The Eldest
Sully family x eldest daughter reader
The chapter that mentions (y/n)’s torture is in red
The following chapter headings is in blue so you know where to skip
Part 27 < Part 28 > Part 29
The Contingency
The biolab hummed quietly in the dark.
Max stood alone near one of the stainless benches, the soft blue glow of the equipment reflecting off the glass vial in his hand. The liquid inside was almost perfectly clear—harmless looking, like water—but he knew exactly what it was.
And what it would do.
His stomach twisted.
The chem team had worked fast once they received the formula. Too fast. They had treated it like any other scientific problem: structure, synthesis, refinement.
But when they finished the first viable sample and ran the simulations…
Max had felt his blood run cold.
This thing wasn’t just lethal.
It was monstrous.
He turned the vial slowly between his fingers.
A waterborne compound that bypassed standard RDA filtration and detection systems. Completely invisible to their purification scans.
Theoretically once ingested, it attacked the respiratory system at a molecular level—breaking down oxygen exchange in the blood while simultaneously triggering a cascade of neurological pain signals.
A person wouldn’t just die.
They would suffocate. Slowly. Consciously.
In agony.
Max exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “No way,” he muttered under his breath.
This crossed a line.
A big one.
He knew (Y/n) had asked for it as a “precaution,” but there was something in her eyes the other night that hadn’t sat right with him.
Anger. Cold anger.
The kind that made people justify terrible things.
Max tightened his grip on the vial. He needed to talk to Jake.
Jake would shut this down immediately.
He stepped out of the lab. And nearly jumped.
Leaning casually against the wall beside the door was (Y/n).
She straightened slightly when she saw him, a friendly smile spreading across her face. “Hey Max.”
Max froze. “(Y/n).”
His voice came out more nervous than he intended.
She pushed off the wall and walked toward him with an easy confidence, braids shifting across her shoulders. “Got something for me?”
Max hesitated.
The vial felt suddenly heavy in his hand.
For a moment he considered lying.
Saying it hadn’t worked. Saying the formula was impossible.
But she was watching him closely.
Her eyebrow slowly lifted.
Max swallowed.n“…Yeah.”
He sighed.n“They just finished it.”
Her smile widened.n“Excellent.”nHer tone was almost cheerful.n“Could you go grab it for me?”
Max nodded stiffly and stepped back inside.
His mind raced. He could hide it.nBreak it.
Tell Jake.
But somehow he knew she wouldn’t leave without it.
And he wasn’t ready to start that confrontation in the middle of the lab.
He walked back out a moment later.
The vial rested carefully between his fingers.
He handed it to her.
(Y/n) examined it with curiosity. “Small.”
“It’s concentrated,” Max said quietly.n“Very.”
She nodded, apparently satisfied.nThen she reached into a pouch at her belt and pulled out a hollow seed pod. She uncorked the vial and carefully poured the liquid inside.
The clear substance disappeared into the dark shell. She sealed the cap.
And slipped it away.
Max watched the entire process with a tightening chest.n“(Y/n)… you should really tell your father about this.”
She rolled her eyes immediately.n“Oh please.”
“Then I’d just get another ethics lecture.”
She looked back at him.
There was a strange gleam in her eyes now.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
“Besides,” she said lightly, “my dad probably won’t be complaining if this ever gets deployed.”
Her smile turned cold. “Because it’s bye-bye RDA.”
Max felt his stomach twist harder.n“(Y/n)… that thing isn’t just lethal.”
His voice dropped. “It’s torturous.”
He gestured toward the seed pod she had hidden away.n“It’s a slow death.”
Her expression didn’t change.
If anything—nShe looked pleased.n“Even better.”
She shrugged slightly.n“Which is exactly why this stays between us.”
Max stared at her.nHe barely recognized the girl he had watched grow up around the lab. Before he could respond—
A voice called out from across camp.b“(Y/n)!”
Jake.
Standing near the command area.
His rifle slung over his shoulder. “It’s time to mount up!”
(Y/n) looked back toward Max.
Her friendly smile returned instantly, as if the previous conversation had never happened. “See you later, Max.”
She turned to go.
Then glanced over her shoulder.n“after this all goes to hell.”
And with that she jogged across camp toward her father, leaving Max standing alone outside the lab.
Still thinking about the tiny vial he had just handed over.
And wondering if they had just crossed a line none of them could come back from.
Silence
Cold metal bit into her wrists.
(Y/n) hung from the cuffs bolted high into the wall, her arms forced above her head so that the strain pulled constantly at her shoulders. Every movement sent dull, grinding pain through her joints.
Her head hung forward.
Braids tangled.
Blood had dried stiff along the side of her face.
The cut across her eye had long since stopped bleeding, but the crusted line of red ran from her brow down across her cheekbone. The skin around it had swollen badly, leaving the eye half-shut and purple.
Bruises mottled her arms, ribs, and collarbone.
Some fresh.
Some already darkening.
Her lip was split.
Her breathing was shallow.
She had lost track of time hours ago.
Maybe days.
The lights in the containment block never changed.
The air never changed.
Pain blurred everything together.
Her mind floated somewhere between consciousness and exhaustion.
Then—
A sound.
A door sliding open.
Metal on metal.
Her head didn’t lift.
She didn’t move.
Bootsteps echoed slowly across the floor. Measured. Confident.
A familiar voice followed. General Ardmore. “Well,” she said calmly, “look who’s still breathing.”
(Y/n) remained perfectly still.
Ardmore stopped a few feet in front of her.
The general studied her quietly.bBruised.bBeaten.
But still conscious.
Still unbroken.
Ardmore crossed her arms.b“Let’s not waste each other’s time.”
Her voice turned sharp.b“Where is Sully’s base?”
Silence. (Y/n) didn’t even blink.
Her head remained bowed.
Ardmore tilted her head slightly.b“Oh come on.”
“You don’t expect me to believe you don’t know.”
She stepped closer, studying the prisoner’s hand.bFive fingers.
Human hand structure.bHer lip curled faintly. “Five fingers.”
“Pretty obvious who your daddy is.”
Her voice hardened.b“So start talking.”
Nothing.
Not a twitch.
Not a word.
Ardmore exhaled slowly. “Right.”
She snapped her fingers twice at a nearby soldier.
Two AMP suits dragged something into the room.
A Na’vi male.
Bruised.
Barely conscious.
They threw him to his knees in front of (Y/n). His arms were restrained behind his back.nHis breathing was ragged.
His eyes slowly lifted.
Recognition flickered.b“(Y/n)…”
Ize.
One of the warriors captured during the attack. His voice cracked as he looked at her.n“Say nothing,” he whispered desperately.
“Do not tell them—”
The AMP suit driver struck him across the back of the head with a metal fist.
The blow knocked him forward into the floor.n “Quiet.”
Ardmore drew her sidearm slowly. The pistol looked tiny in her hand compared to the towering AMP suits.
But the barrel pointed directly at Ize’s head.n“Let’s try this again.”nShe spoke calmly.
“Give me something.” Her eyes shifted to (Y/n).
“Anything.”bHer finger tightened slightly on the trigger.
“Or I put a bullet in his brain.”
The room fell silent.
Ize struggled to lift his head again.
Blood dripped from his mouth.
His eyes found (Y/n). “Do not—”
The gunshot cracked like thunder. The sound slammed off the metal walls.
Ize’s body jerked violently.
Then collapsed.
Still.
Blood pooled beneath his head.
The smell of gunpowder filled the room.
(Y/n) didn’t move.
Didn’t look up.
Didn’t speak.
Ardmore watched her carefully.
Waiting for a reaction.
Nothing.
The general nodded slowly. “Fine.”nShe holstered the pistol.
Then looked toward the control panel beside the cell. “Show her what happens to people who decide to bite their tongues.”
One of the technicians outside the containment chamber flipped a switch.
Inside the cell—
The oxygen feed surged.
Too much.
The sealed environment rapidly filled with dense oxygen-rich air.
At first nothing happened.
Then— (Y/n)’s body jerked.
Her lungs seized.
The sudden flood of oxygen hit her system like a shockwave.
Her chest heaved violently.
She tried to inhale—
But her body couldn’t process it.
Her vision blurred instantly. Her head snapped up for the first time.
Her breath came in sharp, panicked gasps.
Her body began to thrash instinctively against the restraints.
The cuffs rattled violently as she fought for air.
Her lungs burned.
Her chest convulsed.
Each breath felt wrong.
Too thick.
Too sharp.
Too much.
Her vision began to darken.
Her body twisted desperately as she struggled to breathe.
And the thrashing only grew worse.
(Y/n)’s body convulsed against the restraints.
The cuffs rattled violently as she tried to drag air into lungs that no longer seemed to understand how to breathe. The oxygen-rich atmosphere burned through her chest like fire, every inhale sharp and wrong.
Her shoulders jerked.
Her legs kicked uselessly.
The chamber lights blurred as dark spots began to creep into the edges of her vision.
Outside the containment glass, the technicians watched the monitors carefully.
Her oxygen saturation was spiking wildly.
Heart rate erratic.
Exactly as designed.
Ardmore stood with her hands clasped behind her back, studying the display without a hint of discomfort.
She had seen this before.
Prisoners broke in different ways.
Some screamed.
Some begged.
Some cracked immediately.
Others… took more work.
Her eyes shifted from the monitors back to the struggling Na’vi girl hanging inside the chamber.
“Remarkable,” she said quietly. “She still hasn’t said a word.”
(Y/n)’s head thrashed weakly as her body tried to adapt to the suffocating flood of oxygen.
Her lungs spasmed again.
Her chest heaved.
The cuffs creaked under the strain.
Ardmore’s expression hardened.
She turned toward the officers standing behind her. “Do whatever it takes to crack her.”
Her voice was calm.
Professional.
Cold.
One of the officers nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ardmore continued watching the prisoner through the glass.
Her lip curled slightly.b“If Sully is still alive…”
She paused, studying the girl’s face. “…we’ll send him a message.”
Her eyes narrowed. “One he can’t ignore.”
Inside the chamber, (Y/n) jerked violently again as her lungs burned and the world around her spun.
And still— She said nothing.
Please Wake
The biolab was quiet.
Too quiet.
The low hum of the machines was the only sound inside the room, broken occasionally by the soft rhythm of the monitors that tracked Jake’s heartbeat.
Neytiri sat beside the medical bed.
She had not moved for a long time.
Her hands rested carefully on the edge of the mattress beside Jake’s arm, fingers barely touching the bandages wrapped across his forearm as if afraid that even the smallest pressure might hurt him.
Her mate lay still.
Too still
His chest rose slowly beneath layers of white medical dressing. Tubes ran from the machines into his body, one down his throat to help him breathe. His skin looked pale beneath the bruising and cuts that covered him.
His braid had been carefully moved aside by the healers.
His hair still smelled faintly of smoke.
Neytiri stared at his face.
She tried not to cry.
She had already cried enough outside the lab when they first brought him in.
Now she forced the tears down.
Forced herself to breathe.
Because if she allowed herself to truly feel what was happening—
She feared she would shatter.
Norm’s words still echoed in her mind.
I don’t want to get your hopes up Neytiri but there’s a possibility that the RDA have (y/n).
A chance.
Not certainty.
But the thought had been enough to keep Neytiri from collapsing completely.
Her daughter might still be alive.
Somewhere.
Her throat tightened.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her forehead gently against the edge of the bed beside Jake’s shoulder.
“My mate…”
Her voice trembled softly.
She looked at his face again.
If Jake had been awake…
If he had been standing beside her when they learned their daughter was missing—
The RDA base would already be burning.
She knew it.
Jake would not have hesitated.
He would have gathered the warriors.
Rallied the clans.
Flown straight into the heart of their metal fortress.
He would have torn the sky people’s base apart piece by piece until he found their daughter.
Until he ripped her from their hands.
Neytiri knew this with absolute certainty.
Because she would have done the same.
Her hand trembled slightly as she brushed her fingers across the edge of the bandage wrapped around his shoulder.
“You would have found her,” she whispered.
Her voice broke.
“You would have known what to do.”
But he wasn’t awake.
He wasn’t standing beside her.
And the reality pressed down on her chest like a crushing weight.
Jake Sully—the one who understood the sky people better than anyone.
The one who knew how they fought.
How they thought.
How to break their machines and turn their strength against them—
He lay unconscious.
Barely alive.
And the clan…
They didn’t have his knowledge.
His experience.
His instincts.
Without him—
Mounting a rescue against the RDA felt impossible.
Neytiri closed her eyes.
Her breath trembled.
“If she is there…”
Her fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the bed.
“If our daughter is there…”
Her voice cracked completely.
“I do not know how to bring her home.”
The thought clawed painfully through her chest.
What if she was already gone?
What if the RDA had—
Neytiri cut the thought off violently.
No.
She could not think that.
She refused.
Her eyes opened again.
She looked at Jake’s still face.
“You must wake,” she whispered.
Her hand moved gently to rest over his.
“We need you.”
Her voice dropped to a broken breath.
“Your daughter needs you.”
Her shoulders shook as the tears she had been holding back finally slipped free.
“Please wake.”
Her voice cracked completely.
“They have her.”
The words came out like a wound.
“The sky people have our daughter.”
Her breath hitched.
“They will hurt her.”
Her grip tightened desperately around his hand.
“They will harm our baby.”
The image of (Y/n) being dragged away by metal soldiers tore through Neytiri’s chest like a blade.
She pressed Jake’s hand against her forehead.
“Jake, please…”
Her voice dropped to a whisper filled with desperation.
“If you do not wake… we will lose her.”
Her breath shuddered. “I cannot bring her home without you.”
Another tear slid down her cheek.
“You would know what to do.”
“You always know.”
Her voice trembled again.
“Please wake.”
Her shoulders shook harder now as the grief broke through completely.
“Wake up and save our daughter.”
The machines continued their quiet rhythm.
The ventilator pushed another breath into Jake’s lungs.
His heart monitor beeped softly.
Steady.
But he did not move.
He did not wake.
I Miss Her Too
The evening air at High Camp had grown quiet.
Most of the warriors had withdrawn into their shelters, speaking in low voices or not at all. The mood that hung over the camp was heavy, like a storm that refused to break.
At the edge of the clearing, Tiso’ha lay curled beside the rocks where she had collapsed earlier.
No one had dared approach her.
The great ikran’s wings were folded tightly against her body, the injured membrane bound loosely with cloth strips where the healers had managed to patch the worst of the tears. Scorch marks streaked across her scales, and every so often her sides shuddered with a tired breath.
The bond between ikran and rider ran deep.
Everyone knew that.
And everyone knew the creature was grieving.
No warrior wanted to risk the fury of a bonded ikran that had lost its rider and Tiso’ha had a bad attitude to begin with.
But Kiri sat beside her.
Quietly.
Carefully.
She dipped a cloth into a bowl of clean water and gently wiped soot from the creature’s neck.
Tiso’ha did not react.
She didn’t hiss.
Didn’t snap.
Didn’t even acknowledge the touch.
It was as if the great predator didn’t even see her.
Kiri worked slowly, brushing debris from the injured wing membrane and retying the strips of cloth where the healers had secured them.
“You should rest,” she murmured softly. Her voice was barely louder than the wind moving through the mountain trees. “Tuk always says that when someone gets hurt.”
She paused, running her fingers gently across the ikran’s scales. “You miss her too, don’t you?”
Tiso’ha let out a low rumble.
Not anger. Not aggression.
Just a deep, hollow sound that vibrated through her chest.
Kiri swallowed. She kept working, cleaning another patch of soot from the creature’s neck.
“I miss her too.”
Her voice trembled slightly. “She always said you were too stubborn for your own good.”
Kiri gave a small, shaky smile. “She said you had the worst attitude of any ikran she’d ever met.”
The memory made her throat tighten. Kiri looked down at the ground for a moment.
Then spoke again. “She was the only one who didn’t make me feel strange.”
Her voice grew quieter. “When I was little… people used to look at me differently.”
She shrugged faintly.n“You know… the five fingers. The way I was born.”
She wiped another streak of dirt from Tiso’ha’s scales.n“Some of the kids said I was a freak.”
The word came out softly.nAlmost embarrassed.
“But (Y/n) never did.”
Kiri’s fingers slowed. “She scared them off.”
A weak laugh slipped out.n“She scared everyone off.”
Her eyes stung slightly. “She always said if anyone gave me trouble she’d throw them off the nearest cliff.”
Kiri shook her head.n“She was only half joking.”
She leaned lightly against the ikran’s shoulder.b“I’m scared.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.n“What if she’s gone?”
Her fingers tightened slightly in the cloth. “What if she doesn’t come back?”
Her chest tightened painfully. “People stopped being mean to me because she was there.”
“Because everyone knew she’d break their noses if they tried.”
Her voice trembled now.n“What if they come back?”
“What if they start again?”
The words hung in the quiet air.nKiri wiped her eyes quickly and leaned closer against the ikran. “We love her too, you know.”
She rested her forehead gently against Tiso’ha’s neck.n“We love her just as much as you do.”
Her voice softened as she spoke again. “She always made sure Tuk got extra fruit even when Tuk wasn’t supposed to.”
“She stays up all night doing patrols so everyone else can sleep.”
Kiri smiled faintly. “She thinks nobody notices.”
Her fingers brushed across the ikran’s hide. “But we do.”
“She’s the bravest person I know.”
Her voice cracked slightly. “And the most stubborn.”
Kiri closed her eyes for a moment. “I just hope… wherever she is…”
Her breath trembled. “She knows we’re waiting.”
Tiso’ha gave another soft rumble beneath her.
And for the first time since returning—
The great ikran slowly lowered her head.
Resting it beside Kiri.
Living Nightmare
For Neteyam, the camp no longer felt like home.
It felt like a nightmare that no one could wake up from.
The air itself seemed heavy, thick with the quiet grief hanging over High Camp. No one laughed anymore. No one told stories around the fires. Even the hunters spoke in low murmurs, their voices subdued as they moved through their duties.
The entire clan moved differently now.
Like something vital had been ripped out of it.
Like the heart of it was gone.
And maybe it was.
Neteyam stood near the edge of the camp, watching the movement of people with a tightness in his chest that refused to loosen.
Behind him, Tuk’s crying carried softly across the clearing.
She had not stopped.
Mo’at held her in her arms, rocking her gently, whispering quiet comforts into her ear. But the little girl clung to her grandmother’s neck, sobbing and calling for the same name over and over again. “(Y/n)… (Y/n)… I want (Y/n)…”
Each cry twisted something deep inside Neteyam’s chest.
He swallowed hard and looked away.
He didn’t know what to say to her.
He didn’t know what to say to anyone.
Lo’ak sat nearby on one of the rocks, arms folded tightly across his chest. His jaw was clenched so hard that the muscles along it stood out sharply.
He looked angrier than Neteyam had ever seen him.
Not the usual kind of grumpy Lo’ak got when he felt annoyed or frustrated.
This was something different.
Something darker.
He hadn’t spoken to anyone since they returned from the search.
Not even Neteyam.
When someone approached him earlier, trying to offer comfort, Lo’ak had simply glared until they walked away.
The entire clan felt the weight of it.
Everywhere Neteyam looked, the same shadow hung over everyone.
Warriors who had fought through countless battles now moved like ghosts.
Hunters walked with lowered heads.
Even the children had grown quiet.
Like the mountain itself was holding its breath.
Neteyam leaned his forearms against the wooden railing overlooking the cliffs.
The sky stretched endlessly before him
Somewhere out there—
His sister had vanished.
Captured.
Dead.
Lost.
Every possibility clawed at his mind.
None of them ended well.
His hands tightened slowly against his side .
He wasn’t doing okay.
He hadn’t told anyone that.
But he wasn’t.
His big sister was gone.
The person who had always been there.
Always.
The one who kept everything running.
The one who stepped in whenever something went wrong.
The one who knew what to do when no one else did.
And now—
Everything was falling apart.
Tuk crying.
Lo’ak angry.
Kiri quiet and distant.
Their mother barely holding herself together beside their father’s bed.
Neteyam closed his eyes.
His chest tightened painfully.
He thought about all the things (Y/n) used to handle without anyone noticing.
The patrol schedules.
The hunters.
The arguments between warriors.
The little things in the clan that quietly needed fixing.
The responsibilities she carried.
Responsibilities no one had asked her to take.
But she did anyway.
Because someone had to.
His breath slowed as a thought settled heavily into his mind.
Is this how she felt?
Stepping up.
Holding everything together.
Because everyone else needed her to.
Neteyam looked back toward the camp.
Toward his crying sister.
Toward Lo’ak sitting in silence.
Toward the clan that now felt like it was slowly breaking apart.
His chest rose slowly.
For the first time, he truly understood something about his sister that he had never quite grasped before.
The weight she carried.
The pressure.
The loneliness of it.
And now…
It felt like it had been placed on his shoulders.
Whether he was ready or not.
Tragedy
The command deck glowed with the pale blue light of the holotable.
Norm stood at the center of it, shoulders tense, hands resting on the edge of the console as the holographic figures of Priya, Anqu, and So’lek flickered across the table.
Beside him stood Max.
Tarsem remained just behind them both, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his face drawn and shadowed by exhaustion.
None of them had slept much.
The war had paused—but the waiting was worse.
Priya spoke first, her voice softer than usual. “We’ve been reviewing everything you sent over.”
Her expression carried the same weight Norm had been seeing on everyone’s faces all day. “This is… tragic.”
She swallowed slightly. “She’s such a good kid.”
Priya shook her head slowly. “She’s always been so nice to everyone here.”
Her voice faltered. “This is horrible.”
Norm rubbed a hand over his face. “No one saw this going wrong.”
He exhaled slowly. “No one except (Y/n).”
The words hung heavily in the room.
So’lek leaned forward slightly in the hologram, his expression hard. “We cannot give up this fight.”
“No,” Norm agreed quietly. “We can’t.”
He gestured to the map projection hovering above the table. “But right now we’re outnumbered and outgunned.”
The glowing display showed RDA positions expanding across the region around Hell’s Gate.
New patrol routes.
New landing zones.
More aircraft.
More AMP deployments.
“And the geniuses who were running the campaign on this side of Pandora are either—”
He stopped himself before finishing the sentence.
Injured.
Or missing.
Quite possibly dead.
Priya sighed softly. “We wish we could send some help.” She shook her head. “But we’re still buried under RDA oversight here.”
Anqu nodded beside her. “Even getting this call out was risky.”
Priya leaned forward again. “But we’ll monitor every RDA channel we can access.”
“If anyone says anything about…”
She hesitated. “…about (Y/n)… we’ll hear it.”
Norm nodded. “Thank you.”
The holograms flickered slightly. “We’ll contact you if anything changes,” Priya said gently.
Then the call ended.
The holotable dimmed.
Silence filled the shelter.
Norm leaned back heavily, exhaling. “This is a nightmare.”
Max nodded grimly beside him.
Norm looked toward the camp outside. “The clan is barely holding itself together under this shadow.”
His voice dropped lower. “They have no hope.”
Tarsem stood rigid beside the table.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Norm turned to him. “You’re doing well.”
Tarsem didn’t respond.
Norm continued anyway. “You’re keeping the rotations running.”
“Keeping the clan fed.”
“Keeping the perimeter secure.”
“That’s what matters right now.”
Tarsem’s gaze stayed fixed on the holotable. “But (Y/n) is still out there.”
The words came quietly.
Heavy.
“We don’t even know if she’s alive.”
Norm looked down at the map again.
Neither did he.
Tarsem exhaled slowly. His chest rose and fell as he struggled to keep his composure. “Norm… every day I sit here…”
His voice hardened. “…is another day they might decide to kill her.”
Max shifted uncomfortably beside the table.
No one had an answer to that.
Tarsem closed his eyes briefly.
Then sighed deeply. “I have to try.”
Norm looked up sharply. “You won’t get anywhere near Bridgehead.”
The map flickered again, highlighting the massive RDA stronghold. “Not right now.”
“And at the moment…”
Norm gestured out toward the camp.
“You’re the only thing holding this place together.”
Tarsem followed his gaze.
Warriors moving through the camp.
Hunters returning with food.
Children being gathered into homes.
All of it continuing because someone was making sure it did.
Tarsem nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“You’re right.”
Silence settled again.
Then Tarsem looked back at Norm.
His voice was calm now.
Focused.
Resolute.
“So as acting lead…”
He paused. “I’d like to ask something of you.”
Norm straightened slightly. “What?”
Tarsem stepped closer to the holotable.
His eyes were steady. “Find a way to get me inside that sky person nest.”
Max blinked.
Norm stared at him.
Tarsem’s voice didn’t waver. “And the moment we hear she’s alive…”
His hand closed slowly into a fist.
“I will ride out.”
“To bring her home.”
Stars
A scream tore out of her throat.
The electric current surged through the cuffs again, sending violent spasms through her arms and shoulders. Her body jerked helplessly against the restraints as the shock ripped through every nerve.
Her vision exploded into white.
A broken whimper followed as the current finally stopped.
For a moment the room fell silent except for her ragged breathing.
Then—
A buzz.
The locking mechanisms released.
The cuffs snapped open.
(Y/n) dropped.
Her body hit the metal floor with a dull thud. Pain shot through her shoulders as circulation returned to her arms in a flood of needles and fire.
She groaned softly.
For several seconds she didn’t move.
Then she slowly rolled onto her back.
The cold metal pressed against her spine as she stared upward at the ceiling lights.
They were harsh.
Blinding.
But if she squinted just enough…
She could almost pretend they were stars.
Almost imagine she was looking at the sky.
At home.
The thought made her chest tighten painfully
She may not get out of this.
The realization settled into her bones with a quiet, terrible certainty.
Her dad was dead.
It had to be the truth.
Because if he were alive—
If he were breathing—
He would never have left her here this long.
He would have come.
He would have burned their metal fortress to the ground if he had to.
Her father would have torn through every soldier, every machine, every wall between them until he found her.
But he hadn’t
So he must be gone.
Her throat tightened.
For a moment the grief rose up inside her like a tidal wave.
She wished he were here.
She wished someone would come.
She wished someone would make the pain stop.
A shuddering inhale pulled through her bruised ribs.
“No.”
She whispered the word to herself.
Wishes won’t help you here.
Her jaw tightened.
Slowly, painfully, she curled slightly onto her side.
Her fingers slid down toward her waistband.
They found the small object hidden there.
The hollow seed.
She wrapped her hand around it tightly.
Cold determination flickered through the haze of exhaustion.
She just needed to get out of here.
Just once.
Just one chance.
Then she would show them.
Her gaze shifted toward hall beyond the containment cell that held her.
Seven Na’vi prisoners had been held there.
Seven.
Captured in the attack.
One by one Ardmore had brought them in.
One by one they had been executed in front of her when she refused to speak.
Their bodies still lay where they had fallen.
The soldiers hadn’t even bothered to move them.
The air in the room had begun to stink of decay.
A sour, heavy smell that clung to everything.
(Y/n)’s eyes lingered on them.
Her jaw tightened.
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
Her voice was hoarse. “Go with Eywa.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Great Mother…”
Her voice dropped to a faint murmur. “Help me.”
Silence filled the room again.
Then her eyes opened.
And the softness in them was gone.
In its place burned something colder
Harder.
They thought they had broken her.
They thought pain would make her talk.
They thought fear would make her bend.
Her fingers tightened around the seed.
No.
She would show them pain.
She would show them suffering.
She would make them pay.
Listening
The biolab had not slept.
For days the lights inside the operations room had burned constantly, the holotables glowing softly while screens scrolled with streams of intercepted RDA communications.
Norm sat hunched over the comm station, headphones pressed against his ears, his eyes red from exhaustion.
Coffee cups littered the console.
Data tablets were stacked in messy piles around him.
He hadn’t moved much in hours.
Every single open RDA channel was being monitored.
Every transmission recorded.
Every encrypted signal pushed through decryption programs as fast as the computers could handle them.
Norm leaned forward slightly, listening
Static.
A burst of garbled voices.
Another channel.
More static.
He adjusted a dial, switching frequencies.
Nothing.
Again.
And again.
And again.
He rubbed his face with one hand.
“Come on…” he muttered quietly.
“Come on…”
If (Y/n) had been captured…
If the RDA were interrogating her…
At some point someone would talk about it.
Soldiers always did.
Someone always bragged.
Complained.
Said something they shouldn’t.
Norm just had to hear it.
Another burst of radio chatter crackled through the headphones.
He almost skipped it.
Then—
A voice.
“…Ardmore’s gonna be pissed.”
Norm froze.
The voice was faint through the static.
Military channel.
Probably internal chatter.
He leaned forward quickly, adjusting the signal filters.
The voices sharpened slightly.
“…can’t believe we still haven’t cracked that blue.”
Norm’s stomach tightened.
He turned up the gain.
Another voice answered.
“Tough bastard.”
A small laugh crackled through the line.
“No matter what we throw at it, it just screams.”
Norm’s hand went cold on the console.
The signal distorted again.
Static.
He slapped the side of the console.
“Come on…”
The channel cleared slightly.
“…surprised it hasn’t died yet.”
Another voice chimed in.
“That thing’s tougher than a roach.”
Norm’s blood ran cold.
He yanked off one headphone cup and snapped his fingers sharply toward the nearby tech station.
“Decrypt this channel!”
A scientist immediately rushed over, pulling the feed onto a larger console.
More static.
Then the signal came back stronger.
“I think Ardmore’s had enough.”
A chuckle.
“Every day she ramps it up.”
“Yeah, well we all know that blue won’t crack.”
Another voice snorted.
“It’s a savage.
“Probably doesn’t even understand what we’re saying.”
A pause.
Then—
“Unfortunately we’re gonna have to clean it up soon.”
A low whistle.
“Won’t be long now.”
Norm’s stomach lurched violently.
He ripped the headphones off his head.
They clattered across the desk.
For a second he just stared at the console.
Then he turned—
And barely made it to the waste bin before vomiting.
His body folded over the bucket as his stomach convulsed.
Footsteps rushed into the room.
“Holy shit, Norm!” Max burst through the doorway.
“What happened?”
Norm held up a shaking hand without turning around. “Wait…”
His breathing was ragged.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, still crouched over the bin.
Max stood nearby, concern growing on his face.
“What did you hear?”
Norm struggled to answer.
His mind replayed the voices.
The casual way they had said it.
The laughter.
The cruelty.
And the person they were talking about—
Was still just a kid.
A kid who had been handed a war.
Norm finally forced himself upright.
His face had gone pale.
“It’s… (Y/n).”
Max froze.
The words hit like a punch. “She’s alive?”
Norm nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Max let out a breath of relief—
Then saw Norm’s expression.
The relief died instantly.
Norm shook his head weakly. “We can’t tell Neytiri.”
Max blinked.
“What?”
“We have to.”
Max’s voice was firm. “She has a right to know.”
Norm choked out a bitter laugh. “No.”
His voice cracked. “We can’t.”
Max stepped closer. “What did you hear?”
Norm’s eyes drifted toward the floor. “Stuff I wish I could unhear.”
He swallowed hard. “They’re beating her.”
His voice dropped to almost nothing. “Every day.”
Max felt his stomach twist.
Norm’s shoulders slumped as he sank into a chair. “I don’t know how she’s still alive.”
His hands pressed against his face. “But they’re hitting her until she breaks.”
Silence filled the room.
Max felt a surge of rage building in his chest. “They’re sick bastards.”
Norm nodded slowly. “It sounds like…”
He swallowed again. “…like they’re enjoying it.”
The words hung there.
Heavy.
Max rubbed the back of his neck. “If Neytiri finds out…”
Norm cut him off immediately. “She’ll go to war.”
“And with Jake still unconscious…”
He shook his head. “It would destroy her.”
Max looked toward the lab where Jake lay recovering. “Then what do we do?”
Norm stared at the table.
His voice came out quiet. “There are only two options.”
He gestured weakly with one hand. “We mount a rescue.”
His eyes lifted.
“And a lot of people die.”
Silence.
“Or we don’t rescue her.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“And she dies.”
Max closed his eyes briefly.
Max closed his eyes briefly
“Many for one.”
Norm nodded
“Or…”
He looked down again.
“One for many.”
They both knew the truth. (Y/n) would never give them the location of the base.
She would die before she did.
Norm sighed heavily. “God I wish Jake was awake.”
His voice was bitter. “This wouldn’t be our decision if he was.”
A voice suddenly called from across the lab. “Norm.”
Both men looked up.
One of the scientists stood at a weather console near the window.
He had clearly been listening. “There’s something you should see.”
Norm walked over slowly. “What is it?”
The scientist pointed at the screen.
A massive storm system swirled across the holographic weather map.
Electrical readings spiked violently. “This storm hits tomorrow night.”
Norm studied the data. “Electrical interference?”
“Massive.”
The scientist nodded.
“It’ll disrupt RDA sensors.”
“Comms.”
“Thermal imaging.”
“Maybe even their internal systems.”
Max’s eyes widened slightly.
Norm leaned closer to the display.
“…how long?”
“Six hours.”
Norm looked at Max.
Max looked back.
Both of them understood immediately.
Norm straightened. “We need to notify Tarsem.”
Max exhaled slowly. “You realize what this means.”
Norm nodded grimly. “Yes.”
Max’s voice dropped. “It’s a suicide mission.”
Norm looked toward the dark jungle outside the lab.
Tarsem’s words echoed in his head.
Find a way to get me inside that sky person nest.
Norm turned back toward Max.
“He’s the only one willing to go.”
A pause.
“And the only one who might actually make it back.”
The lab felt too small for the weight of the decision.
The storm system still swirled across the weather holo, lightning signatures flickering through the projected clouds as the simulation updated in real time.
Tomorrow night.
Six hours of interference.
Six hours where RDA systems might not see clearly.
Six hours where someone might slip inside Bridgehead.
Norm stared at it, jaw tight.
“This is insane.”
Norm didn’t answer.
Max threw his hands out in frustration.
“You’re talking about sending Tarsem straight into Bridgehead.”
Norm slowly turned toward him. “Yes.”
Max scoffed.n“You know what Bridgehead is right now?”
“It’s the most fortified base on the planet.”
“Gunships.”
“AMP suits.”
“Thermals.”
“Perimeter drones.”
“And you want to send one Na’vi warrior into that?”
Norm’s voice remained steady. “We can’t just leave her there.”
Max stepped closer. “You’re not listening.”
“He’s the only thing keeping this clan together right now.”
“Jake’s down.”
“(Y/n) is missing.”
“Tarsem is the one keeping the patrols running.”
“The food coming in.”
“The warriors from panicking.”
Max’s voice rose.n“You pull him out of here and this entire place starts to fall apart.”
Norm’s eyes hardened slightly. “And what do we tell Jake when he wakes up?”
Max stopped.
Norm’s voice grew quieter.
Colder. “What do we say to him?”
His eyes locked onto Max’s.
“I’m sorry.”
He spoke the words slowly. “We didn’t want to try and rescue (Y/n).”
Max’s jaw clenched.
Norm took a step closer.n“He loves that kid more than himself.”
“More than anything.”
Max rubbed his face. “I know.”
His voice was tight. “I know.”
Max looked down at the floor. “I love that kid too.”
He shook his head slowly. “She’s like a niece to me.”
His voice softened slightly. “I watched her grow up.”
Norm nodded. “So did I.”
His voice carried a weight now.n“Max… we’ve known that girl since the day Jake brought her to meet us.”
He let out a slow breath. “She was three days old.”
Max gave a small, tired laugh. “Yeah.”
“I remember.”
Norm smiled faintly despite everything. “And Jake was walking around like the proudest guy on Pandora.”
Max nodded. “Wouldn’t stop showing her off.”
“He kept asking if she looked just like him.”
Norm’s expression darkened again. “That girl has been part of our lives since day one.”
Silence fell over the room.
The weight of that truth settled between them.
Max sighed deeply.n“You’re asking Tarsem to die.”
Norm didn’t look away. “Yes.”
Max’s voice rose again. “That’s exactly what you’re asking.”
“Bridgehead is suicide.”
Norm nodded once. “I know.”
Max stared at him. “So how can you justify that?”
Norm took a slow breath.
Then answered quietly.n“Because Tarsem is the only one who would volunteer.”
Max fell silent.
Norm continued.n“If we send a full rescue party…”
His eyes flicked toward the weather map. “Dozens die.”
“Maybe more.”
Max didn’t argue.
They both knew that was true.
Norm’s voice grew heavier.
“But if Tarsem goes alone…”
“…then fewer lives are risked.”
His gaze dropped again. “And at least we can say we tried.”
The room fell quiet again.
Norm’s voice dropped almost to a whisper.“They’re torturing her, Max.”
The words felt like knives in his mouth. “Maybe even right now.”
His hands clenched slowly.n“And we’re just sitting here.”
Max’s jaw tightened.
Norm forced himself to continue. “We have to try.”
His eyes flicked toward the storm map again.
“This storm is the only chance we’re going to get.”
Max stood there for a long moment.
Max exhaled slowly. “You realize if he dies…”
Norm nodded. “Yes.”
Max ran a hand through his hair. “Jake’s going to kill us because of the state he’ll find the clan in.”
Norm gave a tired half-smile. “If Jake wakes up and Tarsem dies trying to save his daughter…”
He shrugged faintly. “…I’ll take that.”
Max stared at the storm map again.
Lightning flickered across the hologram.
Tomorrow night.
Their only chance.
Norm’s voice came one final time.
“We have to try.”
Never Again
Norm found Tarsem tightening a strap on his ikrans saddle and cleared his throat slightly.
“Tarsem.”
The warrior looked up.nHis expression remained calm, though the exhaustion in his eyes was clear.
“Norm.”
Norm stepped closer.n“I spoke with the weather team.”
Tarsem waited.
Norm gestured toward the darkening sky.n“The storm that’s building out there…”
He paused.n“…it hits tomorrow night.”
Tarsem’s brow furrowed slightly.n“And?”
Norm took a breath.
“The electrical interference could scramble RDA systems.”
He held Tarsem’s gaze. “It might be enough to slip inside Bridgehead.”
Silence stretched between them.
Tarsem slowly straightened. “An opportunity ,” he said quietly.
Norm nodded. “Yes.”
Tarsem looked back out toward the horizon where lightning flickered across the clouds.
“If you get caught—”
Norm stopped himself.
Tarsem already knew.
Norm forced the words out anyway. “There’s a very high chance you won’t make it back.”
The wind moved through the cavern around them.
Tarsem stared out at the distant storm clouds. For a long moment he didn’t speak.
Then he exhaled slowly.bA deep breath that seemed to carry days of weight behind it.
“Too many times,” Tarsem said quietly, “I have abandoned her.”
Norm frowned slightly.
Tarsem’s gaze remained fixed on the storm.n“At the river.”
“When she fought those boys alone.”
“When she stepped forward to lead while the rest of us hesitated.”
His voice grew heavier.
“And the day she flew into Hell’s Gate.”
Tarsem’s jaw tightened.
“She told me to take her father and leave.”
Norm said nothing.
Tarsem continued quietly. “I did.”
His hands clenched slightly at his sides. “I left her there.”
Norm stepped closer. “You followed her orders.”
Tarsem shook his head slowly. “No.”
His voice was firm. “I left her.”
Lightning flashed across the distant sky.
Tarsem finally turned back toward Norm.
His expression had changed.
The exhaustion was still there.
The grief was still there.
But beneath it—
Was resolve.
“I will not fail her again.”
Norm studied him carefully.
“Tarsem—”
“If this costs me my life,” Tarsem interrupted calmly, “then so be it.”
Next >
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