Lance Shots

Galran Justice

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, BLOOD

Lance stared at himself at the mirror, the blood of his victim dripped of the tips of his fingers into the stark white of the basin of the sink.

He uncontrollably shook, his breathing was labored.

The water that flowed through the faucet turned a dark pink color, slowly clearing back to clean water. 

Lance's mind was running fast, he didn't know what to think.

They may be in war, but killing was something he was never prepared for. Bots aren't living, breathing beings. It was different.

Lance remembered the fight vividly.

He had been escorting the last prisoner out of a cell when a warrior had cornered him. The prisoner with multicolored skin had whimpered and hid behind the blue paladin.  His sniper was useless close range, he had to use the Altean broadsword.
Lance got into a fighting stance, one much different than the Galran before him. He made sure to hid the prisoner, shy them away from the fight. He attacked first, trying to push the warrior back. Lance urged the prisoner to run.

The Galran warrior was as purple as the rest of them. Their armor was chipped and dirty, the sword they held was black as night. This particular Galra had a more humanoid look to them, without the big cat ears sprouting from their head. Their hair was short in style, the top about half an inch long and the sides buzzed with style lines running through them. Except the style lines were scars rather than  a buzzed line of hair.

Their eyes had the piercing yellow surrounding the dark pit of color. Their fangs hung below the lips, giving an apperance of a permanent snarl. 

Lance remembered seeing the shock fill those eyes that scare him so much when he buried his sword to the hilt in their abdomen. The tissue clenched around the blade, making horrible sounds. The blood oozed from the large wound, soaking through his gloves and staining them with the unforunately familar copper smell.

The Galran warrior had choked on the blood filling their lungs as the light began fading from their eyes. Lance could still see the shock and fear of death until the light had finally left. The body had dropped to the floor in a heap as Lance slowly pulled the sword out of the corpse, the horrible squelching sounds making him gag. The galra's eyes were blank and empty now that a soul wasn't there to light them. Blood still oozed from the body, creating a pool around the warrior. Lance ran.

Lance cringed at the memory.

The blood was washed off of him, after he convinced himself to get in the shower.

It kept flashing in his mind Everytime he blinked. Everytime he close his eyes.

Lance wasn't prepared to take a life. It made him sick. He was a killer. Yes, he had killed before ,shooting down  cruisers and battle ships with Blue, but had never use his own two hands before.

The light fading out of the nameless's eyes would haunt him.  

How many more lives would he have to take?

These Galra were born and raised as soldiers. Fighting since they could handle the weight of a weapon. They were taught victory or death. That if they showed any weakness, they were useless. They lived off violence and bloodshed. They were raised like this and fighting for the only thing they know. They only thing they were ever taught.

To them, this was justice.

Lance couldn't keep the bile in his throat from rising.

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.... I didn't expect to write this. but I happened. Hopefully it makes up for the recent trashy stuff.

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-:)

P.S.- Favorite season?

I love fall and Winter.