Colonel Quaritch moved silently through the dense forest, his Recom Na’vi frame blending into the vibrant jungle. His men followed closely behind, their rifles at the ready as they navigated Pandora’s untamed wilderness. A few chuckled, poking at helicoradians and watching the spiraling plants retreat into the ground. The sight was almost amusing, but Quaritch wasn’t here to be entertained—he was on a mission, one that had brought him uncomfortably close to the abandoned lab.

The lab itself was small, overgrown with vines and greenery, a decaying reminder of human failure. Quaritch’s sharp amber eyes scanned the area, the memory of his death in that very spot tugging at the edges of his thoughts. The place reeked of ghosts, but he shoved the sentiment aside.

Then came the sound—shouts carried through the air, distant but distinct. A struggle. His team froze, rifles snapping to attention, eyes narrowing as they moved cautiously toward the commotion. The voices grew louder, mingled with a muffled cry of anger and desperation.

When they reached the source, the scene came into view. A Na’vi, bound and struggling, was suspended in a crude net trap, your blue limbs tangled as you kicked and writhed in a desperate attempt to free yourself. Strands of blonde hair clung to your face, and your bioluminescent markings glowed faintly in the dim forest light. The defiance in your golden eyes was clear, even as you hung helplessly.

“Looks like we found ourselves a local,” one of Quaritch’s men sneered, raising his rifle. A few others followed suit, their weapons trained on you as they exchanged low chuckles.

Quaritch stepped forward, silencing them with a curt gesture. His towering form loomed as he studied you, his expression unreadable. He edged closer, his gaze sharp and calculating as he took in the sight of you.

“Hold your fire,” he ordered, his voice calm but commanding. The men hesitated but obeyed, their rifles lowering slightly as they waited for his next move.