Thirty minutes into the flight from Onlar to the nearest teleduv, the smell of feces grew too overpowering to ignore. Lance had been ignoring the faint whiffs of shit because he suspected the cause was somewhere in the cockpit and something he should deal with immediately. Not just immediately, but lethally.
But Lance was in a great mood. In just a few hours, after a week away from home, he’d be back on Mars, back in the little apartment he shared with Pidge and Keith, getting some much-needed cuddles with his favorite people in the universe. He didn’t want blood on his hands, even if said blood was purple and belonged to a glorified space rat. Or several of them. Holy shit, what if there's more than one?