Ma Neteyam

1 - Grim

By the time Kallias's alarm went off, he was already wide awake. He found himself staring at nothing, found himself listening to the vibrating hum of Pandora's wind pressing against the metal walls of the barracks. Turning off the annoying ring that pestered him, he got ready to do the routine he'd be able to do even with his eyes closed.

His body moved on its own. Instinctive, automatic, his daily activities carved into his brain like code. His large hand found the worn strap of his gear harness hanging on the steel peg beside his bed.

He paused, looking at his hand as he ran a finger over his sensitive knuckles, which were still bruised from last night's sparring. He hadn't lost, he hardly ever did, but it hadn't been pretty.

Then again, nothing ever was.

He sat up on the edge of the bunk, the cheap bed frame creaking under the shift of his mass. His shoulders hunched, the matte blue skin of his Avatar form catching the early flicker of morning sun that peeked through the small window, sneaking its way though damaged blinds.

Rolling his neck, vertebrae cracking, he then ran a hand over his face as if trying to scrape off the fog that came from too many hours awake and barely enough sleep.

Kallias's joints cracked as he stood, and even after all these months, the avatar body still needed time to get used to.

His skin bore the distinctive blue of the Na'vis, but unlike many others, his was marked by contrast. Lean, sinewy muscle stretched over a frame sharpened by training and war. Ink crawled across the ridges of his ribcage and hip, most half forgotten memories from his other life. Scars overlapped ink in some places, the evidence of close encounters that he didn't bother hiding.

His jaw was squared, features angular and unreadable, with golden, predator sharp eyes that rarely blinked unless necessary. Kallias's braided queue brushed against his shoulder lightly as he rolled his neck, and the side of his head revealed the close shave around his scalp, that one braid hanging longer. Looped tightly and tucked with calculated ease for its protection.

A black band coiled his neck, a tactical collar with integrated RDA comms. He never took the risk of removing it, the habit of always being alert prevented him from doing so. Besides, it was like a permanent reminder of who he belonged to. Who he owed his life to.

He pulled on his flask vest in one practiced motion, securing the mag lock claps across his chest, before moving through the rest of his gear checklist. Reinforced boots, thigh sheathed blade, wrist comms. Rifle last. The long matte black weapon clicking satisfyingly as it locked into the magnetic clamp on his back.

He took one last glance at the small dump he called home to make sure everything looked secure. It was just a bunk filled with only necessities. Hardly enough room for anything more then a vacant bunk bed and storage.

But he had nothing personal to take up the space anyways. No decorations. No photos. Kallias had no past to celebrate, no special memories to miss.

All he had and all he knew was this life. This world.

The base was already stirring as he stepped out of the barrack, the muggy heat of Pandora smacked into him like a wall of breath. Thick and alive. Steam rose in tendrils off the jungle that circled the base, vines crept close to the outer fences, and massive trees towered just beyond the perimeter, as if they were looking in.

The RDA base was a gloomy place to say the least, hardly anything to look at thanks to the still ongoing development of this 'new and improved facility'.

Cheap sheet metal structures, stacked crates, oil-slick puddles, and the faint scent of exhaust from the ever churning generators were some things that made up this place.