Realisation and Freedom (A Voltron and Galra!Keith fanfic)

Assignment

Every quintant is the same. Wake up, get dressed, eat, new assignment, eat, return to new assignment, eat, return to new assignment, hope for an interesting assignment that lasts more than one quintant, sleep and repeat. It seemed that this quintant would be the same as any other. I woke up, got dressed, ate and waited for my assignment, expecting another low blow to my reputation as a result of an assignment below me.

"Kogane. You are being put on guard duty for a high-value prisoner for the next phoeb. If you do well, you may remain on that duty until a higher position is offered up. Emperor Zarkon asked for you personally and you will be leaving for his ship in two vargas," my superior informs me.

I couldn't believe it and was left speechless with my eyes wide. It's a few ticks before I respond with the Galra salut and "Vrepit Sa".

My superior nods, salutes and says "Vrepit Sa" in response.

Then, there is a huge uproar.

"How did this halfy get such a high profile assignment?"

"I am much more deserving of such an assignment."

"How does Zarkon know this mess up and want him for this job?"

"Enough! Do not question your emperor's decisions or are you all traitors?" yells my superior, immediately shutting the rest of the soldiers up.

When we are finally dismissed, I hurry back to my quarters to pack my very few personal belongings before I leave. I keep my head down and avoid eye contact with everyone in hopes that I can leave without confrontation. However, luck never works in my favour. I am at the end of the hallway where my quarters are located when a familiar voice calls out to me from right behind.

"Hey Halfy! Wait up."

"What is it, Zangov?" I asked quietly, keeping my eyes on the floor.

A whack echos down the corridor and I feel a stinging pain on my left cheek.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you halfy," Zangov spits, towering over me by four feet - which isn't really much of an achievement considering I'm 5'8" and most Galra are 9 or 10 feet.

I raise my eyes to glare defiantly at Zangov, "What is it?" I say sternly and Zangov slaps my right cheek.

"Don't talk to your superior like that halfy," Zangov spits in my face again.

I wipe it from my face and grimace, "Look, I'm busy. If I have to blame you for being late, well, let's hope it's not Emperor Zarkon I have to report my reason for said lateness to."

Zangov visibly freezes and his purple skin seems to go pale before he regains himself, "He wouldn't listen to a halfy like you."

I sigh, "Why did he ask for me then?"

"Don't know, don't care. Your not even a full blooded Galra. You don't deserve this assignment," Zangov punctuates each word with a prod to my chest.

"Maybe because I try constantly, despite everyone being against me, and I surpass most of you in school," I retaliate.

Zangov is speechless and I take a step back. He starts to advance and hits his fist into the palm of his hand so I start rapidly moving back.

"ZANGOV!" our superior yells, walking briskly into his personal space, towering slightly over Zangov at exactly 10 feet, "WHAT! PRAY WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"

"S-sir, I-I-I wasn't t-thinking," stutters Zangov.

"That's right! You weren't thinking! Again! Kogane here was hand picked by our emperor and you DARE threaten him? If Kogane wanted, he could take you down easily, but he doesn't. It's called restraint and discipline - something you seem to be lacki-"

"Um sir?"

"Yes Kogane?"

"Can I go? I'm on a strict schedule after all."

"Oh, right. Off with you. This might take a while," our superior turns to Zangov and continues yelling at him, Zangov looking ready to pee his pants and giving me murderous glares whenever the superior isn't looking.

I rush down the corridor to my quarters. They are the same as every other soldier's quarters, quite small and compact but not tiny and tight. I have very few personal belongings: a small dagger with a symbol on it that I always keep wrapped; a red jacket that has personal value and a black jacket that is very similar that belongs - I mean belonged - to my father. Once they are all in a small backpack, I swing it over my shoulder, look around the room that was my home for the last few deca-phoeb for the last time before turning and leaving.

I hurry down the hallways, head down, avoiding eye contact again. When I reach the hangar, a ship is waiting to take me to the main ship. I quickly climb aboard, turning around at the door to see my superior smile and nod in approval. I return the gesture, take a deep breath and board.