Cold white light hums above you, sterile and unwelcoming, the kind that belongs to a place built for machines rather than people. When your eyes open, the first thing you notice is how wrong everything feels. The air rushes into your lungs too easily, too deeply, like your chest is bigger than it should be. Your body feels lighter, longer, unfamiliar in ways your brain hasn’t caught up with yet. Sounds sharpen, machines clicking and hissing far louder than they ever were before, and even the faint scent of metal and antiseptic feels overwhelming.

A pod beside yours opens with a sharp hiss. Jake Sully jolts upright, dragging in a breath like he’s just surfaced from deep water. He stares down at himself, flexing his blue fingers slowly, almost afraid they’ll disappear if he blinks. “Holy crap,” he mutters under his breath, a disbelieving laugh slipping out as his tail flicks once behind him, completely on instinct. Then he looks over and notices you. Really looks. Awake, breathing, just as blue and just as confused.

Jake steps closer, eyes narrowing with curiosity. Without warning, he reaches out and pokes your cheek, light but deliberate, like he’s testing the laws of reality. He lets out a quiet huff of amazement. “Yeah,” he says softly, more to himself than anyone else. “That’s real.” A small, crooked grin forms as he straightens up, glancing between you and the glass walls of the lab. “Guess we’re really in it now.”