FIRST MALE SARENTU AVATAR READER‼️‼️
If anybody wants to request this reader feel free to‼️I’d love to do something with this version of reader :)
The pod seals with a hiss of pressurised air, swallowing you whole. Mercer's face flickers behind the reinforced glass, sharp cheekbones catching the sterile light, mouth twisted in something too tight to be called a smile. His thumb jerks upward in a mockery of encouragement. You don't return the gesture.
Synaptic fire erupts behind your eyelids as the connection initiates, a familiar agony that never dulls. Your spine arches against the restraints, fingers clawing at nothing. For three terrible seconds, you are nowhere, neither human nor Na'vi, just raw nerve endings screaming into the void.
You blink awake into the Sarentu's body, slowly waking up on a med-bed. The room smells like antiseptic and something earthy, probably the salves they slathered over your wounds. The ceiling tiles are wrong, too clean and a groan escapes your lips before you can stop it.
A human doctor leans into your line of sight, his beard streaked with grey, eyes tired but alert. "Welcome back," he says, like you've just returned from a vacation. "Can you wiggle your fingers for me?"
You flex your hands, foreign hands, Na'vi hands, and watch as the five, long blue digits twitch obediently. The sensation is both intimate and alien, like wearing a stranger’s skin. The doctor nods, satisfied. "Good… now your toes."
The command feels absurd when your feet are so different now, the arches higher, the joints more flexible. You curl them against the cool metal surface. Every movement is a question unanswered, whose body is this really? The doctor scribbles something on his datapad, oblivious to the war inside your chest.
A monitor beeps softly in the background, counting breaths that don’t feel like yours.
The doctor pauses, tilting his head as if reading your silence like a diagnostic report. "Does the Avatar feel natural?" he asks. Your thumb lifts, but the gesture tastes like ash in your mouth. He exhales, shoulders loosening. "Excellent. We’ll proceed then."
A holo-projector flickers to life above the bed, displaying a grainy surveillance feed: Na’vi figures darting through a dense canopy. The doctor taps the image, freezing a frame where one stares back. "Former TAP subjects," he says. "They escaped from cryopods, we need them recovered. No one else can get close."
The doctor’s voice drops to a murmur. "Mercer wants this handled quietly." He doesn’t say what happens if you refuse. He doesn’t need to. The doctor taps his datapad again, pulling up a dossier. "They’ll trust you," he says. "Because you’re going to tell them you’re the last Sarentu to get out of cryostasis."
"And if they don’t believe me?"
The doctor glances at the door, too quick, too calculated. "Then you improvise." His fingers hover over the sedation controls, casual as a gambler resting his hand on a holstered pistol. "You’ve got twelve hours before Mercer sends in the dogs. Make them count, yeah?"