The Color of Life is Red

The Boy

The knife clunked into the wood right in front of the man's groin. Lance smirked under his mask as his eyes shot a cheeky glare into his frightened expression. "I'm gonna ask you again."

The man's voice quivered, bouncing off the walls of the small dark room. A single bulb hung above him, casting down a ray of yellow. His arms and legs were bound in frayed rope and he sat in a creaky wooden chair. Keith leaned against the mucky wall with his arms crossed. His black leather jacket shined in the dim light, adding to his intimidating aura. A red bandana covered his nose and mouth, showing off intense eyes of deep purple.

Lance leaned into the man's face, hand gripping the knife, "How many times?"

His mouth shook, "I don't- I don't know what you're talking about."

"How many times?!" Lance screamed in his face. He yanked the blade out of the chair and slammed it back down, an inch closer. "How many times did you hit your daughter?!"

The man jumped and let out a whimper. Lance moved the knife closer, "How many times did you rape your son?!"

"You better answer him," Keith uncrossed his arms and walked to Lance's side. He stroked his cheek, "You won't like him when he's angry."

Lance raised his chest and pulled the knife from the wood. The man bit his lip and shook his head. He spoke erratically, "It wasn't like that! I just-"

Lance stopped listening and turned to Keith. Nuzzling their masks together, he spoke softly, "He's bullshitting us."

Keith kissed his forehead through his bandana, "Go nuts then."

"You know I love you, right?"

He shrugged, "Of course." His eyes returned to the man, "Finish this quickly and I'll take you to bed."

Lance raised the knife, "You were going to do that anyway." He tore his eyes away from Keith and slammed the knife into the man's jeans.

"Pidge, what's our next assignment?" Keith turned to face her with a hair tie in his mouth, pulling his hair up. He and Lance were dressed up in their black gear.

Her small fingers tapped away at the laptop sitting on her bare legs. The screen reflected off her glasses and a Capri Sun hung from her teeth. She kept her eyes on the screen as she answered, "I've got a case involving a sexually abused five year old."

"Damn," Lance shut his eyes and slowly shook his head, "why can't people just leave their kids alone." His solemn gaze fell to the hardwood, "Katie, who's the monster?"

Pidge turned around and rested her arm on the back of the brown leather couch. Keith's apartment had been renamed 'Keith and Lance's apartment,' but Pidge often stayed there when she was bored or lonely. Shiro had gone off with Coran to continue their previous line of work. The day he left, Keith was distraught. Shiro had been like a brother to him, and the fact that he didn't want to support them was heartbreaking. Gradually, he got over it and clung to Lance. Coran still came around and loved to help when he was needed, but in the end, he was with Shiro.

Keith patted his back and nuzzled their cheeks together. Their hair tangled together in a messy, but sweet braid. "That's where we come in."

Lance pulled away and cocked his gun with one hand, "Motherfuckers should've stayed in hell."

The darkness of the night surrounded them as they sat in the grass, watching the window of a brick house. The chirping of crickets covered the sound of their breaths behind the masks. Lance lied down in the cool grass and watched through the scope of his sniper. Night vision gave him an adequate view of the little boy's room.

"He's clear so far," Lance said, keeping his eye on the scope.

Keith checked his watch, "It should be any hour now."

Lance took a deep breath to calm himself. Their job was difficult and wore down on his heart. He loved to save the innocent and bring justice to the wicked; but when he was hurting people, it was like he was a different person entirely. His entire childhood was spent being afraid of killing anyone, now he would stab a man without hesitation.

He was yanked out of his daydream when the door to the boy's room slammed open. Standing in the light was a dark, larger man with his grip on a bottle. "Shit. He's there."

Keith leaned down next to him, "You know when."

Lance took another breath and watched the scene play out. A comic book blanket covered the boy's shaking frame, hiding his eyes. Lance couldn't let the man touch him. He hovered his sight over the man's head, following as he walked toward the boy. His stomping was heavy and unstable, swaying his body back and forth. Lance panicked a little. He couldn't get a good shot. There was only one chance to get it right, and they couldn't go in the house. If they did, then it would quadruple their chances of getting caught. The man reached for the boy with a drunken arm, still moving way too much to get a clear shot.

Keith placed a worried hand on his shoulder, "Lance...?"

He bit down on his lip hard and steadied his gun. His heart thumped against his rib cage and his throat tightened. I'm not gonna make it! With a clumsy stumble, the man finally grabbed onto the boy's bed and yanked off his blanket.

Lance tore his eyes away from the scene and leaned into his elbow. Tears soaked through his sleeve as he let out a small sob. "I couldn't take the shot."

That was the most difficult part of a job. Knowing when he had to give up. Lance wanted to save everyone, but sometimes they lose. His stomach twirled with anxiety and his head pounded. He tugged on his hair and rubbed his forehead while he cried.

Keith's arm was placed over his shoulder, "We'll get him next time, alright? Different approach."

Lance took a sharp breath and wiped his eyes. He couldn't yet understand that it was impossible for him to save everyone.