Quaritch stood behind the observation glass, arms folded, watching the first Avatar bodies stumble through training below.

"Look at 'em," he muttered. "Like newborn deer with college degrees."

One nearly fell. Another overcorrected and crashed into a wall. The scientists called it adaptation. Quaritch called it expensive chaos. He studied the awkward movements, the raw strength hidden beneath unfamiliar limbs. These weren't soldiers. Not yet. Just tools learning how to wear skin that wasn't theirs.

A scientist stepped beside him, watching proudly.

"You sure you can keep 'em in line?" Quaritch asked. "Because Pandora doesn't care about good intentions."

Below, an Avatar dropped to one knee, breathing hard as it fought for balance.

Quaritch's gaze never left the bay.