some sort of action movie, the Black Paladin and the stranger moving their feet and arms accordingly. Her grip got tighter, so did his. Their chests nearly pressed together as they navigated and weaved through the other careless aristocrats, Shiro's flesh hand snagged one of the knife scars he mentioned. It wasn't deep, but from what he could feel, it was done by an expert, and a shadow of worry entered his mind.
"Black Paladin reporting," He spoke as they slid apart, broken apart as the majority of the room did. Her smile was forgotten, face crumpled into a ball as she mouthed words to herself. From what the agent could tell, it was something along the lines of 'I really don't wanna hurt this guy'. "Lady in green is definitely suspicious."
As their hands rejoined and honey eyes met steel, his English accent returned with her grin and hand pulling him closer, her palm ghosting over the gun he kept in his coat. "Answer truthfully."
Two steps back. One step forward. A dip, their grips tightening and noses just shy of crashing into each other. He inwardly grumbled at their proximity, complaining about how this wasn't the time but hot everlasting damn just look at her half-lidded eyes and shining painted lips and how the ribbon around her neck was looser than before. She smirked, an arm around his neck pulling his frame closer as a hand trailed down his chest.
"Pretty pretty for a Voltron agent," She whispered with an America voice, which was sickeningly sweet and chilled Shiro to his core.
Shiro dropped his arms, moving to grab her wrists but he was too slow, her fingers sneaking under his coat and stealing his firearm. Their gazes never moving, her arm flew straight up, shooting the center of the chandelier above, thus causing a chain reaction and deleting every light inside the gala. The last sound he heard from the female inside the ball was a quiet sigh and a ripping of her beautiful dress. The Black Paladin dove forward to pin down her arms, but she went missing. He paused, listening for her footsteps amongst the screeches of the public and the sounds of Voltron leaping to action.
The quiet knock of her heels alerted his to her being behind him, though his movements were once again to slow.
It was cruel but fitting that the ribbon that was tied around her neck then strangled his throat.