A sharp kick in the ribs was definitely an effective method of waking someone. Though it was undesirable to the receiver, it did jolt their brain into consciousness, which is helpful in an interrogation. Of course, Lance would have preferred that they simply tapped him on the shoulder, maybe played some soothing music, and let the scent of pancakes or bacon waft through his cell. Alas, a kick in the side was what he got. And probably a broken rib too, with the way he heard a crack and how quickly searing pain shot through him.

"Wake up, Paladin," a gruff voice rasped.

That was useless, seeing how Lance was already fully awake.

"If you still want Voltron's location, I've already told you, I don't know," Lance groaned, clutching his side and peering up at his torturer. The Galran held the basic characteristics of any Galran, but this one was much uglier than any other that Lance had ever seen, and Lance had seen a lot of ugly Galrans. The guy that loomed over him only had one ear, one eye, and teeth as sharp as razors. Scars criss-crossed his face and head, and his armor made the guy look even bigger than he actually was. In the amount of time that Lance had been captured, it was this Galran, and this Galran alone, that had inflicted the most pain on him. Sure, others interrogated him, punched him, and messed with his thoughts, but this was the one that broke his bones. And his mind.

"Get up," the Galran ordered, not caring that Lance could barely breathe at the moment. While the old Lance, the one that had been dragged into this cell punching and fighting, would have bit back a sharp retort, this Lance, the one who had suffered far too many beatings and tricks, could only push himself to his knees. Wheezing, Lance placed one hand on the wall in order to support himself, and clutched the other to his injured side. After struggling for a few minutes of heavy sweating and nausea, Lance somehow managed to get to his feet. The repulsive Galran grunted, and turned around. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Lance saw the door of his cell open as his tormenter walked out. "Follow me, and don't try anything. It won't end well for you."

I couldn't do anything even if I wanted to, Lance reflected bitterly, gritting his teeth and staggering to the door. When he made it out of his cell, he thought he'd feel some sense of relief or joy, but in the end, he still knew he was a prisoner. And the two guards that instantly flanked his sides were reminders of that. "Where are we going, Scarface?" Lance asked, still clinging to the unoriginal but accurate nickname he'd given the Galran when he'd first arrived.

As expected, his captor said nothing. He merely walked at a pace that Lance could not maintain. After walking barely twenty paces, Lance's knees gave up on him, and he hit the ground with a hard crunch. Growling, his captor ordered a nearby soldier to pick him up, and without a tick more of loitering, continued on his journey. As the soldier handled him roughly and without care to his injuries, Lance wished that he'd been fed something earlier, so that he could projectile vomit it all over this idiot guard.

The trip through the ship passed in blurs of black and purples, and Lance couldn't tell if the guard was just walking at a high speed or if he was about to pass out. Probably the latter.

When Lance's vision returned to him, he managed to gather his bearings. They were, obviously, in one of the ship's docking bays, though there was only one ship in the bay. And the sight of that ship sent a thrill through him. "Red!"

For a brief second, Lance felt hope shoot into his heart. Maybe they'd let him leave! But as quickly as that hope appeared, Lance himself crushed it. There was no way in any reality that he would be released so randomly. The fact that they were reuniting Lance with his beloved Lion meant only one thing. They wanted to use him to get to Voltron.

The hideous Galran faced Lance suddenly and announced in harsh tones, "None of my men can activate your ship. I order you to activate it. Now."

Blunt, but Lance had never pictured the guy to be subtle in any way.

"And if I don't?" Lance asked without emotion. For although Lance knew what he was already going to do, he felt no conviction in it. No guilt. No horror. No fury. Not even sorrow. Only hollow pain.

"Then I will do more to you than I ever have before," his tormentor threatened darkly.

Lance knew he only had one option. He just hoped that somehow, after he died at this Galran's hands, his friends would someday find the Red Lion and return to Earth. Maybe tell his parents that he helped them save the Universe. Maybe they'd be proud of him. Or maybe they'd be ashamed that he gave in to his enemies. Closing his eyes, Lance tried to connect to his Lion. He stretched out his consciousness, pleading, begging, for the Lion to respond to him. Please, Red. I'm so tired. Please. Please.

The Red Lion of Voltron remained coldly distant.

C'mon, Red! It's me, Lance! Just answer me!

Nothing.

Please. I need you to do this.

Not even a flicker of acknowledgement. The Red Lion did not seem to care about Lance. And that shattered Lance's already broken heart.

"She won't answer me," Lance gulped, opening his eyes to a glowering Scarface.

"I thought you'd resist," Scarface snarled, and raised his hand. With a flick of his fingers, Scarface gestured to the guard holding Lance, who promptly dropped Lance in a heap. A shriek ripped out of Lance's mouth and through the room as the pain overwhelmed him. Clawing at his side, Lance couldn't breathe. He couldn't focus, couldn't even think. All he wanted was for the pain to be over. To be on a beach in Cuba. To be dead.

A harsh strike to his other side sent Lance into an abyss of agony. Now he was certain that he had broken ribs on both sides of his body, and he could do nothing but scream. More blows hit his fragile, beaten body, and the last thing Lance was aware of before darkness engulfed him was how no one would help him, not even his trusted Lion.