Chapter 643: Linking the Avatar
The Hell's Gate base was perpetually filled with the deafening roar of industrial machinery, exuding a suffocating, grinding atmosphere of human mechanical civilization that stood in jarring contrast to Pandora's vibrant, living biosphere.
Jake Sully sat in his wheelchair as base personnel wheeled him through the bustling, narrow corridors.
His face held the bewilderment of a newcomer, mixed with an instinctive discomfort toward the cold, metallic surroundings.
The agony of losing his legs and the marginalized, hollow life that followed his discharge had left him carrying complex, indefinable expectations for this trip to Pandora—perhaps, just perhaps, this world could offer him a clean slate, even if the opportunity had been bought with his brother's death.
His first destination was Dr. Grace Augustine's laboratory.
Looking down at the former Marine seated in the wheelchair—whose eyes held an untamed wildness intertwined with raw vulnerability—Grace was in no pleasant mood.
"So, you're Tom's brother," Grace's tone was far from welcoming. She circled around Jake, looking him up and down with open scrutiny. "Those idiots in corporate think genetic compatibility solves every problem. What they don't get is that driving an Avatar takes more than just matching DNA; it takes what's in here!"
She tapped her temple with a finger. "Patience, analytical capacity, and genuine respect for science! Not a skull packed with jarhead military thinking."
Jake attempted to assert his worth: "I'm a fast learner, Doctor. And besides, my brother was—"
"Don't bring up your brother!" Grace cut him off impatiently. "You are you, and he was him. In my lab, you start from scratch to prove your own value."
She gestured toward the two link pods nearby, one of which sat in sealed cryo-preservation. "That is the asset you inherited. I suggest you don't squander it."
Tense Introductions
Just then, the lab doors slid open with a hiss, and Maine's towering, heavily cyberized frame stepped into the room.
He offered a curt nod toward Grace as an informal greeting before shifting his gaze directly onto Jake. His eyes were calm, yet carried an innate, crushing weight of operational experience that prompted Jake to instinctively straighten his spine.
"Colonel Quaritch sent me to take a look at the newly arrived 'specialist'," Maine spoke in a deep rumble, completely devoid of emotional fluctuation. "I am Maine, responsible for joint tactical training with the base security division."
"Jake Sully, former Marine," Jake barked out by reflex, a habit drilled deep into his bones.
Maine gave a slight nod without offering further commentary, addressing Grace instead: "Doctor, the Colonel requests a rapid assessment of Mr. Sully's potential field utility once he adapts to his 'new frame.' He wants the Avatar to provide expanded tactical support for long-range reconnaissance."
Grace sneered coldly: "Tell him my research project is not his private scout training camp! The Avatar Program exists for scientific discovery!"
Maine offered no argument. He simply cast another assessing look over Jake, measuring him inside and out, before turning on his heel and walking out.
His arrival and departure were defined by a terse, clinical efficiency, leaving Jake with a sense of pressure distinctly different from Grace's academic frustration.
Conflicting Agendas
Meanwhile, in another section of the base, Lucy—who was monitoring internal traffic—intercepted a brief exchange between Colonel Quaritch and Administrator Parker Selfridge, routing the audio directly to the Trailblazer.
Quaritch's voice carried clear skepticism: "...Parker, can this kid in the wheelchair actually pull his weight? I don't intend to entrust critical recon corridors to a rookie driving a blue plastic toy."
Parker took a far more pragmatic view: "Miles, take it easy. That Avatar cost the company an obscene amount of capital; we can't just leave it to rot in cold storage. Let Grace run him through the paces first. What if he turns out half as useful as his brother was? At the very least, he can walk into sectors human boots can't reach and figure out what the hell those blue monkeys are planning. As long as actionable intel lands on my desk, I don't give a damn whose body he's walking in."
Listening to the intercepted feed aboard the Trailblazer, a cold, sharp smile touched Ryo's lips.
Splendid. The internal friction and divergent agendas within the RDA aligned perfectly with his predictive models:
Quaritch demanded immediate, deployable military assets.
Parker fixated on amortizing costs and harvesting high-yield intelligence.
Grace clung tightly to her scientific ideals and diplomatic bridge.
With Jake Sully caught squarely at the convergence point of these three pulling forces, his trajectory would prove exceptionally entertaining to observe.
"Maintain continuous surveillance over all of Jake Sully's activities," Ryo commanded. "Prioritize capturing his biometric telemetry and psychological baseline reports during his maiden link sequence. Dr. Grace's lab should produce results shortly."
The Maiden Link
Just as Ryo anticipated, several days later—under strict medical monitoring and Grace's grudging supervision—Jake Sully underwent his very first neural synchronization with the Avatar frame.
Inside the link laboratory, tension hung thick in the air.
Jake Sully lay inside the driver pod, a respiratory mask covering his nose and mouth. Beside him, the Avatar cultivated from his late brother Tom's genetic template lay quietly within the adjacent chamber, its blue skin brimming with latent vitality.
Grace, Norm, and several medical technicians bustled around the consoles, tracking physiological readouts.
Under the guise of an "integrated security audit," Maine stood in the observation gallery, looking through the reinforced glass partition to monitor the proceedings.
Further out on the network, through an undetected clandestine data tap installed in Grace's lab hardware, Rei Ayanami-kun's detachment was remotely receiving a live mirror of all critical telemetry streams.
"Initiating synchronization sequence," Norm's voice carried a slight tremor of mingled anxiety and excitement.
Jake felt a sudden wave of intense vertigo and sensory detachment, as if his consciousness were being yanked violently out of his flesh, plunging into a roaring vortex of light and sound.
After an indeterminate span, an unprecedented sensation rushed into his awareness—touch. He could feel the soft padding of the link pod beneath his frame; he could sense the cool draft of ambient air brushing across his skin.
He opened his eyes abruptly. The blurred geometry of the lab ceiling came into focus, sharpening with startling clarity.
He attempted to move his fingers. The long, powerful blue digits belonging to the Avatar bent with fluid obedience.
An indescribable surge of euphoria crashed over him.
With Norm's assistance, he pushed himself up from the pod, his limbs trembling as he attempted to stand.
When his feet—the Avatar's feet—planted firmly onto the deck, supporting a three-meter-tall muscular physique, Jake felt ready to scream at the top of his lungs.
He took a few steps, stumbling slightly at first before instantly mastering his balance.
He broke into a sprint, leaping and flexing, reveling in the raw power surging through his muscles and the rush of wind whipping past his ears.
Tears spilled from his wide, golden eyes.
It was rebirth.
Cold Observations
Inside the observation room, Maine watched the spectacle with an unreadable expression.
To him, this was merely a successful biological-neural interface sequence validating the functional viability of the technology. His attention centered entirely on the baseline locomotive parameters and reaction latency displayed by the Avatar body—the only metrics carrying tactical relevance.
Grace's reaction was considerably more complex.
She felt relief over the successful link, proving that her life's work remained technically sound. Yet watching Jake's near-frenzied exuberance, an uneasy feeling gnawed at the back of her mind.
She had witnessed Tom's initial excitement upon linking, but Jake's reaction was far more primal and emotional—lacking the cold, measured discipline that a true researcher should possess.