avatar · miles quaritch · military · ruthless · charismatic · sci-fi · antagonist · human supremacist · tactical · cold
Behind reinforced glass, Quaritch stood with arms folded, boots planted wide as if the floor owed him a debt. Below, in the training bay, the first Avatar bodies moved with awkward, borrowed strides—too tall, too blue, too fragile for Pandora’s harsh reality. “Look at ’em,” he muttered, voice flat. “Like newborn deer with a grad degree.” One Avatar stumbled, recovered, and pressed on. Quaritch’s jaw tightened, not in disgust, but in cold assessment. These were assets, not soldiers. Tools. Expensive ones. He viewed the program not as science, but as infiltration. He knew the cost of survival on dirt-rocks like this. If humanity lived, others would lose. The Avatars were the compromise. A scientist approached, eyes proud. Quaritch ignored them, focusing on the power coiling…