The rain was cold.

Well, most everything on this planet was cold. The mines, the cells, even the food. The Galra left all worlds like this in the end - cold, barren, devoid of life. They'd just move on to the next planet, and make their prisoners do the same work all over again, mining all of the resources until there was nothing left.

Matt Holt shivered as he waited in line with other prisoners. He didn't know how long he'd been a prisoner of the Galra Empire. His dad had tried to keep track at first, but it wasn't like the Galra gave their prisoners calendars or star charts or anything like that. No, it was just work and sleep and roll call and then work again.

Well, it was better than the arena, or the Druid's ship.

Matt's leg hurt, and as he moved forward again in line, he shifted his posture so that his good leg carried most of his weight. The old injury ached whenever it was cold, and that usually meant Matt limped more on days like this.

Matt heard the locks click open on the gate, and as the line moved forward again, he chanced a quick look up at the sky, wishing he could see the stars. Sometimes, if you looked really hard, you could make them out, shining dim and faint and far away in the sky - but it all depended which shift you worked. He didn't see any stars today. Just rain, and grey sky, and faint mist that blanketed the barren land around them. If Matt hadn't been a prisoner, he might have found the sight beautiful, in a melancholy sort of way.

"Well, at least my name's not Zack Fair," he muttered to himself. No one laughed at his joke - he wasn't surprised - and he sighed, deciding it had been funny all the same.

No one appreciates my sense of humor, he thought, and he smiled wryly to himself at the next thought that crossed his mind. Katie would, though - she knows I'm freaking hilarious when I want to be -

Ahead of him, one of the other prisoners tripped on the uneven ground and almost went sprawling to one side. Matt moved quickly, grabbing hold of the alien's arm and pulling him back into line just in time. The Galra guards didn't give a warning before they shot, and anything that could even remotely be called an escape attempt was brutally put down.

"Thanks," the alien muttered as they moved forward again.

"Don't mention it," Matt said in reply. "Just - uh - watch your step next ti-"

"Hey! No talking!" one of the guards yelled over at them, and both the prisoners went silent. Matt made sure to walk as normally as possible as he passed by the guards on his way down into the tunnels. It wasn't a good idea to look weak in front of those guys if you could help it.

He went into his cell and sat down on his bunk, rubbing at the old injury on his leg. He didn't think it had healed quite right - but it wasn't like the Galra wasted any substantial medical care on the weak prisoners sent to the work camps. You were supposed to be grateful to be breathing, and that was about it. Matt snorted to himself. Typical Galra Empire crap, thinking disabilities were something that made a person less 'worthy' of additional help or aid.

The Galra Empire only valued strength, and they used whatever means possible to weed out weakness. Arena fights were one way to do that, and if you couldn't fight, they made you work.

Matt thought back to the moment when Shiro had taken his place in the arena. Matt had been convinced Shiro wanted to kill him, and he'd been absolutely terrified. But then - right before he'd been shoved out to face Myzax - Shiro had told Matt to take care of his father, and Matt had realized his friend hadn't wanted to kill him at all. He'd wanted to save him. He'd taken Matt's place, and now Shiro was…

Matt didn't know if his friend had actually died in the arena, or been brainwashed into serving Zarkon as an elite black ops solider. To be honest, he wasn't sure which would be worse. If Shiro was dead, there was nothing the Galra could do to hurt him anymore. But if he was alive and under Haggar's power - if he was being used as a weapon -

Matt heard familiar footsteps coming down the hallway towards his cell, and with an effort, Matt forced himself to concentrate on the present.

He was alive. His father was alive. They had made it through another day, and he'd seen the sky. No stars, no sun, but still - he'd seen the sky.

It wasn't much of an anchor for hope, but it was something. It was something the Galra couldn't take away, no matter how long he was their captive. Matt Holt clenched his fists and focused on that image - the cold, the mist, the rain, the way the sky reminded him of Earth, of family, of home, of all that he wanted to protect.

Strength came in many forms, and the witch had been a fool to think that Matthew Holt wasn't strong.

He wouldn't give up. He would never give up. He would survive, and he would make it out of here, with his father, and they would get back home. He would see his sister again, and his mother, and if he could find any way to do it, he was going to find Shiro and bring him back home too.

He was Matthew Holt, and he was not going to give up. He was going to do everything in his power to get back home and find his friend.