"Come on guys," you whispered to a group of scared aliens who huddled against the corner of the hollowed room. You could see them shaking as they scurried next to each other in pure terror. 

"Please," you pleaded, "I just want to get you guys out of here, so you can be free, from these horrible pieces of scum," you scoffed. But to no avail, they still continued to stay scared in the room.

"I promise, I won't hurt you," you pulled out two small daggers from the pouch that laid attached to your belt,"See, I have protection against the Galra, they won't hurt you ever again," you insisted. Suddenly, one of the women stood up.

"How do you expect to free us from these dungeons, when you can't even get in," she blubbered. She was right, while you were explaining how you were going to free them, and give them their lives back, you spoke through the bars of their prison.

"I've always been a master at picking locks," you smiled, as you pulled a bobby pin out of your (H/C) hair. You began jiggling the lock as the aliens look at you, terrified. "What's wrong, I'm going to get you out and let you be free?" you asked, before hearing breathing over your neck. The mother's in the cells covered their young's eyes, while others froze in horror.

"Great," you sighed, as you ripped your daggers from their holders. You were trained to be agile and smooth with every move. You threw one blade behind you shoulder, stabbing the guard that hovered over you, the one beside him held you at gunpoint.

"Lock the cruiser!" you heard several other guards yell from around the corner.

You sighed, "Why do they always have to mess up everything?" you whispered to yourself. You sprinted along the corridor, bouncing off the wall to slice the Galra along the back, sending him to an uncomfortable kneel on the ground. Every time you thought you were done, they multiplied, surrounding you from every angle, until you weren't able to do anything.

A bigger alien grabbed you from behind, throwing you to the ground. You groaned, as you tried pushing yourself up, spitting a large wad of blood onto the floor next to you. He slammed his foot onto your spine, preventing you from moving, while also causing you excruciating agony.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here," you heard a man call from behind the large group of Galra that had made a circle around your body. "Looks like we got ourselves a girl," he mocked as he kicked the bottom of your foot. 

"Let me go," you roared, kicking his leg as you tried to loosen from the grip of the large man's foot on your back. You watched as he stooped down, grabbing your hair in his fist, and dragging your face to his level.

"Now listen here little girl, you're on the big kid's playground, I'd be careful how you play," he dropped his grip quickly, sending your face into the concrete. "It's a shame," he gave the soldiers an ugly, unbearable laugh, "You look pretty, but that doesn't get you very far in here. Lock her up," he shot the men glares that pierced through their skulls.

With no care in the world, they grabbed you by your collar to stand you up, they had no handcuffs, nothing to hold you. You were going to make a run for it, before the tip of the blade you'd thrown earlier was touching your neck, one jolt of the head, and you'd be dead before you knew it. They marched behind you, as you followed who you assumed was their leader. Every time you stopped, the dagger came closer to tearing your skin, so you just continued to move.

"Here it is, your new home," he gave a horrendous smile, showing every inch of his crooked teeth. You mocked his smile back to him, which he didn't seem to like. He motioned his hands towards the cell, but seeing as you weren't going in on your own will, they grabbed you by your shirt, throwing you in with all their force. 

You had entered by flying against the wall, falling to the floor in a rush of anguish. You had already knew from those moments, that your life was going to be utter torment from here on out. Months passed, and the torture grew worse. These gave you the bare minimum of food, seeing as they wanted their victims to suffer. Every afternoon, like clockwork, they would come into you prison, they'd kick you, hit you, and even on some occasions, use their black magic, until you were on the verge of death. Your entire body grew more bruises after every beating, you could barely feel your own heart beat, these were the times you wished you were dead. You eventually became used to the feeling of having to fall asleep in a puddle of your own blood, sweat, and tears, because your body didn't have the power, or energy, to move itself. You thought you were dead, until one fateful day rolled around the corner.

You had yourself sitting against a wall, slowly waiting for your demise. You tried to stop the tears that flowed effortlessly out of your eyes, not because they made you compromise your rough exterior, but because they stung the cuts that laid under your eyes and on your cheeks. You were falling in and out of consciousness, before your whole body was jolted by loud gunshot that rang through the halls. You could hear the yells of the Galra, but they were cut off by gunshots. You suddenly saw two figures in front of your cell.

"Look Shiro, it's a woman," a tall, Cuban man reported.

"It looks to be that way, let me take care of this," the man next to him grunted loudly as he swung what looked to be a prosthetic arm at the lock. He was slightly taller than the Hispanic man, and they both wore suits of armor, the one that you assumed was called Shiro, based on what the shorter man called, wore one made of black, while the other wore one made of blue.

"We need to help her," the Cuban man responded.

"Lance, what if she's helping the Galra," the man with a white piece of fluff in his hair argued.

"Look at her, she looks like she can barely lift her arms up, let alone be helping lead an entire alien empire."

"You're right, you get her, I'll cover you," the black suited man agreed. The blue suited man slowly approached you before taking a knee. 

"What's your name?" he asked. You were too weak to respond, and he clearly understood that, so without hesitation, he lifted you bridal style, and carried you out of the cell. You fell unconscious, and left your fate in the arms of the man who you assumed was named Lance.

(A/N: Hello! If you're new to my stories, welcome. And if you're a returner from my Keith X Reader (which updates every Sunday and I've been told it's pretty good) hello again! I hope you liked the first part of this new story, New updates will come out every Saturday! Hope you enjoyed, and see you next Saturday!)