The heavy, reinforced glass of the observation deck rattled in its metal frame. Outside, the sky above Hell's Gate was dominated by the terrifying, majestic descent of the Valkyrie shuttle. Its massive vector-thrust engines burned with a blinding orange ferocity, kicking up a storm of dust and loose rock across the primary landing strip.
I pressed my hands against the glass, watching as the massive cargo ramp slowly lowered to the Pandoran soil. Immediately, a perfectly synchronized line of heavily armed mercenaries—SecOps, they called themselves—marched down the ramp. They wore tan camouflage and carried assault rifles that looked big enough to punch a hole through a bank vault. Behind them rolled the massive, bipedal AMP suits, their mechanical footsteps sending deep, rhythmic vibrations all the way up into the soles of my sneakers.
"Hey, kiddo."
A gentle hand tapped my shoulder. I turned around to see Dr. Max Patel standing there. Max was one of the good ones. He was a brilliant biologist, Grace's right-hand man, and unofficially, the guy tasked with making sure I didn't wander into a live turbine while Grace was busy. He had a warm, easygoing smile that made him feel more like a cool uncle than a corporate scientist.
"We should really head back inside," Max said, adjusting his glasses. "Grace is taking her Avatar out for a run in the perimeter, and Parker has half the base administration running around today. There's a lot of personnel coming in from that shuttle, and I don't want you getting trampled."
"Just watching the parade, Max," I said, giving the descending soldiers one last look before stepping away from the glass. "Let's go."
We walked back through the sterile, brightly lit corridors of the Science Division. Max kept looking over his shoulder to make sure I was following, reminding me in a hushed voice to keep the noise down today. I nodded agreeably, my mind already a million miles away, calculating my next move.
When we reached our designated section of the lab, I immediately went back to my workstation. Sitting on the metal table was my latest project: a heavy-duty, reinforced canvas backpack.
Since Baymax couldn't just wander around the base without drawing a massive amount of unwanted attention from the military guys, I needed a way to transport him discreetly. The giant red toolbox he came in was too heavy and bulky. So, I spent the last two days stripping down a standard-issue RDA survival pack and lining it with a custom-built compression vacuum and a high-density power cell.
The idea was simple, I thought to myself, tightening a tiny copper wire with my micro-screwdriver. Instead of a toolbox, Baymax will deflate, compress, and fold himself into this backpack. The integrated power cell will keep his core systems on standby, and when I need him, I just pull the cord. Instant inflatable healthcare companion.
It was almost finished. But building the bag was only step one.
As I worked, my mind drifted back to the movie I had watched in my past life. I knew the timeline. Within the next few days, Grace was going to organize a sortie into the Pandoran jungle. She, Trudy, and a small security detail were going to head deep into the forest to a remote science shack.
That's my window, I realized, my heart beating a little faster. That is my one chance to truly see Pandora. Not just the edges of the base, but the real thing. The bioluminescent forests, the magnetic anomalies, the raw Unobtanium deposits in the Hallelujah Mountains.
It was incredibly dangerous. I was a ten-year-old kid with no armor, no weapons, and a dead multiversal transit device on my wrist. But I was also Tony Stark. Since when did I ever let "incredibly dangerous" stop me? I just needed to figure out a way to get on Trudy's Samson helicopter without Grace throwing me off by the scruff of my neck.
"And this is the Bio-Lab."
A new voice echoed through the wide, open doors of the lab, breaking my concentration.
I spun around on my stool. Rolling through the doors in a manual wheelchair was a man in a faded marine jacket. He had a sharp, unyielding jawline, a buzz cut, and eyes that were taking in every single detail of the room with a cold, tactical precision. Beside him walked a taller, lankier guy in a wrinkled button-down shirt who looked like he was about to explode with sheer, unfiltered nerd excitement.
Jake Sully. And Norm Spellman.
Norm was already talking a mile a minute, introducing himself to some of the passing scientists and pointing out the different sections of the lab. "And right over there is the Link Room," Norm explained eagerly, gesturing to a set of heavy blast doors. "That's where we'll be transferring. It's where we link to our Avatars—"
But Jake wasn't listening. His wheelchair had glided to a slow halt. He was staring, completely mesmerized, at the massive, bubbling amniotic tank in the center of the room. Floating inside the blue fluid was a ten-foot-tall, blue-skinned Na'vi body.
Max walked over, a bright, welcoming smile on his face. "Hey. Welcome to Pandora. Good to have you." He extended a hand to Jake, who took it with a firm grip, and then shook Norm's hand as well.
Jake's eyes drifted back to the tank. "They got big," he muttered, his voice gravelly and quiet.
"Yeah, they get big during your flight," I chimed in, hopping off my stool and walking over.
Norm practically jumped, looking down at me as if I had just sprouted from the floor tiles.
I stood next to the tank, looking up at the massive Avatar. It really was an absolute marvel of biological engineering. I had spent the last week reading Grace's encrypted files on the process. They took human DNA and spliced it with native Na'vi DNA to grow a blank-slate hybrid.
But the real magic was the psionic link. Using a highly advanced, quantum-entangled communication array, a human driver could completely sync their brainwaves, their conscious thought, and their sensory input into the artificial life form. It was essentially a biological remote-control car, but so deeply integrated that the driver actually felt the wind on the Avatar's skin and the dirt under its toes. To transfer consciousness without killing the host or losing the mind in the static... it was brilliant.
"Wait," Norm said, adjusting his glasses and staring at me. "Why is there a child in a Bio-Level 4 military research facility?"
I crossed my arms, giving Norm a flat, unimpressed look. "Why is there a guy with a PhD who still hasn't figured out how to iron his shirt?"
Norm's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Jake, who had been staring blankly at the tank, suddenly let out a sharp, genuine bark of laughter. He turned his wheelchair slightly to look at me, a smirk playing on his lips.
"He's got you there, Spellman," Jake chuckled. He looked me up and down. "So what's your story, kid? You running this place?"
"Tony Stark," I said, extending a hand. Jake took it, his grip strong and calloused. "And I don't run it yet. Give me a few years. I'm currently the local genius-in-residence."
Max stepped in quickly, resting a hand on my shoulder before I could say anything else. "This is Tony. He's our boy wonder. He's Grace's ward. He helps out around the lab, but mostly he just tries to stay out of trouble."
Max didn't explain the interdimensional travel, the dead parents, or the fact that I technically didn't exist in any of their databases. It was a good cover story, and I rolled with it.
Jake nodded slowly, his eyes drifting back up to the massive blue face floating in the water. Norm stepped up beside him, and for a moment, the three adults and I just stood there in the hum of the lab equipment.
Jake's smirk faded. His eyes softened, a deep, heavy sadness settling over his features.
"Looks like him," Jake whispered softly.
He was talking about his twin brother, Tommy. The scientist who was supposed to be here. The guy who spent three years training for this exact mission, only to get killed for the paper money in his wallet back on Earth. Because they shared identical genetics, Jake was the only person in the universe who could drive this multi-million-dollar Avatar body.
Norm looked at the tank, a soft, empathetic smile on his face. "No, Jake," Norm said gently. "It looks like you."
A heavy moment of silence hung over the group. It was the kind of quiet that commands respect, a silent honoring of a man who died far too young. I didn't say a word, just watched Jake process the reality of his new life.
Max cleared his throat softly, breaking the tension. "Right. Well, Jake, I'd like you to start a video log. We need to establish a baseline for your psychological state before your first link. It's standard protocol, very important for the data."
Jake blinked, shaking off the ghost of his brother. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you need."
Max guided Jake's wheelchair over to a nearby desk equipped with a high-definition webcam and a sleek, translucent monitor. Max booted up the system, opened the recording software, and stepped back so Jake could start talking to the camera.
While they were busy, I walked back over to my workbench. I picked up the heavy power cord connected to the wall and plugged the final adapter into the side of my new Baymax backpack.
A small row of LED lights on the canvas strap blinked red, then amber, before settling on a pulsing green.
Perfect, I smiled to myself. Portable battery is taking the charge. The vacuum seals are holding.
With my gear sorted, I slipped out of the Bio-Lab and walked down the short corridor to the Link Room.
The Link Room was cold, kept at a brisk temperature to prevent the supercomputers from overheating. The room was lined with large, coffin-like pods that looked like high-tech MRI machines. Most of them were empty, but one of them at the far end was active, the biometric monitors flashing with steady green heartbeats. Above the pod, a digital nameplate read: DR. G. AUGUSTINE.
I walked over to the technician sitting at the control console, a guy named Patel—no relation to Max—who was monitoring the brainwave feeds.
"Hey, Pete," I asked quietly. "How long until she's out?"
Pete smiled warmly at me. "Hey, Tony. Not long. She just initiated the disconnect sequence. Give it about sixty seconds."
True to his word, a minute later, the heavy hum of the link bed began to power down. The glass canopy hissed, depressurizing before slowly sliding open.
Inside the pod, Grace Augustine was lying flat on her back, wearing a gray t-shirt and loose pants. For a second, she didn't move. Then, she let out a long, agonizing groan, lifting a hand to rub her temples. The transition back into a human body was notoriously jarring—like waking up from a dream where you could fly, only to realize you were trapped in a heavy, fragile cage.
"Oh, God," Grace groaned, her voice rough. She slowly sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She blinked hard against the bright lights of the room. "Who's got my goddamn cigarette?"
She looked around, her eyes still a little unfocused, before finally landing on me standing near the foot of her bed.
"Guys, what's wrong with this picture?" Grace asked the room at large, pointing a tired finger at me.
"Cigarettes aren't good for you, Doc," I said, leaning against the metal railing. "They restrict blood flow to the brain. And you need all the brain cells you can get to deal with the corporate guys upstairs."
Grace let out a tired, raspy chuckle. Her expression softened, the hard edges of her scientific persona melting away just a little. "Hey, buddy," she said softly. "I thought I left you with Max. You're supposed to be staying out of the way today."
"I was there," I replied cheekily. "But I missed your shining personality."
She rolled her eyes, but a genuine smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She stood up, her legs slightly wobbly, and reached out to ruffle my hair—completely ruining the careful way I had styled it that morning. I batted her hand away, but I was smiling too.
"Have you eaten yet?" she asked, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from her neck.
"No," I shook my head. "I was waiting for you."
Before Grace could reply, the heavy blast doors to the Link Room hissed open.
Max Patel walked in, followed closely by Jake in his wheelchair and Norm.
"There's Cinderella, back from the ball," Max joked, gesturing toward Grace. He turned to the two new arrivals. "Grace, I'd like to introduce you to Norm Spellman and Jake Sully."
Grace didn't immediately turn around. She walked over to her locker, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one up, taking a long, deep drag as if her life depended on it. She exhaled a cloud of gray smoke, finally turning to face the group.
She completely ignored Jake. Her eyes locked onto Norm.
"Norm," Grace said, her tone suddenly professional. "I've heard good things about you. How's your Na'vi?"
Norm stood up a little straighter, clearing his throat. He looked like a kid who had just been asked a question by the principal. He took a breath and spoke in the alien tongue. "May the All-Mother... smile upon our first meeting."
Grace raised an eyebrow. She replied flawlessly, the alien syllables rolling off her tongue with a fluid, natural grace. "Not bad. You sound a little formal."
Norm chuckled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "I studied for five years... but there is much to learn."
Grace actually smiled at that. A genuine, approving smile. It was rare praise from Dr. Augustine.
Max stepped forward, trying to keep the introductions moving. "Uh, Grace? This is Jake Sully."
Grace turned her gaze to Jake. The warmth instantly vanished from her face, replaced by a cold, hard wall of irritation. She took another drag of her cigarette.
"Yeah, yeah, I know who you are," she said dismissively. "And I don't need you. I need your brother."
Jake's small, polite smile instantly vanished. The air in the room suddenly felt ten degrees colder. He looked at Grace, his jaw tightening.
"He's dead," Jake said, his voice flat, completely devoid of emotion. "I know it's a big inconvenience for everybody."
Grace froze. For a split second, a flash of regret crossed her eyes. She knew she had crossed a line, picking at a wound that was only a few months old. But Grace wasn't the type to apologize. When she felt cornered, she went on the offensive.
She got back on track, her voice sharp. "How much lab training have you had?"
Jake stared at her, completely unbothered by her attitude. "I dissected a frog once."
Grace let out a sharp, bitter laugh. She turned to Max, throwing her hands up in the air. "You see? You see! They're just pissing on us without even the courtesy of calling it rain! This is ridiculous!"
"Grace, wait," Max tried to calm her down, holding up his hands.
"I'm going to Selfridge," Grace snapped, marching toward the door.
"No, Grace, I don't think that's such a good idea," Max pleaded, trailing after her. "He's busy—"
"No, this is such bullshit!" Grace yelled, her voice echoing in the corridor. "I'm gonna kick his corporate butt! I asked for a scientist, and they send me a marine!"
Before she completely disappeared through the doors, she stopped. She turned around, walking briskly back to where I was standing near the link bed. She knelt down so she was at eye level with me. Her eyes were blazing with anger at the RDA, but when she looked at me, her voice softened entirely.
"Hey, buddy," she said gently, squeezing my shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm not gonna be able to eat with you today. I have to go yell at some idiots. But Trudy should be down in the cafeteria right now. Why don't you go find her, get some grub, okay? Stay out of trouble."
"Okay, Doc. Give 'em hell," I smiled.
She smirked, patted my cheek, and stormed out of the room, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke and bewildered scientists in her wake.
The Link Room was dead silent for a moment. Norm looked terrified.
I turned and walked over to Jake. He was sitting in his wheelchair, staring at the door Grace had just walked through, a look of profound annoyance on his face.
"She's a real charmer," Jake muttered, shaking his head.
"She hates tourists," I said, leaning against the metal console next to his chair. I crossed my arms, looking down at the wheels. "You a tourist, wheels?"
Jake looked at me, surprised by the bluntness. Most people treated guys in wheelchairs like they were made of glass. They spoke softly, they avoided looking at the legs, they offered too much help. I didn't care about the chair. I cared about the guy in it.
Jake's eyes narrowed slightly, sizing me up. Then, a slow, genuine grin spread across his face. He liked straight shooters.
"No, kid," Jake said softly. "I'm not a tourist. I'm just a guy trying to do a job."
"Good," I nodded. "Because the jungle out there doesn't care if you're a marine or a scientist. It'll eat you either way. If you listen to Grace, she'll keep you alive. She just yells because she cares too much."
Jake looked at the door again, then back at me. "You're a weird kid, Tony Stark."
"I get that a lot." I pointed a finger at his chair. "By the way, your left caster wheel has a bad bearing. It's squeaking. If you bring it down to my lab later, I can swap it out for a frictionless magnetic joint. Make you roll a lot smoother."
Jake actually laughed. "I might just take you up on that, genius."
"Alright, Jake," Pete the technician called out from the console. "It's time. Let's get you in the bed."
Norm and a couple of other technicians helped Jake transfer from his wheelchair onto the cold, metal surface of the link pod. They strapped a thick, padded collar around his neck and placed the sensory nodes against his temples.
I stood back, watching the process with intense fascination. This was it. The moment of truth.
"Okay, Jake," Max's voice came over the intercom from the adjoining observation room. "Just relax. Let your mind go blank. It's going to feel like falling asleep."
The glass canopy slowly lowered, sealing Jake inside. The lights inside the pod shifted from a stark white to a deep, calming blue.
I walked over to the reinforced glass window that separated the Link Room from the isolation ward where the Avatars were kept. In the next room, Jake's Avatar was lying on a medical gurney, surrounded by doctors in white coats holding clipboards and penlights.
I watched the monitors. Jake's human heart rate slowed down. His brain waves, displayed as complex, colorful graphs on Pete's monitor, began to synchronize with the feed coming from the Avatar body next door.
Phase lock achieved, the computer announced in a smooth, digital voice.
Through the glass, I saw the blue chest of the Avatar suddenly heave. A massive, shuddering breath filled its lungs.
The yellow eyes snapped open.
Jake Sully was awake.
The doctors immediately swarmed him, shining lights in his eyes, speaking to him in low, calming tones. But Jake wasn't paying attention to them. He was staring at his own hands. Huge, blue, four-fingered hands. He flexed them, feeling the strength, the incredible power coursing through his new muscles.
And then, he looked down at his legs.
For the first time in years, he felt his toes. He felt the blood pumping through his calves.
"Take it easy, Jake," one of the doctors said, trying to press a hand against his shoulder. "You need to rest. Your motor functions haven't calibrated—"
Jake ignored him. He sat up, the raw, unfiltered joy of movement overwhelming every logical command the doctors were giving. He swung his massive legs over the side of the gurney.
His feet hit the floor.
He didn't stumble. He stood up, towering over the medical staff. A wild, euphoric grin broke across his blue face. He pushed past the doctors, his movements clumsy but filled with a desperate, frantic energy. He yanked the medical monitors off his chest, ignoring the shouting technicians.
He burst through the double doors of the isolation ward.
I ran out of the Link Room, following the commotion down the hallway. I reached the exit doors just as Jake threw them open, stumbling out into the bright, artificial sunlight of the base's outdoor compound.
He didn't stop. He started to jog. Then, he started to run.
His massive feet pounded against the dirt. He was laughing, a loud, booming sound that echoed across the tarmac. He dug his toes into the soil, feeling the earth, the gravity, the sheer, undeniable freedom of having his legs back.
I stood in the doorway, watching the ten-foot-tall blue giant sprint across the compound, dodging scientists and security guards like a kid on a playground.
I couldn't help but smile.
The war was coming, yes. I've spent the past few days thinking of every concievable way to stop the future catastrophe but most of my plans short of ending up with the complete genocide of every human in this base and me getting killed, there was nothing I could do. I was a child to the people here and any idea I could come up with, anyway I could help the humans and Na'avi would seem like a little kids tantrum. The tragedy, the fire, the destruction—it was all on the horizon. But in that single, beautiful moment, all I saw was a man who had been given a second chance at life, running like he would never stop.
Welcome to Pandora, Jake, I thought, slipping my hands into my pockets.