Brand New Blue
Summary:
Lance goes to space long before the landing of the Kerberos mission, and after a gruelling time as a fighter in the arena he joins the resistance. Shortly after team Voltron launches to space, Lance stumbles upon the team and suddenly things get dicey for them all.
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When Lance McClain, a proud field agent and officer of the Resistance against Zarkon's tyranny, stumbles upon the Altean ship, his entire world is flipped upside down. Suddenly, he's the Empire's Most Wanted, he's unable to rely on the Resistance for help, and now he pilots the giant, magical, robot lion spaceship, appropriately named the Blue Lion. His new team is a handful of humans just like him, and two of the most human looking aliens Lance has encountered so far.
Trying to survive, figure out who the spy or traitor in the Resistance is, and solidifying their new bond all at the same time make things hard on the team, and especially on Lance. Things gets worse when enemies of the past come back to haunt Lance and remind him; he's not as strong as he would have people believe he is.
Part 1
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Lance was once a normal child.
He had dreams of going to space. Travelling among the stars and planets and the infinite universe. He had planned to join the Galaxy Garrison, a prestigious and sought after school for aspiring space cadets. He wanted to be top of his class, a fighter pilot, adored and loved by all. He wanted to meet his hero, Takashi Shirogane, or Shiro as most people refer to him, and be just like him.
He could remember a time when his biggest worry was passing the entrance exams and getting a crew that he actually liked. In retrospect, it all seemed frivolous now.
Lance never got that chance, the chance to be a fighter pilot with a great crew and meet his hero. Lance never even got to say his last goodbyes. His Familia back home in Cuba must think he dropped off the face of the Earth, abandoning them. Or perhaps they thought him dead. He might as well have been, for as long as he has been gone.
Lance couldn't even really tell you how long that was himself. He could have been gone for a month, or he could have been gone for a year. Space was weird like that. Especially where he is right now. Time doesn’t exist here. His hands were cuffed in front of him with tech far more advanced than his home planet, the metal cool to the touch, and tight around his wrists.
His ankles were chained in much the same fashion, a strip of what he imagined was purple electricity the only connection between his cuffs. Logically, he should be able to snap the electric band by moving the cuffs beyond its reach, snapping the connection, but they stopped as if the purple electricity was metal chain links. Lance was shoved forward a little by one of the guards behind him. Another logical thing, was that the creatures leading him through dark hall lit by purple light, were just really tall humans. Because there was no such thing as aliens.
Logically. Or at least he himself never believed in the idea. He hoped but he wasn’t one of those fanatics about aliens. But these monsters were no human.
They were seven foot to eight foot tall, covered in either purple skin or purple fur, with eyes that were pupilless and yellow, where the whites should be and all. Most of the creatures had fangs as well, not quite as long as a canine’s, but sharp enough to scare him shitless nonetheless. Some of them had prosthetic limbs, ones that were so advanced it made him cringe.
The reason is, is because they used the limbs as weapons, and some could even detach themselves from the body and still be fully functional. It was dark magic in those limbs, and this was real, because he had been one of the unlucky few equipped with one of these “upgrades” as the witch called them.
Lance wasn't dumb.
He knew what the creatures were called, he knew what fuelled the ships to cause such dark purple glow, and he knew what powered these upgrades. Prisoners tend to gossip, especially if they wish to distract themselves desperately. These “creatures” were an evil alien race called the Galra, which ruled over nearly all of the known universe.
The empire was ruled by Zarkon, a nasty and terrifying Galra who has become essentially immortal, having lived as emperor for over ten thousand years. Or deca-phoebs as most of the aliens he encountered called it. Lance prayed he was never caught face to face with the beast Emperor. And that purple glow was from a corrupt form of quintessence, which was basically the life force of the universe.
The closest he could relate the name ‘quintessence’ was to spirit, soul, or nature. Such as person’s ‘nature’. In its natural state, the quintessence was bright, colored a pure yellow and when in close proximity the quintessence practically throbbed with life energy. As if it were a sentient being in and of itself. Lance has only come in close proximity of natural quintessence once in his stay with the horrible Galra, and the stuff- a sort of plasma like state- drew him forwards.
His body had ached to get closer to the stuff, and perhaps that was odd; the looks other prisoners threw at him when he tried to describe the feeling said as much, even if some of them had not the slightest humanoid resemblance.
Another shove forward nearly sent him sprawling to the floor, but he had learned early on never to show weakness. Falling to the floor would have prompted the guards to get angry and ‘discipline’ him. He wished he could show these giant purple space cats just how disciplined he was, preferably with one of those high tech blasters strapped to most of their hips or held in their hands.
Lance grit his teeth as he stepped wrong and a short sharp pain exploded up his ankle, from when he had twisted it but a few days ago. Or quintants, as was the Common measurement of a day was in space. Guess Earth never got the memo. He was surrounded by four guards, three more guards than usually used when transporting normal prisoners to and fro.
But, once again, Lance wasn’t normal, not anymore.
Unlike most prisoners, he had never known of the terrifying might of the Galra his entire life, never even knowing of aliens for sure for that matter. And it’s because of this lack of force, Lance fought the guards every moment he could. He was known empire wide for his unruliness. Also unlike most prisoners, he wasn’t forced into manual labor. He was one of those that fights in the gladiator cages. And as a gladiator, the rule of thumb was such: the longer you live, the more popular you become, and eventually you are given a name, a title that the Galra use to identify you.
Few ever manage to survive for that long though, so when Lance- arguably one of the smaller types of alien races in the known universe- made it through, it was inevitable that this day would come. He was being led to another match, one attended by the beast himself, Emperor Zarkon. As he came closer to the dreaded arena, threading through the maze of dark, purple lit hallways, the sounds of cheers grew louder and louder.
Until the time came where they stood in front of the cage that would bring him up to the arena, and the noise was like the roaring waves on Varadero beach when a storm was raging overhead. It was thunderous, vibrating the metal beneath his feet and making his cuffs quiver in motion. Lance grit his teeth harder, resigning himself to the dreaded fight looming ahead of him. He never liked what he resorted to in the arena. Sometimes his opponents would be seasoned fighters such as himself, other's were sacrificial lambs to the slaughter for the cruelty of the Galra’s entertainment.
He made the mistake of letting his opponent live only once. A kid more humanoid than most he had seen throughout his months- or phoebs- and that poor alien child was made to suffer for it. They tortured that poor thing until all the screams in Lance’s throat were dried out, and his tears stopped flowing, and all Lance could do was stare brokenly ahead and whimper.
And then they left the child to die, Lance still chained tightly to the metal wall and unable to even comfort the child as he went through his last moments. After that, Lance never let another being survive the ring unless he was the one to die. And boy did that fact damage him. Lance sucked in a hissing breath as the noise reached a crescendo, the words ‘Fin-ish him! Fin-ish him!’ echoed in his ears.
Lance braced himself one last time, shutting his horror and pain and sorrow away into the deepest part of him and locked it away with a set of keys. He didn’t open his eyes as the guards pushed him into the cage. As they surrounded him and were lifted up to the arena a few floors upwards. The cage stuttered to a stop, the distinct hum of the tech hidden beneath sleek metal panels drowned out with the roar of the crowds.
He didn’t open his eyes as the doors opened and his senses were bombarded with a wall of screams and cheers. He was moved forward a few steps, only two bodies surrounding him now. And suddenly a hush settled upon the crowd, leaving a ringing in Lance’s ears. After only a few seconds- or closest to a tick in common time- a slow thumping resounded around him. The people in the stands have seen the new fighter, and recognized him, stomping their feet in tandem louder and louder. And then he heard it.
His title.
Hun-ter. Hun-ter. Hun-ter.
Lance was known as the Hunter, because he never let his ‘prey’ escape. Lance listened as his opponent was brought to the field. Even with Lance’s eyes closed, he knew two things. One, this opponent was popular, but untitled. And two, nobody seemed to think Lance was going to survive this one, according to the rush of frantic whispers. He pushed that thought away. Let his ears take the brunt of the sensations around. He heard the chatter of the arena, the slight buzz of his cuffs, the shifting of the Galra beside him.
With a conscience thought, a click sounded in his head. He didn’t care what the Galra believed would be the outcome of the fights. Things were going to happen in one of two fashions.
A plan, his plan, the one he had worked on, and with, outside forces for weeks- movements- would come to fruition, and Lance would see the outside of these metal walls for the first time. Lance would be free. Or he would be dead. If the plan flunked, the Galra would kill him for his attempt at freedom, or he would succumb to the gladiator fight and die in captivity as the Hunter.
Either way, Lance is never returning to a cell. Not if he had anything to do with it anyways. Another sort of hush fell on the crowd. One filled with excitement, and nervous energy. The two Galra moved behind him, the shifting of their not-quite-perfectly-fitted armor giving them away as clear as day. Lance breathed in, felt the shackles on his ankles be removed.
He stayed still.
Held out his wrists, as if he would willingly go into this fight. The shackles came off and Lance opened his eyes. His vision was no longer in normal color. Everything was doused in the slightest of purple glow. Numbers and calculations, a circular target moving in and out of focus like a camera lense; they seemed as if they floated in mid air, but Lance knew better.
This was his modification, the one Zarkon’s witch did to him.
He called them computer eyes, because essentially, that was what they were. Although it wasn’t eyes, the change was only done to his right eye, and in this mode, his left eye was pretty much closed while still wide open. His handcuffs fluttered to the ground. The moment the sound of his cuffs hitting dirt filtered through his ears, Lance moved.
Lance smiled ferally, like an animal.
And the arena was filled with screams.
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Hey guys! So this is the first of a voltron fic I’m writing. It ties in a whole lot of theories and alternate universe, and I hope to make posting new chapters a regular thing! I hope you guys like it! C’est la vie!
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