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“Just what,” the large, imposing Galra officer known only as the Warden said slowly as he regarded the three guards standing over an alien prisoner, “is going on here?” The creature was kneeling hunched over on the floor, hands cuffed behind his back, breathing heavily as he glowered defiantly at the closest guard, who still had her arm raised as if to club him with the butt of her gun again.

“Sir!” The guard snapped to attention and saluted, the other two doing the same, “We were escorting the gladiators Champion and Veil to their cells, when Veil broke free and activated her cloaking ability. She was obviously trying to escape, so two of us ran after her to recapture her, but Champion began to fight back as well, and the rest of us had to stay behind to restrain him.” She aimed a savage kick at the rebellious prisoner’s side, making him double over and wheeze softly.

“You mean to tell me,” the Warden began, in the deceptively calm and civil tone that all veteran prison guards knew to back away very quickly from, “That we have a skiapod with active cloaking loose in our facilities, and you didn’t see fit to alert anyone to this fact and sent only two guards after her?”

“B-but sir, she has an experimental Druid tracking chip implanted in her skull, a safety feature they installed after she nearly broke out last time,” one of the other guards stammered confusedly. “She won’t be able to get far, I assure you.”
“Be that as it may,” the Warden replied, scowling, “Veil is a gladiator with over 10 wins to her name. How much havoc do you think she could cause before she’s apprehended? And here you three are, wasting time on a prisoner you’ve already caught!”
“But sir, he tried to escape-”
“I don’t care what he did,” the Warden growled, stalking closer to his three subordinates. A closer look at the guards and the scuffs and dents in their armor, not to mention the bleeding lip one was sporting, showed that, true to his reputation, the Champion had given as good as he had gotten before he’d finally been subdued. “You are Galra soldiers, and you best start acting like it unless you want to be demoted to kitchen duty or arena fodder for the likes of his ilk for the rest of your careers, however short they end up being. Now get going and find Veil before she kills someone. I’ve lost enough guards this quarter, and I don’t feel like having to write up yet another report.”

“But what about Champion, sir?” the last of the guards asked weakly, as his associates wisely left as fast as they could with their dignity still intact.

“I’m sorry, did I ask for your input, soldier?” the Warden growled, baring his sharp teeth in what could be called a smile only in the loosest definition of the word. He stalked forward to stand beside the gladiator’s huddled form, towering over the guard ominously. “I believe I gave you a job to do. I suggest you start doing it in the next half tick, or you will have problems, and one misbehaving prisoner will be the least of them.”

“No, sir, yessir, forgive me, sir!” the guard backpedaled down the hall so rapidly that the sight would have been quite amusing had the Warden not been in such a foul mood. Incompetents, the lot of them. At least the drones, as unimaginative and dull as they were, could at least manage to follow orders. And now he had an escaped prisoner on the loose and a rebellious gladiator with an apparent hero complex to deal with. His work was never done.

“226-4KJX,” he said, glancing to his right at one of the three personal drones that had been accompanying him. The robot’s visor brightened in acknowledgement at being addressed. “Put out a facility-wide Gold alert for an escaped prisoner. I want everyone to be on the lookout for that wench until we know she’s been caught, just in case those buffoons are unable to track her down.”

“Yes sir,” the drone intoned obediently.

“As for you,” the Warden reached down and fisted his large, clawed hand in Champion’s disheveled hair, pulling him to his feet and wrenching his head up and back so he could look him in the eye. The creature was unable to stifle his grunt of pain at the rough handling, but did not back down, glaring at the Warden defiantly despite the spark of fear the other could see hidden deep in his dark eyes, one already starting to swell shut from the beating he’d taken previously. “Don’t think I don’t know you started acting up just to let your fellow gladiator get away. I’ve seen some of your fights, I know your type. But you can’t leave well enough alone, can you? No, you have to get involved. You have to make trouble. They may call you Champion in the arena, but here? As far as I’m concerned, you act out in my prison, all you are is a troublemaker. And as a general rule, I’m not very fond of troublemakers. They tend to make my job a whole lot harder than it already is. So congratulations, from here on out, I’m going to be keeping a very close eye on you.”
“But,” he continued, still keeping a tight grip on the Champion’s hair. “I’m afraid that after thirty megacycles at this job, you prisoners all tend to start to look the same to me. I’m going to need a way to pick you out of the crowd at a glance.” The Warden tapped his finger against his chin in a show of deep thought before appearing to decide on a solution. “Ah, I have just the thing.”

In one fluid motion, he unsheathed the large dagger strapped to his thigh and brought the tip of it to rest against the unblemished skin beneath the outer edge of Champion’s right eye. The smaller alien stiffened and went completely still, his eyes going wide and his breath hitching in his throat as the cold, razor-sharp metal bit shallowly into his pale flesh.

“You see, Champion,” the Warden said conversationally, digging his blade into the prisoner’s skin and beginning to draw a precise, linear slash across it, holding him firmly immobile despite his instinctual attempts to jerk his head away, “I don’t care who you were before. Your name, your occupation, your rank, all of it, it doesn’t matter to me. As long as you live in my prison, I own you.” A brief, muffled cry of pain fought its way past Champion’s clenched, blunt teeth as the dagger slashed mercilessly across the bridge of his nose, a continual stream of the disgusting, bright crimson swill that passed for his blood trickling steadily down his face. “And I suggest you learn to accept that fact sooner rather than later.”

The dagger finally came to a halt under the prisoner’s left eye. The Warden flicked blood off the serrated blade before slipping it back into its sheath. He then surveyed the deep, straight gash that had been carved into the Earthling’s face and the unshed tears that had welled up in his eyes at the pain with no small amount of satisfaction, and then unceremoniously threw him back to the floor. The alien hit the ground with a faint moan, curling up instinctively on his side in an attempt to protect himself from further harm.

“Don’t catch my attention like this again, Champion,” the Warden commented conversationally, getting down to one knee beside the prisoner’s shaking form. “If I have to step in a second time, I won’t be so lenient. Hopefully this,” he tapped the bridge of the other’s nose like a parent scolding a naughty child, blithely ignoring the sharp gasp of pain the action provoked, “will help you remember that. Because I never forget the prisoners I’ve marked.” Without waiting for a response, the Warden got to his feet and jabbed a bloodstained finger at one of the drones.

“You. Take the Champion to his cell. The rest of you, come with me. We have a gladiator to catch.”

-0-0-

Oh look, my first piece of Voltron fanart and predictably it's of someone suffering. (I'm sorry Shiro I love you I swear.) But yeah, this has been my headcanon for Shiro's scar pretty much from day one. How it happened in canon remains to be seen, but to me that thing is way too clean and precise for me to think it could have been obtained in the heat of battle. It had to have done deliberately. This was the first scenario that came to mind when I thought about possible reasons why.

As to why Shiro's hair is longer and he has a bit of scruff here, let's face it, how many times do you think he would have had access to grooming supplies in prison? Probably not many. He also has more scars because it's my headcanon I do what I want.

GRR this pic AND the ficlet fought me the entire way through to completion, but I'm pretty happy with how they turned out in the end, all things considered.

Description

“Just what,” the large, imposing Galra officer known only as the Warden said slowly as he regarded the three guards standing over an alien prisoner, “is going on here?” The creature was kneeling hunched over on the floor, hands cuffed behind his back, breathing heavily as he glowered defiantly at the closest guard, who still had her arm raised as if to club him with the butt of her gun again.

“Sir!” The guard snapped to attention and saluted, the other two doing the same, “We were escorting the gladiators Champion and Veil to their cells, when Veil broke free and activated her cloaking ability. She was obviously trying to escape, so two of us ran after her to recapture her, but Champion began to fight back as well, and the rest of us had to stay behind to restrain him.” She aimed a savage kick at the rebellious prisoner’s side, making him double over and wheeze softly.

“You mean to tell me,” the Warden began, in the deceptively calm and civil tone that all veteran prison guards knew to back away very quickly from, “That we have a skiapod with active cloaking loose in our facilities, and you didn’t see fit to alert anyone to this fact and sent only two guards after her?”

“B-but sir, she has an experimental Druid tracking chip implanted in her skull, a safety feature they installed after she nearly broke out last time,” one of the other guards stammered confusedly. “She won’t be able to get far, I assure you.”
“Be that as it may,” the Warden replied, scowling, “Veil is a gladiator with over 10 wins to her name. How much havoc do you think she could cause before she’s apprehended? And here you three are, wasting time on a prisoner you’ve already caught!”
“But sir, he tried to escape-”
“I don’t care what he did,” the Warden growled, stalking closer to his three subordinates. A closer look at the guards and the scuffs and dents in their armor, not to mention the bleeding lip one was sporting, showed that, true to his reputation, the Champion had given as good as he had gotten before he’d finally been subdued. “You are Galra soldiers, and you best start acting like it unless you want to be demoted to kitchen duty or arena fodder for the likes of his ilk for the rest of your careers, however short they end up being. Now get going and find Veil before she kills someone. I’ve lost enough guards this quarter, and I don’t feel like having to write up yet another report.”

“But what about Champion, sir?” the last of the guards asked weakly, as his associates wisely left as fast as they could with their dignity still intact.

“I’m sorry, did I ask for your input, soldier?” the Warden growled, baring his sharp teeth in what could be called a smile only in the loosest definition of the word. He stalked forward to stand beside the gladiator’s huddled form, towering over the guard ominously. “I believe I gave you a job to do. I suggest you start doing it in the next half tick, or you will have problems, and one misbehaving prisoner will be the least of them.”

“No, sir, yessir, forgive me, sir!” the guard backpedaled down the hall so rapidly that the sight would have been quite amusing had the Warden not been in such a foul mood. Incompetents, the lot of them. At least the drones, as unimaginative and dull as they were, could at least manage to follow orders. And now he had an escaped prisoner on the loose and a rebellious gladiator with an apparent hero complex to deal with. His work was never done.

“226-4KJX,” he said, glancing to his right at one of the three personal drones that had been accompanying him. The robot’s visor brightened in acknowledgement at being addressed. “Put out a facility-wide Gold alert for an escaped prisoner. I want everyone to be on the lookout for that wench until we know she’s been caught, just in case those buffoons are unable to track her down.”

“Yes sir,” the drone intoned obediently.

“As for you,” the Warden reached down and fisted his large, clawed hand in Champion’s disheveled hair, pulling him to his feet and wrenching his head up and back so he could look him in the eye. The creature was unable to stifle his grunt of pain at the rough handling, but did not back down, glaring at the Warden defiantly despite the spark of fear the other could see hidden deep in his dark eyes, one already starting to swell shut from the beating he’d taken previously. “Don’t think I don’t know you started acting up just to let your fellow gladiator get away. I’ve seen some of your fights, I know your type. But you can’t leave well enough alone, can you? No, you have to get involved. You have to make trouble. They may call you Champion in the arena, but here? As far as I’m concerned, you act out in my prison, all you are is a troublemaker. And as a general rule, I’m not very fond of troublemakers. They tend to make my job a whole lot harder than it already is. So congratulations, from here on out, I’m going to be keeping a very close eye on you.”
“But,” he continued, still keeping a tight grip on the Champion’s hair. “I’m afraid that after thirty megacycles at this job, you prisoners all tend to start to look the same to me. I’m going to need a way to pick you out of the crowd at a glance.” The Warden tapped his finger against his chin in a show of deep thought before appearing to decide on a solution. “Ah, I have just the thing.”

In one fluid motion, he unsheathed the large dagger strapped to his thigh and brought the tip of it to rest against the unblemished skin beneath the outer edge of Champion’s right eye. The smaller alien stiffened and went completely still, his eyes going wide and his breath hitching in his throat as the cold, razor-sharp metal bit shallowly into his pale flesh.

“You see, Champion,” the Warden said conversationally, digging his blade into the prisoner’s skin and beginning to draw a precise, linear slash across it, holding him firmly immobile despite his instinctual attempts to jerk his head away, “I don’t care who you were before. Your name, your occupation, your rank, all of it, it doesn’t matter to me. As long as you live in my prison, I own you.” A brief, muffled cry of pain fought its way past Champion’s clenched, blunt teeth as the dagger slashed mercilessly across the bridge of his nose, a continual stream of the disgusting, bright crimson swill that passed for his blood trickling steadily down his face. “And I suggest you learn to accept that fact sooner rather than later.”

The dagger finally came to a halt under the prisoner’s left eye. The Warden flicked blood off the serrated blade before slipping it back into its sheath. He then surveyed the deep, straight gash that had been carved into the Earthling’s face and the unshed tears that had welled up in his eyes at the pain with no small amount of satisfaction, and then unceremoniously threw him back to the floor. The alien hit the ground with a faint moan, curling up instinctively on his side in an attempt to protect himself from further harm.

“Don’t catch my attention like this again, Champion,” the Warden commented conversationally, getting down to one knee beside the prisoner’s shaking form. “If I have to step in a second time, I won’t be so lenient. Hopefully this,” he tapped the bridge of the other’s nose like a parent scolding a naughty child, blithely ignoring the sharp gasp of pain the action provoked, “will help you remember that. Because I never forget the prisoners I’ve marked.” Without waiting for a response, the Warden got to his feet and jabbed a bloodstained finger at one of the drones.

“You. Take the Champion to his cell. The rest of you, come with me. We have a gladiator to catch.”

-0-0-

Oh look, my first piece of Voltron fanart and predictably it's of someone suffering. (I'm sorry Shiro I love you I swear.) But yeah, this has been my headcanon for Shiro's scar pretty much from day one. How it happened in canon remains to be seen, but to me that thing is way too clean and precise for me to think it could have been obtained in the heat of battle. It had to have done deliberately. This was the first scenario that came to mind when I thought about possible reasons why.

As to why Shiro's hair is longer and he has a bit of scruff here, let's face it, how many times do you think he would have had access to grooming supplies in prison? Probably not many. He also has more scars because it's my headcanon I do what I want.

GRR this pic AND the ficlet fought me the entire way through to completion, but I'm pretty happy with how they turned out in the end, all things considered.