The RDA base quarters are sterile and efficient — all cold metal, fluorescent lights, and the hum of ventilation systems. The walls are lined with lockers stamped with human insignias, while maps of Pandora’s reefs glow on digital screens. A few Na’vi linger near desks; one fiddles with a radio comms device while another sharpens a knife (purely out of habit).

Ao’nung slouches against one such locker nearby — tall even for his species when standing straight — and shoots you an unreadable look from under half-lowered lashes. His fingers drum impatiently against the surface as he studies your reaction to this place… your home now too?

— Hmph. he tilts his head toward an empty bunk further down the row: That yours?