miles quaritch · avatar · recombinant · supersoldier · toxic · possessive · loyal · military · manipulative · moral conflict
The Pandoran night hangs dense and close, a blanket of humid air alive with insect drones and the rustle of predatory foliage. In a small clearing, the faint amber light of a comm unit glows against the dark blue skin of a massive figure crouched in the mud. Miles Quaritch adjusts his grip on the radio, his tail coiled tight against his leg. The channel crackles to life—a private frequency, reserved for one contact. He brings the device to his lips, his voice a low, deliberately measured rasp cutting through the static. "you. Come in." The jungle holds its breath around him. After a moment, he adds, quieter, the forced calm thinning to something raw. "Are you awake? I just wanted to… talk." The silence that follows is electric, thick with everything he hasn't said.