Chapter Text
The way he was feeling-- it was so strange, this feeling-- it was breaking him. He was not used to feeling so… helpless. He’d been able to help himself since he was small, and even then, he knew how to block it all out. Pain and fear were driven away and replaced by something cold and hollow within his gut. It wasn’t a way he wanted to live, per se, but it helped him survive… It helped Lance survive.
Unfortunately, in this brief instance of utter fear, Lance was trapped. Four galra soldiers had him cornered, their blasters trained on him. His mind raced, trying to figure out a way out of this, even if he was unarmed and completely vulnerable… Lance grit his teeth and rushed the soldiers when they appeared to let their guard down, knocking out the one closest to him with a swift kick to the head. Grabbing the downed soldier’s weapon, Lance fired at the trio remaining and made a getaway seemingly into nothingness.
Darkness enveloped Lance’s vision, but his eyes adjusted quickly due to his rather frequent trips into this… night. He took a tick to breathe, heartbeat calming. That was too close.
When he came out on the other side of the portal, he was met with the drab layout of his safehouse. Everything was dark here on Daibazaal… Not that Lance was complaining. He didn’t have the right to complain, not since he was ejected from the last Altean ship known to be taken by the Galra. He escaped, all those deca-phoebs ago… The last of his people died for him to escape undetected by Emperor Zarkon’s forces. Now he lived a life on the run, hiding in plain sight, just waiting for the day when the Galra stumble upon him on their own crumbling planet.
Lance stripped his dirty rags and stepped into the bathroom, washing up quick. He paused in front of the old mirror he had propped up on the sink, examining his body. He guessed he was nearing adulthood, the way his markings were darkening beneath his eyes. He let himself look at the rest of him for a moment, feeling the same prickle of fear rise in his throat. His scars weren’t healing the greatest, but compared to other scars he’d seen long ago… Well, he’d say he was doing alright compared to others. The others were dead, after all.
He bowed his head, feeling the weight of his loss sink onto his shoulders. All of that fear he’d been holding back, all of that pain, all of that rage built up within him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Lance shook his head as if to physically shake away the memories. He had to steel himself, or he wouldn’t get through his next mission with all of him intact.
He wasn’t even sure if he was still completely intact, anyway...
--
Lance was the last of the Alteans-- or, at least, the last he himself knew of. There may very well be other Alteans out there, hiding within the natural folds of space Lance too made use of, but he couldn’t put hope in such an unlikely probability. That’s what one of his friends-- informants-- told him. He needed to focus on his own survival, not on the mere chance of the existence of just one of his people… He had to make sure his safe house didn’t run out of rent before he got back from another of his missions. It was kind of funny, the way that such a simple struggle could make or break Lance’s entire operation.
After Lance changed into fresh clothes, he stretched in preparation for his transformation. There was no way he could ever complete his missions looking the way he did before making himself seem like a proper galra, let alone survive stepping out the door. He lived in an apartment complex in the capital city, right in the middle of a very Galran neighborhood. Lance slipped in front of the mirror once again and applied the sleek, invisible tech to his cheeks that hid his markings and set about making sure his disguise was solid.
Something inside him urged him to grin wickedly into the mirror, quirking an eyebrow in a mock alluring expression. A few doboshes passed before Lance felt the feeling inside him shatter. It wasn’t right to feel that way… He wouldn’t let himself indulge. He was on a mission, he couldn’t afford to feel anything but--
There was a knock on his door, which was quickly followed by the grumbling of his youngest helper for him to ‘open the quiznacking door already.’
Lance straightened his back and nodded to his reflection, feeling confident it would hold for a few quintants without him needing to take a break. He got the door, sidestepping quickly to get out of the short galran girl’s path.
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for your return?” she growled up at him, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I dunno, a few vargas?” Lance shrugged, closing the door.
The girl balked at him and rolled her eyes, raising her arms into the air.
“A few vargas, he says! It’s been a whole phoeb, you idiot! Do you get what we’re trying to do here, or did you forget?” she snarled, nose crinkling under her overly large glasses.
“Aw, Pidge, you know what I was doing--”
“Yeah, something that could have waited until after we saved the universe from the hold of Zarkon!!”
Lance frowned at Pidge. He’d known her for around four deca-pheobs, through Lance’s hardest years of growing up… but she was even younger than him, always acting like she had a few more deca-phoebs under her belt than she really did.
“Well, it’s done, so I won’t be so distracted anymore. Alright?” he said pointedly, raising his eyebrows at her.
“Oh, whatever Lance, just-- You might have worried me a little, being so late,” Pidge admitted after a few ticks of silence.
Lance held back a smile and nodded.
“Now then, can we get to work?”
Lance nodded and sat down at his small kitchen table while Pidge spread out her datapads in order to begin a briefing.
“There are seven factions of the Blade of Marmora, each in heavily-occupied sectors of the Empire-- you know this. However, there’s been… some disruptions. One of the smallest factions took a huge risk and put themselves in danger of being rooted out a couple of movements ago,” she began, pulling up the info on that sector for Lance to look over while she spoke.
“Yeah? What happened?” Lance asked, looking over the list of their operatives in said sector.
“They broke into a prison that housed an extremely important war hero who went missing about fifteen deca-phoebs ago-- an Altean named Shiro.”
“Wait-- what? Why didn’’t you notify me?! I could have helped--”
“Lance,” Pidge interrupted, cutting him short, “You weren’t here to take the mission-- besides, I’m sort of glad you weren’t. We sent one of the best operatives in our sector to help them out, and they haven’t come back. As I said, it was movements ago, and now it’s almost been a whole phoeb since we’ve heard anything from the operative or the faction.”
“Quiznack, that’s not good-- were they captured?”
Pidge nodded gravely.
“I received a message from one of our informants on a Balmera nearby. He said he’s seen a cruiser that’s disguised as a cargo ship dock at their port, and he’s volunteered to help us when we go in for extraction.”
“Wait a second-- who did we send in to help?” Lance asked, still a little sidetracked by the immensity of the Blade’s discovery.
“His name is Keith. He’s one of our best members--”
“Pidge, oh my gods, him? You sent him? Keith, former heir to the Empire, and now he’s captured? Not to mention-- augh it’s gonna be so awkward, rescuing him…” Lance grumbled.
“What? Why?” Pidge huffed, adjusting her glasses.
“He’s my rival,” Lance said darkly, crossing his arms.
Pidge paused, mouth quirking like she was holding back a laugh.
“Your rival? Please, you’ve only talked to him, what, three times?” she said, giggling a little.
“Wh-- No! We trained together, and--”
“When I talked to him, he didn’t seem like he saw you as a rival. He told me he hoped you got back soon, for the Blade’s sake. That doesn’t sound hostile, Lance,” she snarked.
Lance just shook his head and fidgeted in his seat.
“Just-- just go on, Pidge. What do we need to do?”
Pidge gave a quick nod and pulled up a diagram of the Balmera’s docks.
“You’ll capture a few guards, take their clothes, and board the ship with the cargo like they should have. Once you’re in, I’ll guide you through to the brig. From there, you’ll break out the prisoners and escape en masse; the idea here is to cause so much confusion that you and the prisoners can escape without many casualties. It’s honestly your best bet,” Pidge explained.
“Alright. Who’s going with me?”
“Right now, it’s just Thace. He’s new, but he’s strong. I’m sure others will join, but we’re just us three right now.”
Lance nodded and dropped his arms to his sides.
“When are we meeting with Kolivan and the others?”
“Mm, about four vargas. The ship could leave any minute, and I’m actually pushing them to have us meet earlier. Sorry that doesn’t leave you much time, but we can’t lose Keith--”
“Nah, Pidge, I get it. He’s an asset to our faction. We’ll get him,” Lance said, cooly confident.
Pidge smirked slightly at Lance and nodded.
“Right. And hey-- your disguise looks way better than last time! I think it has to do with that fancy tech hiding your markings…” she lilted.
“Yeah, yeah, thank you. Wouldn’t do too great on this mission without your tech,” Lance sighed, sending a soft smile Pidge’s way.
She just adjusted her glasses and shot him a thumbs-up.
“See you in a few,” she called as she walked out the door.
As it closed behind her, Lance leaned forward and picked up one of the stray datapads. Another altean was out there… He would save Keith if it meant he would meet at least one person from his past people. The pictures of the galra Blade flickered on the datapad, and Lance leaned back. Of course he would have to save that guy to get to what he’d craved for so long… to meet another of his kind.