Chapter Text
Something slimy was wetting his face. Lance tried to wipe his face, but his body did not respond to him. He was tired, to the point that he couldn't even lift his eyelids.
He moaned, "Hunk, tell your stupid dog to stop licking my face... it's disgusting..."
Hunk didn't answer, and Lance repeated, "Hunk, really, it sucks..."
His voice died with a sharp pang of pain in his chest. He gasped, feeling as if someone was sticking a thousand needles into his body.
With a herculean effort, Lance's eyes finally cracked open. The light pierced through his eyelids, sending shockwaves through his skull. He tried to blink, but it was as if his eyelids were made of lead. The room around him was a blur of colors and shapes. The pain grew more intense, spreading through his body like wildfire. It felt as if every bone was shattered into a million pieces, yet somehow, they were knitting themselves back together at an impossible speed. His muscles spasmed and twitched, a symphony of agony playing in his body.
Breathing required an enormous effort, his eyes felt moist with tears of pain. As it had begun, the pain ended suddenly, leaving him lying on his back on what was definitely not the bed in his dormitory.
He wasn't sure how long it was before he was able to sit up, feeling all his muscles protesting the movement. To his horror, he realized that the stickiness he had perceived earlier was blood. He was completely covered in it, his clothes torn, leaving his chest partly exposed and a good portion of his thigh bare.
Clothes that, by the way, were not his. Lance would remember if he had a very tight and uncomfortable shocking blue jumpsuit in his closet.
The room he was in was definitely not the dorm. The walls were covered in what looked like metal panels with wires sticking out of them, sparks flying everywhere. The floor was a mess of shattered glass and twisted steel, the smell of burning plastic and something chemically noxious made him want to retch. The lights above flickered erratically, casting eerie shadows across the floor. The place looked like a tornado had hit a robotics showroom and decided to throw a rave.
To his left, a giant computer console lay on its side, screens smashed, lights blinking in a panic. Above it, a large pipe had burst, water dripping down onto the fried circuitry, creating a sad little waterfall of destruction. To his right, a row of cages stood open, their former occupants nowhere in sight. The cages looked like they were designed for something much larger than the average house pet. There were burn marks on the bars and a smell of ozone that suggested they had contained something far from ordinary.
Lance felt an unpleasant feeling of déjà-vu that he could not explain. He struggled to his feet, his legs shaking under his weight. His head was spinning as if he had been on a roller coaster for too long and was just getting off.
He took a few unsteady steps, ending up on his knees again after a few seconds.
"Where the hell did I end up... Hunk, are you here? Hunk!"
His friend didn't answer, and Lance began to panic. He tried to remember what had happened during the last few hours, but what he got was a deadly headache.
He bent slightly. Let's recap: he had woken up covered in blood in a strange place, completely alone, dressed strangely and very weak.
Now, there were two things: either he had been kidnapped and taken to some strange place, or he had attended a very strange costume party.
Both options were absurd.
He didn't have time to dwell on the impossibility of the situation when a gasp echoed through the room, freezing him mid-thought. Lance whipped his head around, expecting the worst.
A man in purple armor stood about ten feet away, his eyes locked onto Lance with an intensity that was both alarming and intriguing. He looked like Beast from X-Men, but his skin color was a deep purple that almost seemed to glow in the dim lighting. The yellow eyes sent a shiver down Lance's spine, a stark contrast to the crimson blood seeping from a gaping wound in the man's ribcage. The armor looked to be made of some sort of organic material, flexing with each of the man's movements, as if it were a part of him.
The man pointed a kind of sawed-off shotgun at him, only with many more lights and futuristic, growling at him, "You."
"Um... this is a great place," Lance tried to joke, because what else was he supposed to do with a gun pointed at him? He wasn't even sure if he could run!, "It just needs some repair, maybe a touch of color... I know an interior designer who maybe..."
"Stop your stupid jokes, Blue Spirit," the other interrupted, causing him to jump. Wait, had he called him Blue Spirit?, "You and your companions can... destroying Haggar's lab, but that's not the end. She... will bring Zarkon back... and there's nothing that you... damn paladins... you can do..."
Big words for someone who seemed on the verge of suffocating to death. Lance didn't know whether to call the police or an ambulance. Maybe both.
But that gave him the answer he was looking for earlier: Lance had definitely ended up at a costume party that got out of hand – probably organized by James Griffin, that guy had too much money and little common sense, and Lance hated him, but at least he was in the right circles and Lance desperately wanted to be part of the kids who mattered, because they were the ones who had the best chance of impressing teachers and recruiters and then becoming real pilots, not cargo pilots – where, despite the age of the participants, the alcohol had been there and had flowed freely, so much so that it had knocked out Lance, certainly not a heavy drinker, and convinced that guy he was really in Paladins, the graphic novel that Hunk and his sisters adored and that he certainly didn't read because, duh, he wasn't a nerd.
Except maybe he might have read something, and he understood why he had chosen to come dressed as Blue Spirit.
"Dude, I'm not Blue Spirit," he tried to reason, "I'm just a guy in a costume. I know you're probably a little confused..."
"Shut up!" the guy yelled. "I won't make myself... deceive... by you! Faces... your destiny... paladin!"
And with that, the man in purple armor pulled the trigger of his futuristic shotgun. Lance reacted instinctively, throwing his arms up in front of his face in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the impending onslaught. The sound of the weapon firing was like a thunderclap in the room, the force of the shot sending a shockwave that rippled through his body. But there was no pain. No impact.
Peeking through his fingers, Lance saw that the man was looking at him with horror. The purple-skinned man's hand was still tightly clutching the gun, but his eyes had gone wide, and his mouth was agape as if trying to form a word that his dying throat could no longer produce.
Blood spurted from the man's mouth, painting a gruesome picture against the stark metallic background of the room. He coughed violently, sending crimson spurts into the air, which fell like morbid confetti onto the already ruined floor. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, the gun clattering against the metal floor, the lights on it winking out like a dying star.
Lance remarked, speechless. It took him a good minute to realize what had happened, and scream (a very manly scream, he certainly didn't look like a panicked middle school girl, thank you very much!)
"Shiiiiiit... Where the hell is everybody?! I need a phone... maybe he's not really dead... what the hell am I saying, of course he's dead, dead dead! And now the police is going to arrest me, send me to jail without trial because I'm not even an American citizen, and throw away the key. I'm going to get out the prison when I'm eighty!"
He was not lucid enough to realize that 1. there were not his fingerprints on the weapon and 2. the guy clearly had a very bad aim because of all the alcohol he had drunk and shot himself.
What kind of idiot carried a loaded weapon to a party?!
A good 60% of the American population, that's who!
He took a trembling breath, trying to calm himself. Which was not very easy, when there was a body a few steps away from him, and the concrete possibility (only in his mind) that he would be convicted of murder.
"I have to find a phone, and call an ambulance," he muttered, getting up with difficulty, "There must be a phone in this damn place... or... wait a minute..."
Patting himself down, Lance attempted to find his phone, hoping he hadn't inadvertently destroyed it during whatever damn madness he got involved in. If it had happened, his mother would have killed him! Do you know how much phones cost? A lot, that's it!
But instead of the cold touch of the device, his hand encountered something else. Something hard, metallic, and definitely not part of his body. He stared down at his right arm in disbelief, his fingers tracing over the unfamiliar contours embedded within the sleeve of his costume.
It was a bracelet. It was a sleek, hyper-technological device with glowing blue lines that pulsed with an eerie light, reminiscent of the Zords from Power Rangers.
"Where did I get this costume? Was it on sale? Did I rent it?! God, the shop owner will want my head as soon as... Whoa!"
As soon as the last word left his mouth, the bracelet on his wrist began to glow brighter. Lance felt a sudden jolt, like a thousand volts of electricity coursing through his veins. He jolted back, stumbling and almost tripping over his own feet. A blue light grew from the bracelet, coalescing into a holographic image of a majestic lion, its mane fluttering as if caught in an invisible breeze. The creature's eyes met his, and he swore he could see intelligence in those digital depths.
"Hi, Blue Spirit," the hologram greeted him condescendingly, "How can I be of any use to you?"
Lance's eyes widened, "This is... it's really well done. “
"Thank you. Dr. Alfor created me," the hologram said, and looked annoyed, as if he meant as you should already know.
Lance ran a hand through his hair, moaning as he realized there were clots of congealed blood there too, "All very convincing, thanks, but I really should call an ambulance."
"Ambulance?"
"That man is dead," he pointed to the body, "And, I don't know, in these cases people called ambulance and police, aren't they? I've never been in a situation like this before."
It should have been impossible, but the hologram was staring at him with open judgment at the time, as if he were stupid, "Blue Spirit, that's a Galra."
"Yes, great costume, by the way. Putting all that purple paint on must have been a real nightmare."
"No one will accuse you of anything. You've done your duty as a paladin," the hologram continued, ignoring him completely, "But you're unmasked. You have to leave, before anyone sees you. I'll show you the safest way to..."
"Wait," Lance interrupted it, "Isn't it, like, failure to provide assistance? I can't leave him here!"
"He is already dead."
"But..."
"You have done your duty. Altea is grateful for what you have done. Now, you must leave, before Haggar or other Galra arrive. “
He wanted to protest. He didn't know who had programmed that devilry to look so much like Blue, the holographic guide of Blue Spirit, but he wanted a refund!
However, he had to keep quiet when an earthquake shook everything, causing the walls to sway dangerously.
"Earthquake magnitude 7.5," Blue recorded in a monotone voice, "I suggest you run away, now, if you don't want to be buried alive, Blue Spirit. I'll show you the way."
And when a hyper-technological hologram spoke to him like that, what should he do? Ignore it?
Blue guided him through a series of narrow, dark corridors that were creepy as hell, and that made Lance think, James, what the fuck, over and over again!
However, he had to reluctantly admit that he was starting to doubt that it was just a party gone bad, but thinking about any other hypothesis at that moment would have made him more agitated, and he preferred to avoid it!
When the shakes finally stopped, Lance breathed a sigh of relief and dared to ask Blue, "Hey, is anyone else here?"
Blue scanned him, "Are you referring to the other paladins?"
"No, actually..."
"Besides you, I don't register any other life forms in this place," was the hologram's curt response.
"So they're all already gone..." he muttered to himself, reflecting. Hunk must have been so worried.
He didn't like parties, even if sometimes he followed him to make sure Lance didn't get into big trouble, but he couldn't do it all the time; he had tough exams to study, he wanted to become an engineer, and the pressure was even more than what the pilots were subjected to...
"Lance, I don't think it's a good idea..."
"Hey, Veronica gave me the keys. She wants me to learn. And who better than you can keep me company?"
His eyes widened, his head throbbing. Where did that come from? Blue was quick to say, "Don't stop, Blue Spirit. It's not long before the exit..."
But Lance's legs had frozen. The memory was so vivid, it couldn't just be his imagination; it must be a memory, it must be...
"Lance, he's provoking you. Forget it! Lance... Lance, slow down, Lance!"
The words echoed in his head as he stumbled down the corridor, trying to shake off the disorienting flashback. His heart raced, and he could almost feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins again. The taste of fear on his tongue was palpable.
There had been an argument, he remembered now. Lance had foolishly accepted a challenge, and Hunk had begged him to stop, and for once, just once, to listen to him, but... Lance had not done so.
"That's your problem, Lance! You are selfish! You want to be the center of attention, always! You don't care a damn if others have to study or if they have other things to take care of! For you, only you, you and you count! I'm tired of your antics, you big idiot! You're a failure, that's what you are! At seventeen you are still in limbo, and you have not understood that you will never be a real pilot, because you do not have the skills and ..."
Lance put his hand to his mouth, stifling a cry. Now he remembered. He had not ended up in an absurd party gone wrong, nor had he been kidnapped.
He was... he and Hunk were...
"Blue," he called, his voice broken by the too many emotions he was feeling, by the memories that had come back to him, by the guilt, oh God, what had he done, what..."Blue, where am I?"
"You're just a few miles from Altea, Blue Spirit. You don't have to fear..."
"I didn't mean that, Blue. I..." He paused, uncertain, because now that he knew, there was only one possible explanation for all this mess, and he was afraid. "Get me out of here, now."
The hologram nodded gravely, and the blue light grew around him, enveloping him in a cocoon of energy. Lance felt himself being lifted off the ground, the corridor walls blurring around him. His heart raced faster than ever before, and he was sure he could hear it echoing in the vast emptiness of his mind.
In moments that felt like hours, the light faded, and Lance found himself standing outside, the cold air hitting him like a slap in the face. He staggered, taking in the scene around him. The towering trees stretched up to the heavens, their branches reaching out as if trying to pluck stars from the sky. The moon cast eerie shadows across the underbrush, and the distant skyline of a city, gleaming and majestic, loomed ahead.
It seemed sparkling and full of promise like Metropolis (for this reason, DC had sued the author of Paladins several times, accusing her of plagiarism), but Lance knew better.
It was Altea. He couldn't be wrong.
He pinched himself to make sure he was awake.
It was all real.
At that point, he burst into tears.
Blue didn't understand his sudden burst of tears, "You're safe and sound, Blue Spirit. Why are you crying?"
"This... this is not my home..." Lance managed to sob, covering his face with the palms of his hands. He's messing up with all the dirt and blood on his face, but he couldn't care less.
Now he remembered. He was dead. He had died from a stupid race and had Hunk killed too (oh my God, Hunk, it was no surprise that he hated him, it was all his fault, Lance was responsible, he was...)
And, somehow, he had been resurrected. Like Blue Spirit. One of the Paladins. The worst of all, the weakest, the stupidest... the traitor who condemned Altea to destruction.