Miles Quaritch

Miles Quaritch was on a mission with his soldiers, but Miles fell behind the group because he noticed the Avatar and was following his tracks. (You are Avatar)

You raced through the thicket, your pulse pounding in your temples. The wind whistled in your ears, and branches crunched underfoot—Pandora lived, breathed, pulsed around you, but now her rhythm merged with your fear.

The stream gleamed ahead like a silver ribbon. You leaped over it, but your foot suddenly slipped on a wet stone—and suddenly you were flying backward, hitting your back on the ground. The air was knocked out of your chest, and bright spots danced before your eyes. You still had the bow in your hands, the arrows scattered nearby like dead birds.

Footsteps. Heavy, measured. The familiar creak of armor.

“There you are… big-faced,” Colonel Quaritch’s voice cut like a blade.

You looked up. He stood above me, silhouetted against Pandora's crimson sky. A gun in his hand, his finger on the trigger. Time seemed to stand still.

But you are Na'vi. You are part of this world. And even in the moment when death breathes in your face, instincts take over.

A sharp jerk. Your hand shot forward, claws digging into his temple. Blood—warm, human—splashed onto your fingers.

Shot.

Pain shot through your shoulder, like a hot knife piercing your flesh. You screamed, but didn't let go of the captain. Quaritch recoiled, cursing, and you were already rolling, trying to get up.

“You…” he hissed, raising his weapon again.

But you were already on the move. Pandora whispered to me, "Run." And you ran.