zero-sum game

The whole place smells like ozone. The light is an ugly tesla-coil purple, nothing like the comforting soft white of the castle. And the floor is icy cold. Lance can feel that through his armored knees. To top it all off, there's a trigger-happy galra behind him with a laser gun, two 'druids' on either side, and a hooded alien who's probably a galra directly in front of him.

"We wanted the red lion," the alien draws out in a sandpaper rasp. "But Zarkon only demands Voltron's components, regardless of color. I suppose in this way, you're fortunate. Because the blue lion does nothing without a pilot, and we currently require the blue lion."

Lance is getting really sick of people saying Keith is better than him. He's also not too fond about getting shot down and captured by a rank assembly of angry lavender cat aliens, but his sense of pride means that he's sick of the first one more. Besides, he's not planning on making this a habit. Lance just can't move because he's handcuffed and more than a little bruised up. Stupid crash landing. Lance could've done it easy if they hadn't been right up Blue's tail.

Soft hands, with pads on the undersides. Leather-hard palms and fingertips. Nails ending in deadly points in an ironic shade of lavender. Seriously, what kind of alien was purple?

"We can see into you." Really tired of the whispers, here. Overdone. Really, really overdone, the creepy scratching voice. The hands that drift over his face, claws that graze his cheeks when he thinks they'll let him relax. His heart doesn't slow. "And yes, we see your home. We see your family, the furless bipeds you miss so much. Like our champion. We saw his family, and we tore it from him. We rent from him his arm, his memory, his safety."

Hot air, next to his ear. "We know you. And we can take more from you than we did from him. You are a magical sum, blue paladin. We understand what you need. What you want. And we can take it without ever overreaching you."

His heart thrums. Whirs. Skips and stutters like a bad radio signal.

"Or we can make you nothing," the alien continues, tilting his face. Talons prick him. Tiny beads of blood, barely there. "Give up your lion, and we'll allow you to give up your life without suffering. This, Zarkon offers. It is a sign of his respect to the chosen of Voltron."

The alien waits, eyes hidden in the folds of the hood of her cloak. Yellow like a disease. Headlights in the dark.

Cough. Cough. "I..."

Druids lean in, the one hanging over him with a carefully neutral face.

"'m no red lion," he replies, his neck turning too slowly. He smirks. "Don't think your little speech would've worked on him, either."

The claws are back. Ooh. That smarts.

"Not on green or yellow," he mutters. "Black got away from you. Looks like..."

Blood isn't fun. And it hurts, but hey, he's been hit by Allura's training dummy and shot at and he can probably handle this. "...humans are made of stronger stuff than you think."

Blue's somewhere on this ship, he thinks. She has to be. If they're trying to get him to back off so they can pilot the lion, he has to be near her. And somehow, he'll get out. Shiro did it, once.

"Humans," the voice repeats, and seriously he is TIRED of having people put their lips right next to his ear. "Humans. Believe me, blue paladin. Your leader was a fluke."

He shrugs one shoulder, and it hurts because his wrists are pretty solidly attached to the aliens' creepy science table. "Whatever you say, galra. I know I'm right."

The alien tenses up with irritation and Lance wants to laugh because hey, that happens when he says that at home, too.