After Voltron vanished as they apprehended Lotor, things had gone straight to hell in a handbasket, as they say. Every single Blade operative was located, so many were killed after being captured and they were scattered with little hope of regrouping. Bases were destroyed, some of them looted so that they were little more than skeletons of their former selves.
Razok Kartor had been among the lucky few survivors, if only due to his wit and his tenacity. Or maybe he was just lucky.
Granted he did suffer quite a bit. The loss of his left arm was evidence of that, and piloting a ship was nearly impossible with the handicap as well as the fact that he never had been the greatest pilot. All in all, the only lucky thing about all of this was the miracle that he hadn’t died yet. Though all the phoebs spent drifting alone through space was nearly enough to drive him mad.
That was, until he caught a blip on his scanners.
He’s quick to rush over to try and find out all he can about it. He had to rub his good eye and do a double take at what he saw. Was it.. truly?
Ah, to hells with it! Razok typed away with his good arm to open an open communications channel in hopes that what was flagged as Voltron itself would answer.
“This is Razok Kartor of the Blade of Marmora, does anybody read?!”