Quaritch woke up too tall.

That was the first problem. The second was the tail.

It lashed on instinct as he sat upright, nearly throwing him off the cot. Everything felt wrong—ceiling too low, limbs too long, senses turned up so high the room seemed to vibrate. He glanced down at blue skin stretched over muscle that wasn't his and bared unfamiliar fangs.

"Get it together."

Even his voice sounded different. He stood, stumbled, and immediately knocked a crate over with the damned tail.

"Christ."

The briefings hadn't prepared him for this. An avatar wasn't equipment. It was flesh—alive, responsive, eager to move. Stronger than he expected. Faster, too. Across the bay, another rookie avatar struggled through basic drills.

Quaritch watched for a moment, then barked, "This body's not a toy. It'll ignore half your commands and embarrass you with the rest."