#colonel miles

[neteyamurmakto]

Quaritch and his ain't this a bitch

[nervousd]

CHAPTER TWO | EYES ON THE PRIZE

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#SYNOPSIS. The recoms are tasked with a mission

#WARNING(S). None

#CHARACTER(S). Recom! Colonel Miles Quaritch

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“ We are not in Kansas anymore”

The words cut through the low mechanical hum of the carrier like a blade.

Colonel Miles Quaritch stood at the front of the briefing bay, arms crossed over his broad chest, blue skin catching the cold white lights overhead. The recombinants—recoms—sat in their seats, massive bodies packed into military precision. Identical faces, identical scars, identical discipline. Marines reborn in alien flesh.

Kansas had been Earth. Gravity. Familiar air. Rules that made sense.

Pandora was none of that.

“ Now, I know you’re all askin’ yourselves the same question.”

Quaritch turned around slowly, boots scraping against the metal floor, his Na’vi braid swishing behind him with the movement. The lights caught along the blue of his skin, striping it in harsh white as he faced them again. His hand settled on the top buckle of his belt, thumb hooking there out of habit, posture loose but controlled—the stance of a man who’d commanded rooms like this his entire life.

“Why so blue?”

Quaritch grinned, wide and unapologetic, his tongue lolling out loosely in a mockery of the very bodies they’d been shoved into. The expression was exaggerated, almost crude—and that was exactly the point.

For a heartbeat, the room held still.

Then the recoms broke.

Laughter rolled through the briefing bay, deep and rough, the sound of old Marines finding something familiar to cling to. Some turned toward the men seated beside them, nudging shoulders, exchanging looks that said ‘can you believe this shit?’ Others threw their heads back, sharp blue teeth flashing as they laughed, shaking their heads in disbelief at the absurdity of it all. A few slapped armored thighs or braced their hands against their restraints, still chuckling as they tried to settle.

Even the quieter ones weren’t immune—lips twitching, eyes crinkling, breath huffing out through noses as they smothered it.

Quaritch let it happen.

He stood there, grin still in place, belt hooked under his hand, watching the room loosen just enough

“For our sins in our past life, we’ve been brought back in the form of our enemy”

Quaritch’s voice was steady, almost conversational, as he gestured loosely to his own towering frame—blue skin, long limbs—

“That gives us their size. Their strength. Their speed “

He paused, letting it sink in

“And with our training? That’s a pretty potent mix”

A low murmur moved through the briefing bay as the Recons shifted in their seats, restraints creaking under the weight of new muscle. The realization was settling in—slow, heavy, undeniable.

Lyle sniffed, nodding along as if he’d already come to the same conclusion. He leaned forward and reached down, grabbing one of the dumbbell weights stacked near his seat. With a casual flick of his wrist, he lifted it one-handed, curling it a few times just to feel the pull. The weight rose easily, like it barely mattered.

“Do we have a mission yet?” he asked, still pumping the dumbbell, eyes on Quaritch.

Across from him, Z-Dog grinned and grabbed a weight of her own. She lifted it smoothly, testing the balance, then raised it higher, rolling her shoulder as she did. No strain. No hesitation. Just power. She laughed under her breath, shaking her head as if the whole thing was absurd.

Quaritch watched them with a faint, knowing smile.

“Indeed we do,” Quaritch said, his voice low and deliberate, echoing slightly in the metal confines of the briefing bay. He took a step forward, letting his gaze sweep across the rows of Recons. “Our mission is to hunt down—and kill—the leader of the Na’vi insurgency”

Lyle leaned back slightly in his seat, shoulders broad against the restraints. A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest, lips curling upward to reveal sharp, glinting canine teeth. His blue eyes narrowed, fixating on Quaritch as if he were already imagining the hunt. The rest of his body shifted subtly, muscles coiling, ready to spring even while seated.

Near him, Spike mirrored the energy. Nodding along to the briefing, he brought a massive fist up to punch his right pec, the force rattling the restraints slightly. A wide grin split his face, teeth catching the harsh white light.

Quaritch let the silence stretch just a moment longer, letting them feel it—the gravity of the name he was about to drop.

“The one they call Toruk Makto… Jake Sully “

Then the Recons erupted. A deep, guttural holler rolled through the rows, bouncing off the steel walls and echoing through the chamber. “Yeah!” The sound was raw, filled with satisfaction, the kind that came from knowing exactly what was coming next. Their voices overlapped, gruff and urgent, a storm of approval.

Some Recons leaned toward one another, exchanging hard nods and slaps on the armored shoulders—a wordless affirmation, a silent pact that they were ready. Others raised clenched fists high toward the ceiling, letting the motion carry their exhilaration outward.

From across the room, a few voices rang out louder than the rest. “That’s what it is!” It cut through the din, sharp and proud, met instantly by a chorus of echoes and renewed shouts.

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“ — I’ve heard good things about you, Colonel,” General Ardmore spoke, her voice smooth but carrying the weight of command, “But a lot’s changed since your tour here. Walk with me ”

She pivoted sharply, the mechanical exosuit hissing and whirring with every movement, servos flexing like a second skeleton. Sparks flickered as robotic spiders skittered across the walls, their tiny legs tapping against steel panels, eyes glowing faintly red. The air smelled faintly of ozone and lubricant, the tang of machinery alive with energy.

“The new ops center is over here,” she continued, gesturing to a massive cluster of consoles and holo-screens to the left. Light danced across the floor as panels hummed to life, projecting detailed layouts of Pandora’s terrain, “That just came online. Fully functional “

Her hand swept toward a row of massive spider-like machines crawling in formation, “ These are our swarm assemblers.” The mechanical arms moved frantically, pulling steel girders and welding components with precision, building structures almost impossibly fast. Sparks flew like controlled fireworks, “They can put up a building in six days. We have done more here in a year than in the previous 30 years “

Quaritch’s eyes followed her gestures, taking in the scale of it all—the humming machinery, the relentless motion, the sense that this base itself was alive.

“We’re not here to run a mine, Colonel,” she said, voice firm, carrying authority that didn’t require shouting, “ As on-world commander, I’ve been charged with a greater mission.”

She led him down a narrow corridor, the walls vibrating slightly under the weight of the equipment around them, until they reached a secondary mechanical base—steel and wiring crisscrossed like a scene out of a simulation.

A robotic arm extended smoothly, gripping a coffee mug and lifting it to her lips. She drank slowly, deliberately, as if savoring each sip, then set it down on a nearby console, “ Earth is dying,” she said. “Our task here is to terraform Pandora. Nothing less. Nothing short of making it the new home for humanity.”

Miles drew a slow, measured breath, the oxygen mask clinging to his neck hissing faintly as it refilled.

“But before we can do that,” she continued, picking the mug back up and taking another deliberate sip, “we need to pacify the hostile”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication, as the machinery around them continued its relentless, humming work.

The General led Quaritch and Lyle down the polished corridor, the hum of machinery and servos echoing through the base. As they reached the center of the operations floor, holographic screens flickered to life around them, projecting floating images of Pandora’s terrain overlaid with markers, movement paths, and recent incidents.

“Look at these,” she said, sweeping a hand over the displays. The screens zoomed in on scattered Na’vi activity—ambushes, skirmishes, and sabotaged equipment, “Sully’s raids are becoming bolder. More frequent. Strikes are well planned you’ve got tight coordination between his ground and air assets”

Quaritch’s eyes followed the paths traced on the holograms: ground units moving in formation, aerial creatures swooping in, coordinated attacks hitting multiple targets almost simultaneously.

She gestured toward the most recent assault: a moving supply train ripped apart by Na’vi warriors, crates of weapons and materials ripped from the cars as their riders swept overhead on banshees. Sparks and debris floated in the projection, suspended in midair as if the holo itself had caught the chaos.

“His forces are hitting our outlying sites—mines, pipelines, supply convoys,” she continued, voice steady but sharp. “They’re cutting off our supply chain “

Miles took a slow, deliberate breath through the mask, the soft hiss of recycled oxygen briefly filling his ears as he studied the holographic feed of the most recent attack. Burning wreckage froze mid-motion in the projection—twisted metal, scattered supplies, Na’vi silhouettes already gone by the time the footage ended. His eyes narrowed.

He turned back to the General, “Any intel on Sully’s base of operations?”

General Ardmore gave a single nod. Without raising her voice, she issued a clipped command to the technicians nearby. Fingers moved fast across consoles. With a sharp flicker of light, the hologram shifted.

Floating stone spires loomed in layered depth, mist curling around their bases, sheer cliffs suspended as if gravity itself had been negotiated into submission. Wind patterns and flight paths glowed faintly across their surfaces, red and amber markers blinking where human assets had vanished.

“It’s a cave system,” Ardmore said evenly, “ Somewhere in the Hallelujah Mountains. Exact location still unknown”

Quaritch stepped forward, moving directly into the holographic projection. The mountains phased through his body as he walked, light washing over his blue skin. He paced slowly between the floating spires, head tilting as he studied angles, distances, elevation. One hand lifted, passing through a projected cliff face as if he were tracing possible entry points.

Nearby, Lyle pulled his mask slightly away from his face, drawing in a deeper breath as he stared up at the towering holograms. His chest rose and fell heavily, eyes tracking the drifting rock formations.

“But every time we send our forces up there, we take losses,” Ardmore continued, “Our hardware really stirs up the hornet’s nest.”

With a sharp gesture, she shifted the display.

On a separate holographic panel, new footage burst to life.

Three aircraft cut through the air toward the floating mountains, rotors whining, gunships holding formation. For a split second, everything looked routine—then the sky exploded with movement. Wild ikran surged out of the clouds, wings snapping open like blades, shrill screeches piercing the audio feed.

The pilots shouted over comms, voices overlapping in rising panic.

“Mayday! Mayday— we’re going down—!”

The final aircraft spiraled, engulfed by writhing shapes and flapping wings before the feed dissolved into static.

“ we can only get ten minutes in enemy airspace— they are all over us “

The room fell silent again, the echo of screams lingering longer than the image itself.

General Ardmore turned on her heel, “Colonel,” she said, voice clipped, “we believe your blue team will be perceived as indigenous and will not trigger the immune response”

Quaritch tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and deliberate. One corner of his mouth lifted—not quite a grin, more a knowing curl. Interest sparked in his eyes, bright and calculating.

“And how exactly do you propose we test that hypothesis, General?” he asked, tone almost amused.

Ardmore didn’t hesitate. She gave a short, decisive nod, lips pressing together as if sealing the decision in stone.

“The hard way.”

For a split second, Quaritch was still.

Then his smile spread

It wasn’t friendly. It was sharp—wide enough to bare rows of pearly white, feline teeth, the expression stretching his features into something unmistakably predatory. His eyes narrowed with satisfaction, a gleam of approval flashing through them like a blade catching light.

“Outstanding,” he said, the word heavy with relish.

Beside him, Lyle’s reaction was immediate. He leaned back slightly, arms folding across his broad chest, a smug grin pulling at his face.

The decision had been made.

And none of them looked even remotely disappointed.

[kyewbenjamin]

All this wonderful stuff'll come to me only in 25 days 😭😭...

[onward-magic-princess-barista]

TikTok tagline: 🙄 They're just fictional characters I don't see why you dislike them so much 🙄

Me: 😡😑 This is America, Lois. Men have always run things and there have never been any problems whatsoever. And don't say the economy or Iraq or income equality or racism

or Brett Kavanaugh or air pollution or Vietnam or slavery

or Watergate or captailism or #Metoo or homelessness

or police brutality or homophobia or Monica Lewinsky or school shootings

or Native American genocide or FOX News or Tim Allen or climate change

😕 I would've made this into an actual Tiktok video but that TikTok sound was no longer available 😕

[neteyamurmakto]

Credit - @/pinkdepts on tiktok

All of them 👀

[nervousd]

CHAPTER ONE | WAKE IN BLUE

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#SYNOPSIS. Death was never the end for him

#WARNING(S). None

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Darkness first.

Then pressure.

Then—

A low hum buzzed in the back of his skull. His eyelids flickered open, heavy like they’d been glued shut. Blurry shapes hovered above him, white suits and glossy masks with fogged-up visors. His ears rang, the sound like muffled shouting underwater. His throat felt dry. Foreign.

“—ere he comes “

The voice was male, filtered through a rebreather mask. Too far away to pin down. A bright light flashed across his face, making his pupils contract. He flinched, groaned.

“Pupil reflex is good,” someone muttered.

“Stay still,” said a woman, more gently, the corners of her eyes crinkling behind the clear faceplate, “You’re okay, just breathe. You're safe “

He stirred, his muscles sluggish, heavy—wrong. Something itched under his skin. Too tight. Too loose. Too different. His hearing sharpened just enough to catch the sounds of monitors and breathing tubes. A heartbeat that wasn’t just his own thumped in the room.

“Get that out of his face “

The voice was deeper. Unmasked. Closer.

The flashlight vanished. The humans stepped back as a tall shadow crossed into view—too large. Too tall. Blue.

A Na’vi.

He tensed

“Colonel?” the Na’vi asked, looming over him, “ Can you hear me?”

A hand, pressed against his chest. The touch was meant to be grounding. It wasn’t. It felt wrong—like being touched by the enemy.

Enemy

His fists moved before his thoughts caught up. He roared—a sound raw and animalistic—and slammed his knuckles into the Na’vi’s face, sending the soldier staggering back. Alarms flared behind his eyes. He surged upward, every instinct telling him he was under attack.

He stood too fast, too unsteady. His balance tilted, feet unfamiliar. Snarling, teeth bared, he lunged at the next shadow. He yanked the dangling overhead light and hurled it at the nearest shape. A tray of instruments scattered across the floor. A monitor crashed. Someone shouted.

Another blue figure tried to subdue him. He met them with a punch straight to the jaw, then reeled to the side, panting, nostrils flaring.

Four of them now. Tall, lean, fast—like predators circling a wounded animal. He hissed, curling into a defensive stance, baring his teeth.

“Colonel!”

“Stand down!”

“Sir, it’s us!”

The voices were warped, familiar yet not. But he wasn’t listening. All he saw were enemies.

Two grabbed his arms. A third wrapped a muscular forearm around his neck from behind, locking him in place. He thrashed, snarled, bit at the air, claws flexing, fangs flashing. It took all of them to hold him.

Then—

“Colonel, it’s me!”

A voice—warm, amused, laced with pain.

He blinked.

The Na’vi in front of him had a split lip, blood dribbling down his nose, but he was smiling. Recognition filtered through the haze.

“It’s Corporal Wainfleet! “

His breath caught. His ears twitched.

“Lyle?” he rasped.

Lyle nodded, “Yes sir — and Z-Dog” he tilted his chin toward the female Recom holding his right side, “ and Spike—“ The one restraining him with a bicep hooked tight around his neck offered a hesitant smile. He blinked—was it surprise or pure disbelief?

Blue.

His soldiers were blue now.

The fight drained from his limbs, slowly. “Alright, let me go” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m all right.” They hesitated, then loosened their grip.

Then he looked down.

His hands—blue, not the warm tan color he remembered. Human shape on alien skin. Muscled arms, unfamiliar in strength. He turned them over slowly, blinking.

Thick fingers. Wide palms. Faint veins beneath skin the color of cobalt. Bioluminescent freckles scattered across his knuckles like embers from a dying fire. He turned them over in the light. Flexed them.

They were strong, big, military. But not his.

Not human.

He stood there in stunned silence, baffled by how blue he was. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what he remembered.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, eyes fixed ahead. Past Lyle. Past the others. Toward the tall glass wall. Without a word, he brushed Lyle aside and made his way forward, footsteps unsteady but certain.

He stopped inches from the panel, lifting a hand to touch the cold surface. His palm flattened against the glass.

Mouth parting, he dragged his tongue along his teeth, pausing when it met a sharp canine. He touched it. Sharp. Predatory. Not human.

A Na’vi stared back at him. Golden eyes. High cheekbones. Fangs glinting in the reflection. Familiar—but not. It was him, and yet it wasn’t.

His ears gave an involuntary twitch. His tail flicked behind him, reacting on its own.

He stared for a long beat.

“Well,” he muttered, voice low and dry, “ain’t this a bitch”

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[VIDEO LOG BEGINS]

He was floating. Weightless.

Hands grasped a metal bar overhead, his grip the only thing anchoring him in the softly humming chamber. Everything around him moved in slow, fluid arcs—equipment, personnel, stray cords—and he could hear his own breath inside the recom unit's chamber, too loud, too human.

Then the screen flickered to life.

The face that appeared was older. Scarred. Human. A man wearing an RDA military shirt, sweat glistening on his brow as organized chaos bustled behind him. People were running back and forth in the corridor beyond—urgent, driven.

The man on the screen smiled. It was familiar, cruel.

“In case you haven’t figured it out yet,” he began, voice a dry drawl with gravel behind it, “Your’re Colonel Miles Quaritch. Only younger, taller, bluer… and not nearly as good looking”

He smirked, as if he knew exactly how jarring it would be. And it was. Seeing your own face, older, human,— or who he used to be. Smirking at him like the punchline of a joke he hadn't heard yet.

The video continued.

“In two hours I fly a mission against a Na’vi stronghold,” he said, glancing off-camera as someone rushed past.

“The powers that be thought it prudent I record this backup, just in case. And if you’re watching it—well…” He gave a small shrug, “ It means I got my ticket punched “

Beside him in the present, Lyle Wainfleet floated into view, grasping a bar to stabilize himself as he watched. The silence between them was heavy.

Back in the recording, Quaritch’s expression twisted as he called out, “Hey, Parker… just what the hell am I supposed to say now?”

A man stepped briskly into view—Parker Selfridge, looking flustered and irritable, holding a small capsule in his hand.

“Just remind him how it works,” Selfridge said, adjusting the video screen to get a clearer view of the object, “This here? This holds all your memories. Personality, instincts. We send it back to Earth—where, as we speak, you’re growing in a nice warm lab. Once ready, we imprint it on your new recombinant body.”

Quaritch cut him off, “ Am I doing this or are you?”

Selfridge slapped him on the back and walked out of frame, “ Just hurry it up.”

Quaritch faced the camera again, more serious this time.

“The idea was to get the best of us—hell, the worst of us, the meanest sons of bitches this planet ever saw—into recombinant bodies. Like Corporal Wainfleet over there”

The feed cut to a human Wainfleet stepping out of a pod, cocky as ever. He struck a flexed pose. In real-time, the recom Wainfleet watching the video let out a low, “Hoo-rah”

Quaritch's voice picked up again

“And your humble narrator. That’s you, kid. You're a recom now—loaded with my memories and my charm. What you won’t remember is my death… because it hasn’t happened yet. And I’ll be damned if it will.”

There was laughter in the background. Z-Dog, probably. Even across time, his presence carried through.

“But if it has… and you’re watching this… then you’ll want the same thing I do. Payback.”

The image leaned in slightly. The camera zoomed just enough to make his eyes the center of focus. Cold. Focused.

“Jake Sully will be at the top of that list. He might of punched my ticket. But that ain’t all he did. If you’re really any clone of mine, you'll understand. There’s a separate mission waiting for you. One you’ll handle alone.”

He paused, as if letting the weight of it settle.

“You’re going to retrieve our favorite scientist.”

He didn’t say your name. He didn’t need to. The silence afterward was heavy with implication.

“The poor thing must’ve been led astray by those traitorous blue monkeys. Details’ll be in a secured folder. For your eyes only”

Quaritch straightened, brushing a hand along his chest before speaking one last time.

“Remember, kid—a Marine can’t be defeated. You can kill us, but we’ll just regroup in hell”

A pause. One last smirk.

“Semper fi “

[ VIDEO LOG ENDS ]

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The screen cut to black. The chamber returned to silence, only the hum of the recom pod and the quiet breathing of the soldiers around him.

Colonel Quaritch released the bar and let himself float freely, watching his reflection in the darkened screen—blue-skinned, younger, alien.

[neteyamurmakto]

(Credit - @ ppowdr2 on tiktok)

[neteyamurmakto]

(Credit - @/stephenswifee14 on tiktok)