#project 880

You have worked really hard to earn your place at the RDA. Not just hard, relentless. The kind of effort that did not let you sleep, burned through your patience with every question that you got wrong, and left ink stains permanently etched into the sides of your fingers. You had carved your way here, one exam, one paper, one sleepless night at a time, and many, many nights crying out of desperation and exhaustion.

You, like most from your generation, had grown up with the documentaries about Pandora, grainy at first, then sharper as the years passed, where they showed you this incredible planet far away. A world full of creatures that looked like they had been pulled from fantasies too vivid to be real, with vegetation so luminous and alien that Earth felt dull in comparison. Forests that breathed. Mountains that floated. A sky filled with stars.

It was like a dream come true, really.

You were captivated by that world and the Na'vi since you were a child. While other kids decorated their rooms with celebrities, superheroes, or athletes, your walls were layered with clipped photographs of bioluminescent forests, ikrans mid-flight, and tall, blue figures standing in the forest, curiously staring back at the camera that filmed them.

Your parents fed into your obsession, gently at first, then wholeheartedly once they realized that it was not going to leave any time soon. They bought every publication they could find, sat with you through late-night broadcasts, and listened as you recited facts you had memorized.

This meant that from an early age, in your sixth grade, after a long conversation with your biology teacher who had leaned forward with the same spark in her eyes as you did, you had decided: you would go to Pandora, one way or the other.

Not if. Not maybe. You would find a way to board one of the RDA’s ships and see it for yourself.

This meant lots and lots of studying, of course. So much so, in fact, you would get frequent nosebleeds, headaches, and a constant back pain, your body protesting the hours you forced it to endure. You learned to ignore them. You learned to press a tissue to your nose with one hand, stretch a bit, and keep writing with the other.

You barely had a social life whatsoever to speak of at the end of your senior year, you were never even invited to a single party, but it was worth it. You didn't need the whole school to be your friends anyway; just a couple of nerds who had their own obsessions were more than enough.

RDA had many different operations that you could have chosen from: private military, research, construction, and mining, for example. It was a massive, sprawling machine of an organization at that point with thousands of workers. But the one you had set your eyes on was SciOps.

They were different. They weren’t just there to extract resources. They were there to understand.

SciOps was made up of scientists, researchers, and thinkers. They studied Pandora, documented it, and tried to bridge the impossible gap between human and Na’vi while also looking into whether the vegetation there could survive back at home as well. And most importantly, they handled the AVTR Program.

Yes. That program that lets you walk among the Na’vi.

The program meant you wouldn’t just observe Pandora from behind a glass, you would be part of it.

At first, you had thought about Xenobiology. It seemed like the obvious path; catalog the creatures, understand the ecosystems, be among the first to name the unknown... But somewhere in your high school years, something in your goals shifted.

It happened unexpectedly, really: A recorded interview between the Tsahik and Dr Richard Carter was the reason. A linguist speaking Na’vi fluently, the sounds flowing like music to your ears, like something alive.

You replayed it again. And again. And again.

You realized then that you didn’t just want to study Pandora. You wanted to speak to it. To understand the Na’vi not as subjects, but as people. So your plan shifted and went towards Xenolinguistics instead.

There were just a few fields that the RDA accepted for the program: Exoanthropology, Neuroscience, Biochemistry, and Ecology were just a few of them. Finding a university that actually gave classes on xenolinguistics was even rarer. And even then, the bar was brutally high. A master’s degree at a minimum. A PhD if you wanted any real say in research.

And even after all of that…nothing was guaranteed. Not really. You knew this. Everyone knew this. There were thousands like you, brilliant, driven, obsessed, competing for those handful of positions. People who had sacrificed just as much, maybe more.

Still, you didn't stop. Couldn't, really. Because somewhere between the first photograph you taped to your wall and the last application you submitted, this stopped being a dream and turned into your life's purpose. You had spent all of your formative years on this path. What else could you do if you were to give up?

...Honestly? You did not even want to entertain that idea. It was far too painful.

You applied five times before they called you for an interview.

Five.

Five years of doing this again and again.

Each rejection had a polite but impersonal tone. "We regret to inform you..." this and that, that left you feeling hollow until the words lost their sting and became something expected.

Not that this ever stopped you.

It made sense, really. If it were that easy to get in, more people would have tried it, rather than seeing it as something impossible, like trying to be the President of the United States. At least they had the decency to actually tell you that you didn't get the job, rather than letting you keep dreaming until the end.

The fifth application had felt different when you sent it. Not hopeful, no, but more...confident? More prepared? Like placing the final piece in a structure you had spent years building after failing again and again and figuring things out, if that made sense.

Then, somehow…They called you.

You almost choked on your dinner when the e-mail came.

The interview was a disaster. At least, that’s what you had thought afterward.

You stuttered. You forgot key terms you had repeated a hundred times before. Your hands trembled so badly you had to clasp them together under the table, nails digging into your skin just to stay still. Your shirt clung to your back, damp with sweat, and every question felt like it came half a second too fast.

You watched their faces. More like glanced, really, because you failed miserably at keeping eye contact. They were measured, neutral, and almost impossible to read, however.

And when it was over, you walked out already bracing yourself for the next rejection.

You had fucked it up.

Again.

Your only consolation was that at least now you knew how they interviewed people and could prepare for the next attempt better, and maybe, after a few more years, they would actually consider hiring you.

Then, the e-mail came three days later.

It wasn't the rejection that you had been waiting for.

Not even close.

They asked you to confirm a date; to come in, to tour the base, and to discuss your options within the company. To talk about your future in the RDA.

Your future.

You read it once.

Then twice.

Then a third time.

Then a fourth.

Then a fifth.

Then you screamed for your mom to come and check just to make sure your eyes weren’t playing some cruel trick on you. Then your mom called for your dad to see it, too.

Then you broke. You actually sobbed: Shoulders shaking, breath hitching, nose dripping with snot and years of pressure cracking all at once as you laughed and cried in the same breath. Your parents joined you, too, and congratulated you through their own cries.

That night, you celebrated the only way that made sense: Cheap fast food, greasy fingers, and smiles so wide they hurt with your mom, dad, and a few friends who rushed to come to your apartment the moment you told them the good news.

It tasted better than anything you've ever had.

Reality, however, came quickly.

At the job, during that tour, you learned something that no documentary had really mentioned in great detail because it was probably too boring for the standard viewer: the journey. One trip to Pandora took around twelve to twenty years.

And this didn't even include the time you would spend there.

Twelve to twenty years to get there and back.

And what did that mean in the long run?

You wouldn’t see your family, friends, or anyone for probably more than two decades.

Your chest tightened.

Your father was already in his seventies.

At that point—

You swallowed hard.

You would never see him again.

The thought rooted itself in your mind and followed you home. It sat with you at the dinner table, even. You thought about it every awake moment and every possible scenario.

And finally, you said it out loud.

“I don’t think I can go.”

The silence that followed was quick, and your parents stared at you like you had said something incomprehensible, as if you had lost your damn mind, even.

How could you even think that? After everything you had worked for? After all those years, all those sacrifices—not just theirs, but yours? You couldn’t just put your life on hold for them!

...Is what they kept saying.

That wasn’t love.

That was fear.

You had to go.

You had to cut the cord and live your own life.

Your father’s voice, older but no less firm, cut through everything else.

“Do you think we raised you to stay?” he asked. “For you to be our caretakers? You know neither of us wants that. This is your life! Do what you want with it, and see that damn planet!"

Your mother’s eyes were wet, too, but she still smiled at you, nodding, trying to be encouraging, "Your dream is right there,” she said. “We’re not going to be the reason you turn away from it, especially when you are this close to getting it."

They kept insisting. Arguing. Pushing. Talking your ear out every moment they could find.

And in the end…You went back.

The next phase began before you ever saw a ship.

Neural Link Training.

Six months minimum, the paper said.

It sounded manageable when they explained it. After years of studying, learning, reading, and years of lessons, you thought it would be a piece of cake.

It was anything but.

You learned about link-pod acclimation: how your mind would interface with something that wasn’t your body. Bi-directional sensory calibration: how your brain would process input that didn’t match human norms. Motor synchronization: how to move a form that was taller, stronger, and built entirely differently.

A Na’vi body was something else, after all. It had a tail for balance, long legs, three fingers, bones reinforced with a type of naturally occurring carbon fiber and a totally different center of gravity.

Even your senses would shift: your smell sharper, your hearing wider, your vision tuned to a spectrum you had never experienced.

It wasn’t just learning. It was unlearning yourself and your body.

And that wasn’t all. They flooded you with knowledge. Books stacked higher than your old school desks: Pandoran ecosystems, neuro-linked fauna, toxicology reports filled with things that could kill you in seconds if you made a single mistake. You memorized plant structures, animal behaviors, and atmospheric compositions until it felt like your brain was about to melt out of your ears.

Every page was a reminder: Pandora was as deadly as it was beautiful.

Then came survival training. Everyone had to know basic self-defense, and most importantly, how to keep their mask on their face if they didn't want to suffocate.

Pandoran navigation was a must, too, and so was learning how to read an environment that didn't follow Earth's logic.

Zero-pressure breach response was a thing, too, and what to do when everything around you tried to eat you at once.

Atmospheric suit training was another thing because how to move, how to function, how not to panic when your own breath sounded too loud inside your helmet was important when you floated in space.

Even with all that knowledge, you knew better than to think that you could even last half a day outside the base. At least, as a human.

There were some other trainees with you, too. You learned their names slowly, between lectures and drills, or whenever you got the time. Some were like you: bright-eyed, driven by something that bordered on obsession. Others were more practical, more grounded. A few… You weren’t entirely sure why they were there at all.

Together, you studied remote field communication and how to relay information across interference-heavy terrain without panicking. You practiced live environment sampling, hands steady as you handled materials that, even in simulation, were treated like they could melt through your gloves if you got careless.

They split you into groups after that. Small ones, too. They put you into compact living quarters designed to mimic long-haul transit and isolated base conditions. At first, it didn’t seem so bad: tight, sure, but manageable.

Then the days stretched, and the air tasted recycled in a way that clung to your lungs and the back of your throat. It was not at all nice, to say the least. The worst part was the lack of privacy. You never thought you were a claustrophobic person, but even you barely managed to handle the tension.

This phase mattered more than most people realized. Because if you couldn’t handle this, the confinement, the isolation, the constant presence of others with nowhere to escape—

You couldn't just say "I give up! Send me back home, please!"

Not because they were cruel or anything, but because they couldn’t. They couldn’t afford it. That would be millions of wasted dollars that they would have to pay from their own pockets.

The RDA didn’t invest years of training, resources, and manpower just to turn around halfway through because someone panicked too late. If you broke, it had to happen here, where the cost was still acceptable. Not out there, when you were light-years away.

Twenty-two of the fifty trainees left at that point.

Some quietly.

Some... not as much.

One packed their things in the middle of the night and was gone by morning. Another snapped during a routine check-in, voice cracking as they demanded to get out. A few tried to push through and failed harder because of it.

You watched them go and felt this, kinda arrogant, you could admit, satisfaction that, unlike them, you had managed not to crack. You weren't going to lie to yourself, of course. There were a few close calls, nights when the walls felt too close, when your heartbeat wouldn’t slow, when the idea of spending years like this made your throat tighten more than you would have liked, but still, you were far too deep in this to just give up.

After that, and only after that, they trusted you with something more.

Unsupervised link time.

It felt like a threshold. A line you had been crawling toward for months. By then, you had logged seven hundred and fifty-two hours in training. You had completed over twenty Pandora field simulations, each one designed to break a different part of you, your awareness, your reaction time, your judgment.

You had an eighty-seven percent success rate. Not perfect, but pretty good.

Most of your supervisors liked you as well. You knew that, not because they said it outright, but because of the way they watched you. The way they gave feedback. The way they trusted you just a little more each time.

You were eager. You listened. You adapted. Yes, you questioned them from time to time, but you were ready to learn.

Apparently, that was rarer than it should have been.

Some of your future coworkers, the ones who made it this far, struggled with that. Too stubborn. Too sure of themselves. Too unwilling to adjust.

Pandora didn’t tolerate that, and neither did the program.

The last step came sooner than you expected. The RDA-approved safety and ethics exam, they said. “Standards,” they called it. You weren’t sure that word meant the same thing here as it did back home.

The questions were… simple.

Too simple.

Blunt, even, for a lack of a better word.

[What would you do if you came into contact with the natives of the planet?

A) Run.

B) Shoot.

C) Try to talk.

E) All of the above.]

They probably did this for formality's sake and not because they wanted their workers to actually give a damn about Pandora itself, because why else would questions look like they were written by a very poorly made AI? It probably helped that RDA was a non-governmental organization, and that the UN hadn't managed to put any regulations on interstellar resource harvesting just yet, so they could just half-ass the moral considerations of going to a different planet for now.

You still aced the test, though.

When you were told that you were finally ready to leave, and that all that remained was preparing you for the journey, it became the happiest and scariest day of your life.

You didn't even understand it at first, "...Ready to leave? Really?"

You had spent years chasing that sentence, let it shape your entire existence around it. And now that it was real, it didn’t feel like triumph alone. It felt like standing at the edge of something vast.

Preparation, it turned out, wasn’t just packing your life into a few approved containers and signing the last of the contracts.

They took DNA samples from you first. Blood, too, vials upon vials. Your genetic material would be paired with a Na’vi DNA sample already in their possession. From that, they would create an embryo, an Avatar. It would grow during transit, developing in sync with your journey so that, by the time you arrived…

It would be ready, just for you.

You were allowed to observe part of the process. Not all of it, there were still doors you weren’t cleared to pass, but enough to understand the scale of what was happening.

You watched as operators conducted physical screenings. Genome sequencing followed; your cells were mapped, analyzed, compared against something that was never meant to align with you.

The Na’vi genome was… different. Very different, at that.

Ninety-nine percent of trainee intake failed at this stage alone. That was what they told you.

The first attempt, as everyone had expected, failed.

Then another.

And another.

Until the thirty-seven attempts, that was.

You sat through each one, trying not to let your thoughts spiral every time a technician quietly shook their head or adjusted something on the screen, fearing that maybe this would be the reason you would have to give up on your dream, the only thing you could not work for.

Thirty-seven times before they finally got a viable match.

Thirty-seven times before someone said, “We’ve got it.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding for days, then.

You really didn’t want to know how much that alone had cost them. No wonder it was this hard to get into the AVTR Program.

Eventually, they brought you and the remaining trainees into the genetics lab. It was colder than the rest of the facility. They explained everything as they worked: chromosomal integration, growth acceleration, stability checks, and all the other things they had to do...

You tried to follow. You really did. But your attention kept drifting to the—

Vial.

It sat in front of you, suspended in a controlled environment, barely bigger than your index finger: thinner, even. Inside, something microscopic had already begun.

Something that was yours. And not yours at all.

You leaned closer, eyes tracing the faint shimmer within the fluid, trying to comprehend what you were looking at.

This.

This tiny, fragile thing—

Barely the size of a penny—

Would be ten feet tall the next time you saw it. Limbs long and strong.

Lungs that could breathe Pandora’s air. Eyes that could see what yours never could. It would float in its amniotic tank, nearly fully formed by the time you arrived. Not quite an adult, but close enough to step into the world you had spent your entire life dreaming about.

It was amazing, wasn't it?

After that brief trip, they didn’t give you much time to process anything before moving you along. The next stop was the Medical Bay, and the preparation for cryosleep sounded simple when they explained it the first time.

A medically induced coma.

Your body cooled.

Maintained at extremely low temperatures for the duration of the journey.

Some of the others compared it to hibernation.

You didn’t like that.

Hibernation sounded… natural.

This wasn’t. Far from it, actually.

You preferred to think of it as entering “tardigrade mode” like those microscopic creatures that could dry out, freeze, survive the vacuum of space, and then come back like nothing had happened.

Except you weren’t a tardigrade.

And there was no guarantee you’d come back unchanged.

The preparation itself was extensive. There were endless medical evaluations and scans that mapped you down to the smallest detail. Blood tests, again. Monitors tracking your heart, your lungs, and your brain activity, too.

They adjusted your diet. Very strictly, at that. What you ate. When you ate. How much you drank. Supplements added. Others removed. Even your medication intake was reviewed and modified with a precision that made it clear: nothing about this process allowed for randomness.

You were told to lose a few pounds, too.

And then there was the part they explained a little too casually, like they didn't want you to question it too much. It was the waking-up part.

They didn’t “wake” you. Not really.

They thawed you.

Gradually rewarming your body. Bringing you back from a state where everything inside you had been slowed to the brink of stillness.

Like defrosting a frozen chicken.

The comparison sat in your stomach in a way you couldn’t quite ignore.

Because it wasn’t just the imagery. It was what came with it.

Intracellular ice crystals.

They explained it very well. As temperatures dropped, water inside your cells could crystallize, expanding in ways that damaged structures that weren’t meant to withstand it.

Irreparable cell damage.

Increased cancer risk.

Muscle degradation.

You stared at them while they said it, waiting for the part where they reassured you that this wouldn't happen, of course. Surely. Right?

They said they had “solved” it by giving you low doses of microwave radiation, used during the cooling process to agitate water molecules, preventing crystal formation, and reducing damage.

It sounded… clever.

It also sounded like something that shouldn’t work as cleanly as they claimed.

It sure didn’t give you much confidence, at least. That feeling didn’t improve even when they added that the failure rate was less than one percent.

Less than one percent.

A number meant to comfort, but didn't, because you had read the contract. You knew exactly what that “one percent” meant. You had signed away their liability, despite that. Every risk, every complication, every worst-case scenario: they were covered. And were legally untouchable, in any way that mattered.

If something went wrong…

That was on you.

Well, somehow, even this didn't stop you.

They continued the evaluations after that, and they measured your height, weight, baseline muscle density, your reflexes, and all that.

They checked for allergies as well.

“Just pollen,” you said. “Spring allergies. Nothing serious.”

A few brows still furrowed at that, understandably. Pandora wasn’t exactly lacking in plant life. If anything, it was overwhelmingly full of it, compared to Earth. But after a brief exchange between the staff, they moved on. Your mask would filter most airborne particles anyway, and Hell’s Gate had its own controlled environment systems.

It would be fine.

Probably.

Still, they added medication to your file. Loaded onto the ship, just in case. Because, as one of them muttered, half-joking, half-not,

They couldn’t have one of their best SciOps candidates going into anaphylactic shock the moment they stepped onto Pandora.

Think of all the wasted money..!

You quickly handled all the paperwork for that time. It felt...strangely easy. You got rid of the apartment, packed boxes, transferred the car under your mom's name, and gave away everything that held value, whether it was money or memory.

Your landlord kept the deposit, of course. You stared at his obnoxious message that said just that because there was no way you had enough time to go sue him for it for a solid minute before letting out a sigh. What was the point of arguing? You were leaving the whole planet, anyway.

Still, fuck him, though.

You moved back in with your parents for those last couple of weeks.

The house felt smaller than you remembered, or maybe you had just outgrown it.

Everyone celebrated. Of course they did. How could they not?

Some were genuinely excited, eyes shining as they asked you question after question, like you were already halfway to becoming something legendary. Others weren’t so convinced.

“You’re really going to leave everything,” one of your aunts said, shaking her head, “for some fancy trees and blue monkeys?”

You laughed it off. It was easier that way.

Some joked about it, too, told you not to forget them, to come visit when they were old and stuck in some nursing home decades from now.

“Bring some good stories,” they said. “Or at least some sticks and stones to show our friends and brag!”

You did cry a few nights, quietly, when no one would hear.

Three days before departure, the medics handed you a final diet list.

It was… restrictive, to say the least.

Honey. Toast. Eggs. Jam. Soup. Tea. Maybe a bit of rice, but no more than fifty grams.

That was it.

It was necessary, they said. Preparation for cryosleep didn’t allow for excess. Your body needed to be as predictable as possible before they shut it down for six years.

Six years.

The number still felt unreal.

The enema the morning before was… less easy to accept. You didn’t like that part, that was for sure, at least. Not even a little. But you understood it, and just got done with it.

Because the alternative, the risk of complications, infections, something going wrong while you were unconscious and untouchable—

You didn’t let your thoughts finish that sentence.

Packing was… harder than expected. You could only bring what fit into a single duffel bag.

No organic materials. No liquids. No sharp objects. No, anything that could be considered remotely dangerous or unstable.

Even clothes were provided by the RDA.

It stripped things down to what truly mattered. So you chose carefully.

A photo album you had kept since high school: corners worn, pages slightly bent from being flipped through too many times.

A book about the Na’vi by Phred Palmer: gifted by your parents, signed on your graduation day, their handwriting uneven but full of pride.

A camera that your friend had insisted you take. “Proof,” he had said. “Or it didn’t happen.”

And a sweatshirt your cousin had ordered for you. “This nerd is going to space, bitches!" It was written in Comic Sans. You almost didn’t pack it. Then you folded it carefully and placed it at the top. It would be your pyjama.

The whole family wanted to come see you off, too.

All of them.

You considered saying no. You really did. It felt… overwhelming. Embarrassing, even, like being a kid again that got dragged into the center of attention, and you didn’t quite know how to handle it.

But this wasn’t just any day. This was the last time. The last time you’d see them all together like this.

So you said yes.

Your dad rented a large SUV just to fit everyone.

It turned into a trip.

Not a drive.

A trip.

Stops along the way. Too many snacks. Too many conversations happening at once, and lots of laughter from everyone.

You couldn’t eat or drink anything. But watching them, seeing how happy they were, how hard they were trying to make this feel like something joyful, it was enough.

Some of them got teary-eyed. They tried to hide it, badly. Your mom was the worst at it. You could see the way she pressed her lips together, the way her eyes glistened just a little too much when she thought you weren’t looking.

So you didn’t let there be silence. Not even for a second. You talked and talked and talked. Filled every gap before it could turn into something else.

“Can you send us photos?”

“Would you be able to call?”

“Maybe we can send each other videos?”

“We should do a family picnic when you come back!”

“Bring souvenirs! I don’t know, alien stuff! Maybe get some stuff from the Na'vi? Hey! Don’t laugh!”

And then, there it was, the RDA facility.

Your mom reached for you first. She held you tightly, arms wrapping around you like she was trying to memorize the shape of you. You hugged her back just as hard, burying your face into her shoulder for a second longer than you meant to.

Then came everyone else. One by one.

Quick hugs. Long hugs. Awkward pats on the back. Quiet reassurances that everything would be okay.

Your dad was last.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled you into a hug so tight you thought he might actually crack a rib.

You laughed, breath hitching slightly. “Dad, please—”

“Just a second,” he muttered.

They were not allowed to get through the gates. Security made that very clear. “Authorized personnel only beyond this point.”

You turned back to your family, adjusting the strap of your duffel bag over your shoulder.

“You guys can go if you want,” you said, trying to sound casual. “This will take a long while.”

“Hell no!” one of your cousins shot back immediately, hand raised like they were in a protest. “We’ll camp here until this damn spaceship is gone, okay?”

A few others chimed in with agreement.

You opened your mouth to argue, your grandparents were too old to stand outside for this long, but the older couple beat you to it.

“You think we got that airbed just for fun?” your grandpa laughed. Your grandmother nodded next to him, entirely too pleased with herself. "We'll be seeing you off even if we won't be able to feel our asses for the next couple of weeks, you got that?"

And that was that.

You gave up with a small shake of your head and turned toward the gates.

But you kept glancing back. You couldn’t help it.

Every time you did, they were still there, waving wildly, shouting things you couldn’t fully make out from the distance.

“I love you!”

“Don’t forget us!”

“Make us proud!”

A whistle cut through the air, loud, sharp, completely inappropriate for the moment, and someone else shouted a "You can do it!" like they were at a sports game.

You huffed out a breath and kinda laughed. They were so unbelievable!

Inside, a man who looked more soldier than staff approached you. “Bag,” he said, and held out a hand.

You handed over your duffel without argument. He checked it quickly before nodding and motioning you forward. Then, you were ushered inside with the others.

No turning back now.

The medbay was already busy. Lines of people were moving in quietly. You joined them and waited for your turn.

When you reached the desk, another employee looked up, fingers already hovering over a terminal.

“Name, and ID number, please.”

You gave them. They typed it in without looking at you, eyes scanning data written on the computer, looking already tired when it was barely nine o'clock. Then they grabbed your bag, affixed a sticker to it, and handed you a bracelet.

You looked at it. It had the same number as the sticker on your duffel bag had.

“Don’t lose it,” he said. “That needs to stay with you throughout the expedition.”

You slipped it onto your wrist, then, and turned it slightly to glance at the barcode again.

“Won’t I get my stuff if I lose it?” you asked.

“Of course you will. Eventually. It’ll just be a huge problem to find it, and it could take months.”

Damn.

“So do my coworkers and me a favor,” he added, already moving on to the next task, “and keep that intact until you reach the cryopods.”

“…Right.”

Then, you waited half an hour at the Sitting Area until a nurse called your number. You rushed to her and sat in a chair.

The next part felt… surreal.

They cut all your hair.

You watched as all of your hair fell to the ground, the buzzing of the razor near your ear, your own face slowly becoming unfamiliar even to you. You hadn’t realized how much of your individuality you had tied to something as simple as your hair until it was gone.

You felt...naked.

Embarassingly so.

They handed you a uniform next. It was something like a hospital gown, but better. Closed properly, and actually not showing your bare ass at the back. Small RDA logos patterned across the fabric, too, as if they needed any more marketing.

You changed as soon as you could, and folded your old clothes automatically, even though you knew you wouldn’t need them anymore.

Then came transport. You were guided into a small vehicle with others, sitting side by side, and then you all drove to the ISV Manifest Destiny.

The spaceship was even bigger than you had imagined. A world on its own, really.

Inside, you were told preparations would continue there. “For sanitary reasons,” someone explained. “It’s more efficient this way.”

You were guided into a box-like room. Then, the door shut behind you with a soft click. Then a hiss came, and the air changed. Something filled the space: thin, almost invisible, carrying a faint artificial scent that hit your nose a second later. It reminded you of lavender.

Some people started to get a bit uneasy.

“Please don’t panic,” a mechanical voice came through, then. “This is just disinfectant. We need to clean you all thoroughly. We can’t risk bringing any external contaminants onboard,” it explained. “Both for your safety and to protect Pandora’s environment. We don’t yet fully understand how Earth-based microorganisms might interact with the local ecosystem or what they might evolve into.”

And, yeah, that tracked.

You all got IVs in your arms, and countless people kept asking you to confirm your name and identification number as you were moved deeper into the ship, again and again and again.

And, yeah, it was annoying but made sense.

Everything here was calculated, after all, and personalized. Every drug, every dosage, every adjustment was tailored to your body, your height, your weight, your medical history. One mistake, one mix-up, one wrong pod…

You already knew the possibilities.

Waking up too early.

Not waking up at all.

Or something worse in between.

In other words, you would be fucked.

By the time you reached your cryopod, your name printed clearly across its surface, your hands were trembling. It was partly from the cold, the ship was freezing, but also from excitement and fear, and the realization that this was it!

You stepped up to get in—

And your foot slipped.

Your balance faltered just enough to send a jolt of panic through you, but before you could actually fall and hit your head, a medic was at your side, steadying you.

“Careful,” she said, voice calm, like she had done this a thousand times before, and, yeah, she probably did.

She held a clipboard in one hand, glancing down at it briefly before looking at you. “Is this Y/N? ID Number: 232405688?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you answered quickly, and tried not to fidget under her gaze.

The pod was… tight. Tighter than you expected, at least. You climbed in, adjusted yourself awkwardly as she began securing the restraints across your body, and made sure you wouldn’t float around once gravity stopped mattering.

“Are you comfortable?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

“Okay, then.” She reached behind your head and pulled a thin tube into view. “See this?” she said, and held it near your face. “I’ll connect this to your IV. Your cryopod will pump something called tropagestitocin into your veins. It’ll put you into a hibernation state, and the pod will gradually lower your body temperature to around ten degrees Fahrenheit.”

Ten? Wow.

“It can vary depending on your physiology,” she added. “But that’s our baseline.”

“Will it hurt?” you asked.

She shook her head immediately. “Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing. The medication will take effect before the temperature drop becomes noticeable. After that, the pod will fill with a Perflubron-Pralidarone solution.”

She said it like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t something that sounded like it belonged in a lab experiment instead of your bloodstream.

“These will maintain you in an induced coma with minimal brain activity. No dreaming. No waking. Nothing until we reach Pandora."

You nodded, because, hell, what else could you do?

She connected the tube.

The liquid surged into your vein, glowing faintly neon-blue as it disappeared beneath your skin.

And then—

You felt it.

The medicine was cold, even colder than the spaceship, and you it go through your arm and reach your shoulder. It made you shiver. It wasn't a bad sensation, though. It just felt as if it was...wet? Like the IV had a hole in it and was spraying your skin.

“Now,” the medic said gently, “I’ll close your pod. Is there anything else you’d like to ask?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head, "Nah, I'm good. Thank you."

“Good,” she smiled, “Good night, darling. This will be a long sleep.”

Then, she closed the lid. It was above you, and sealed with a quiet hiss, muting every sound coming from the outside. You could see the other passengers, a hundred people or so, with you included, getting put into their own cryopods from the small window, and you tried not to squirm against your restraints in fear of dislocating your IV.

“This is it…” You mumbled, your voice small, barely audible even to yourself. Your throat tightened. “We’re actually leaving…!”

One part of you thought about all the amazing things you were going to see up there, experiences that no other people could even dream of, the Na'vi, the animals, and plants you had studied for years. Would you get to even talk to one of those aliens? Would Dr. Augustine bring you to her school and introduce you to the few that she had contact with? Did the Na'vi really have no written language? How did their speech differ from region to region? Did they have sign language, perhaps?

You tried not to think about all the things you were leaving behind, despite the heavy thud coming from your heart. This was what you had worked for for years, after all..! You had earned this!

You still wished you had spent more time with your mom over the years and thanked your dad for spending so much on all the fancy books, classes, and trainings you had begged him to get you. He had worked so much overtime for all that...

You tried not to feel guilt for leaving like this, for not appreciating them more, for all that stupid teenage angst fight you had caused, yet you did not even remember the reasons for them anymore.

Your dad rarely took care of himself; you always had to drag him to the hospital to get checked and force him to take his medicine. Would he be okay now that you were gone? Would your mom be able to handle him?

Maybe you should have—

The sleep took you in right around that. It wasn't something slow, like how characters from movies counted to ten as anesthesia hit them, or when someone got hit in the head and slowly lost consciousness. It was just...bam! Then, you were asleep.

Your skin, during all of this, turned into something pale. A bloodless, blue-white hue spread across you as the liquid continued to flow through your veins, replacing your own warmth with something colder, something that slowed you down until even your cells seemed to forget what it meant to be alive.

You didn't even notice the clear, thick fluid that filled your pod and suspended you as if you were in the womb. A cold womb of dreamless sleep between worlds.

At some point, the cyropod gently fitted your head into a helmet-like device. This was the Psionic Link Interface, which sensed and transmitted your mental energy to your Avatar, as well as filling your brain with the return signal. A connection between the two of you. The Link, it was called by the RDA.

Was this the reason perhaps why you were so calm during all of this? The presence you had felt at the back of your head, yet could not name or describe?

You were spending the whole voyage linked to it, your Avatar, which was nearby in its own container, just like you. Like two twins in the womb, you communicated without even knowing, a deep level of pre-conscious intimacy, if you will. This way, the Avatar's brain got the chance to imprint with the patterns of your cerebral cortex, and knew that it belonged to you.

In another room, your Avatar floated in its own artificial cradle. Curled inward. Limbs long, even in rest.

It had outgrown anything human years ago, while you slept. If it stood, it would tower eight feet, looking down on you.

And, just like the medic had said, you did not dream a single dream. Or, at least, you don't think you did.

Outside, time moved for everyone else. The arc-light of propulsion faded. The drive module burned, then cooled, glowing with the afterimage of a journey that had carried you farther than any human life was meant to stretch.

It creaked, groaned, then stopped, letting it drift in darkness.

Inside, in weightlessness, the passengers began to emerge from their hibernacula as well. They all look like shit, you included, hungover badly from the drugs.

Your eyes snapped open, vision blurred, light too bright and sharp, as your body convulsed with the sudden return of sensation.

Everything hurt.

Not sharply, or anything specific, per se.

Just… everything.

You coughed, liquid catching in your throat as the pod drained the last of the fluids, restraints loosening just enough for you to move. Your limbs felt weak, unresponsive, like they had forgotten how to move.

And from the looks of it, the others were the same.

You forced yourself upright, slow and shaky, your arms trembling under your own weight despite the zero gravity. It felt like you had woken up from a surgery, almost.

Fuck, your head pounded, throbbing, making every sound feel amplified, too loud, and too close. It was as if your brain was about to explode..!

You then noticed that your hair was cropped back to a brush-cut and wondered when that happened. Did someone go around shaving everyone while you were out? The thought felt absurd. You almost laughed, but it came out as a weak exhale instead.

Then, you heard an announcement.

"Good morning, everyone! We have almost reached our destination. Please follow the arrow stickers and reach the medical bay for a quick examination. Tell them if anything feels off. We will soon be entering orbit around Pandora."

You managed to pull yourself out of your pod, limbs shaky but obedient enough, and for a brief moment, you just floated. It was strange. Your body expected weight, resistance, something to push against, but there was nothing.

It was definitely a bizarre, but fun sensation.

You were clumsy at first, then got a little better as you mimicked the techs while they moved around. Then, you stopped for a second just to take it all in. Rows of open cryopods. People drifting. The low hum of the spaceship that carried you across stars.

You didn't really know what to do. So you did what everyone else did and followed the stickers.

Voices began to stand out as your head slowly cleared. And one of them, slightly louder, a bit awkward, trying to sound confident, caught your attention. “I mean, yeah, I’ve read all the papers, but actually being here... this is insane!”

You glanced over. It was a man you vaguely recognized from briefings, though you never got the chance to speak with him.

“Norm,” someone calls him. Maybe you'll get to talk to him later.

The medbay feels like déjà vu. There are needles again, and lots of cold instruments. People who barely look at you as they work. They draw blood. Check your vitals. Shine lights into your eyes.

And then the questions—

“Please look at the camera and state your name.”

You answer.

“How old are you?”

You answer.

“Do you know where we are right now?”

“…On the ISV Manifest Destiny.”

“And our destination?”

“…Pandora.”

“What about your ID number?”

You recite it without hesitation.

Eventually, they wave you through.

“Stable,” someone muttered, already moved on.

Then, a medic clapped their hands loudly, gathering attention. “Come on, guys! There’s still time to grab some breakfast and make it back to see yourselves be born!”

People perk up immediately when they hear that, including you. You weren't sure what was more exciting: finally getting to eat after six and a half years of sleeping or actually getting to see the Avatars. For you, they both sure sound enticing.

You move faster this time. Swimming, no, more like gliding, along with the others toward the dining area.

The “breakfast” was… underwhelming. They literally handed you a tube. It looked like toothpaste, and smelled even worse. You reluctantly squeezed a bit into your mouth and immediately regretted every decision that led you here while gagging.

“Is this really what we’ll get?” you asked. This thing was nasty! “Nothing else?”

The man handing them out shrugged like he’s had this conversation too many times already. “Sorry. You all will have a paste-based diet for a while. Gotta make sure your digestive system doesn’t freak out after cryo.”

You barely manage to swallow it down. “It tastes horrible, though…”

He gave you a look. It was half sympathetic, half get used to it. “It all tastes like crap. Even the ‘fresh’ stuff',” he said, then, “because of all the chemicals, preservation, freeze-drying, and all that. Food doesn’t exactly stay good on a trip like this.”

“Well,” you mutter, taking another reluctant bite, “we came here for the view, not the food, right?”

To that, he let out a short laugh. “That’s for damn sure.”

Somehow, you managed to finish the whole thing, even though every bite felt like ash and chalk mashed together. At least now, you felt full, and your headache was gone as well.

You really hoped that there was something better at Hell’s Gate. There had to be, right? Pandora was full of life: plants, ecosystems, entire networks of organic systems working in ways Earth had never seen.

There had to be something edible that even humans could eat.

At least, you prayed so.

After that, you made your way to the “Birthing Area.” And, of course, at the entrance, they stopped you.

"Your bracelet, please."

You showed it. A scanner passed over the barcode, blinking once.

“232405688. Name: Y/N. Avatar Driver,” the guard confirmed, stepping aside. “You’re good. Head in.”

And them, you saw them.

“Damn!” you couldn't help but say. “These guys are huge!”

Even suspended, curled, half-floating in their tanks, they dwarfed everything around them. Limbs long and powerful, bodies built with a kind of strength that made your own feel… small. But that was expected.

A few techs nearby laughed. “They sure are,” one of them said, pushing off a railing and floating closer to you. “First time seeing them up close?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, still staring.

He pulled up something on a tablet. “Let me check your file… alright, here we go.”

He pointed toward the back of the room. “G-09. That’s yours. I’ll grab you a suit while you take a look.”

You nodded, "Okay. Thanks.”

And, while holding your breath, you floated over to the tank containing your alter ego, your own Avatar body. It was unbelievable, almost, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

The body was, strangely, almost human in most ways. The waist was narrow and long, and the shoulders were very wide, giving a V-shaped upper back. The neck was long as well, almost twice the size of yours, with two arms and legs.

Then, for a moment, the Avatar stretched, almost catlike, extending to its full height, dwarfing you. The tank itself was massive, easily the size of a car, and still, it barely contained the full presence of the alien.

"Hi there," you said as if it could hear you, and got closer. And as it turned in the amniotic fluid, you saw its face. You knew what to expect, of course, yet seeing your own face on the face of another still left you speechless.

It was your eyes, your mouth, your cheekbones, your eyebrows, your chin...Despite the alien proportions, the features are definitely reminiscent of you.

Its eyes were twice the size, and for a moment, its head turned to the side like an owl. You put a hand on the glass between you two and tried to get a better look. The mouth was broader, but still human in structure, save for that faint, cat-like split in the upper lip. And, yeah! The tail! There was a tail moving lazily in the fluid! It was just like the photos you had seen in the documentaries and your textbooks.

A complex pattern of iridescent dots and lines, perfectly symmetrical, ran over the body as well, almost following the lines of the nervous or circulatory system. These were bioluminescent chromatophores, you knew it, and they shone in the dark like fireflies.

The Na'vi can communicate with these, you had learned, and in fact, they usually were shifting and changing color to indicate mood and emotion, even without conscious control. But, for now, they were all still.

The queue looked pretty good, too. It extended from the base of the skull, floating weightlessly, twisting gently in the liquid. At the tip, the tendrils, the delicate, almost tentacle-like filaments, drifted like something alive on their own.

You knew what it was.

An external extension of the nervous system.

A direct interface that would help them connect to their world.

But knowing didn’t prepare you for seeing it.

Then, the Avatar twitched. It was a sudden, small, and involuntary movement. It was probably because of the electrostimulation, if you had to guess.

"Nice to meet you," you whispered to it, your fingers tapping at the glass. "Let's get along, yeah? We'll be working together now."

Then, a hand landed on your shoulder, and you jolted so hard you nearly pushed yourself backward into another tank.

“Here,” the tech from before said. He held out a sealed bundle. “Wear this. You can change over there.”

“Y-Yeah..!” you stuttered, and grabbed the plastic-wrapped suit. God, that was embarrassing! “I ’ll-uh-I’ll do it in a moment. Just… give me a second.”

You glanced back at it, at you, then went to the changing room.

They didn’t give you long. Technicians in full plastic suits, just like you, quickly handed you some equipment before guiding you along with them. They were hurrying. Probably because another twelve Avatars were waiting to get "born".

Someone pressed a mask into your hands, then helped you secure it over your face before you could even say anything.

The airlock sealed behind you with a heavy thunk. The mask felt really uncomfortable with the way it clung to the side of your face, but you would have to deal with it. A second door opened, and a bright light flooded the chamber.

“This environment matches Pandora’s atmospheric composition,” one of the techs said through the comms, voice slightly distorted. “Ammonia, methane, CO₂, oxygen, nitrogen… and even some hydrogen cyanide.”

“Meaning,” the other added flatly, “if you lose that mask, you’ll be dead in seconds.”

You swallowed, “…Got it.”

In the center of the chamber was your tank. When did they even bring it here? You stepped closer with the others and tried not to feel so...exposed and unsure, for some reason. It was weird getting stared at, or, at least, at the thing that was...you? Yours?

...Hell, you didn't even know it anymore.

“Uhh...-” you tried to get someone's attention, your voice awkward over the comms. “Do I really need to be here? I mean, I've got no idea what to do."

A man beside you reached out and squeezed your shoulder. Probably trying to be reassuring. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Just being here is enough. It’s always best for the controller to be present during birth.”

Again, with the "Birth" thing. You couldn't explain why, but every time they called it that, it made shivers go down your spine.

They moved quickly after that. A flexible collar sealed around the tank's opening. It was a synthetic ring designed to hold the amniotic fluid in place despite the lack of gravity. Someone near it pushed some buttons, and a pipe at the back started to suck it all out, so it wouldn't go around flying in zero gravity.

The round entrance opened, then, and slowly, very carefully, they began to pull the body out.

There was a faintly sweet and musky scent in the air. It was probably coming from the amniotic fluid the Avatar was still covered in.

All you could do was stare as they worked.

It looked—

God.

Holy fuck...

It looked like a giant baby being born from a glass and rubber womb.

Limbs emerged first, long and slack legs. They glowed faintly under the lights. Then the torso. The tail trailed behind and almost got stuck under its own weight. Then, someone supported the neck so the head wouldn't hit anything as they laid it onto the table.

And then—

It moved.

It was a sudden, weak kick. Then a twitch. The Avatar started to flail around after a couple of seconds, and everyone reacted at once. Hands reached, and tried to steady the body as it floated, the techs doing their best to strap the Avatar down.

It looked so alive...!

“Hey, Y/N!” one of the techs called sharply. “Get over here! Help us hold it down!”

Your brain stalled when you heard that, but your body still managed to push itself forward despite how hard your heart was slamming violently against your ribs. “Oh my God…” you muttered under your breath. “This is really happening…!”

The blue skin felt warm under your palms. It was overwhelming: the heat, the constant movement, the shudders. This wasn’t something you studied or watched through a screen! No one had told you that the Avatar would struggle, weakly, instinctively, and jerk its limbs around as if trying to understand what was happening! It was as if it were struggling into existence, scared and confused!

Oh god, you felt like you were both going to throw up and faint.

"Easy, easy!" someone muttered, guiding the shoulders down, as if it would understand, and maybe, it could. "Calm down, big guy!"

Someone else got a suction tube and pressed it into their mouth. The Avatar jerked again and coughed the last of the fluid in its lungs.

You watched as it took its first breath, mouth so wide you could see the sharp teeth.

Then it started to wail.

And, God, holy shit, its voice sounded so much like yours it was as terrifying as it was mesmerizing!

Its fists clenched tight, and long fingers curled inward as its face contorted, eyes squeezing shut, mouth wide at the terror and pain of the outer world.

Is there really no one in it, you wondered, then, is this thing really nothing more than a body to control when it can scream and cry like this? No soul to speak of?

Then, just as suddenly, the body turned towards you. You couldn't help but flinch back. And then, a massive hand shot forward and grabbed your arm before you could even react.

It squeezed it so hard you thought your arm would break at any moment. The pain flared instantly and made your vision spark for a second. “W-what the hell-?!” you cried, and tried to pull back as hard as you could, but it didn't budge.

Then, it looked at you. Really looked. Its amber eyes opened wide and unfocused at first, but they managed to lock into yours seconds later. All you could think about was how intelligent they looked, by then.

There was someone in there, wasn't there? Someone else, even if it was made of your blood, for you.

The Avatar's terror passed, then, as if it recognized you as a part of itself, and it took shuddering breaths of the poisonous air, shaking. Did it think that this room was far too cold as well?

You managed to pull away your arm from its grip, then, shaking just like it. And, at the end of the day, you would have a huge bruise in the shape of its hand.

"Congratulations," the tech said, grinning, and pulling you out of your thoughts. "Are you ready for your new life?"