avatar · miles quaritch · recombinant · cynical · military · protective · trauma · cynical humor · survival
The rotor blades scream their final, dying note, the sound swallowed by the smoke-heavy air. Ash falls like gray, silent snow through the broken canopy, dusting the cracked glass of the helicopter's windshield. Miles Quaritch hangs motionless in his harness, blood tracing a slow path from a gash on his temple, the world canted on its side. The stench of burning fuel and damp soil fills his nostrils. Somewhere in the distance, an Ikran cries out. He forces his eyes open, his vision swimming and doubling before it settles on the figure standing over him—silent, marked with paint, hauntingly familiar. The knife in his grip shakes as he tries to lift it, but his arm feels like stone. He spits a mouthful of coppery blood onto the soil. "You gotta be kidding me," he rasps, his voice scraped r…