Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They were killing him.

Spider wanted to cry but no tears would come. The whirring green light snatched them away and sent that aching whine straight into his brain. His eyes hurt. His brain hurt! Everything hurt! It hurt to think, to talk, to exist! The green never stopped. Flashing, burning, searing; tearing like splinters into his eyes and going all the way into his skull. He screamed and pleaded, tried to tell them he didn’t know! Begged them to stop! They would not. They kept asking the same questions over and over again until it was all he knew. Blinding, burning, searing, and biting green, and the question.

“Where is Jake Sully?”

They kept asking even as his vision began to go dark and his throat was rent raw from screaming. Until all he tasted was the blood running from his lips into his mouth. The agony and the green was his entire world until nothing was left.

“Where is Jake Sully?”

He didn’t know! He didn’t know! HE DIDN’T KNOW!

“Where is Jake Sully?”

At some point he wondered if he had taken Quaritch’s offer things would have been different. He had not. Now they were destroying him like they were destroying Pandora. He HATED them! Even as the pain began to dull, his senses, and his memories fragmented, the hate remained.

“Where...Jake...Sully?”

Somewhere during his early rounds in the machine, he wondered if this was what Neytiri felt when she looked at him. He knew the stories. Seen the desolation where Kelutral, Hometree once stood. Had grew up in the shadow of human destruction. Grew up with Miles Quartich's name hanging around his neck like a weighted chain. “I’m not like the other humans!" He had thought as a child as he tugged on Kiri’s tail and tussled with Neteyam and Lo’ak. "I’ll show you I’m not like them! That I’m good!” 

"Jake. Sully. Where?"

They bled him dry. Ripped apart every memory, every scrap of his life with the Sullys, and picked it apart like scavengers on a carcass. They flayed his mind raw and left it hanging and exposed. And still, the question came.

“I don’t know! They left me behind! Why did they leave me?” He wanted to scream, but his throat is barren and dry, and all his tears are blood.

They were getting frustrated. He could tell. Sometimes they’d hit him. Beat him. Crack his nose, bruise his ribs, and bloody his lips before tossing him back in that bright, cold cell. They’d wait till he had recovered enough before dragging him out and tossing him back into the Green. He’d lost count how many times it was, now. Lost track of time.

“Where...Sully?”

Sometimes Quaritch was there. Sometimes he wasn’t. Once, Spider even thought he heard him ask them to stop. They had not.

“Where-”

He was losing it now.

“-is-”

He did not know.

“-Jake-”

Fuck them. 

"-Sully?”

He wondered if Eywa would take him when he died.

“Wh-?”

It was getting dark.

“-lly?”

He didn’t see the green anymore. Only black-

“Where-”

And red.

“-is Jake Sully?”

Somewhere along the line, the pain faded into…something. Something far away yet so familiar. Maybe this was death. He had said that they would have to kill him, and they were making good on that. He just hoped they never found Jake and his family. Hoped they failed and burned and were utterly destroyed like the last time!

It was odd, though…

“His vitals are taking a nosedive! Get him out of there!”

Dying felt like…it almost felt like…

“What the hell is that brain activity?”

Hunger.

As the hum of the image extractor dies down, General Ardmore let out a disappointed sigh as the boy’s limp body was extracted from the machine. Colonel Quaritch’s attempts to establish a working relationship with the boy had failed, and so he was handed back to them. The kid had been a tough nut to crack, and he’d eventually cracked, but the information they had gleaned was nowhere near what she had wanted. Remove Sully and the Na’vi people’s morale would take a gutshot. The boy had to have known something but what they had extracted was minimal. It seems he really hadn’t known anything.

She turned and made to leave.

Quartich should be notified, she supposed. He had been monitoring the interrogations as often as possible, much to her annoyance. The boy wasn’t even his son, and he'd been taking up space in the interrogation room far too often for her liking. No matter. At least they’d extracted some usual data. The Sully’s family would be high-priority targets from now on, and now they had faces and locations of other high priority Omaticaya Na’vi. Blue team would be reassigned to hunter-killer duty and sent in to eliminate said targets. Humanity would prevail.

-A scream.

Frances Ardmore, along with the entire interrogation squadron, turned to behold horror.

The boy was alive. Alive and free of restraints; his right hand apparently torn through metal like wet paper! One of the men removing him was held aloft by that very hand. In that moment, Frances Ardmore beheld Socorro’s face. His lips were pulled back in a snarl that showed all his teeth, and his eyes were red. Not bloodshot, no. All-the-way red and glowing with an inner light that matched the color of what happened when Socorro’s fist clenched. No one had any time to react.

Blood spurted everywhere as muscle and sinew pulped.

General Frances Ardmore was no stranger to gore. She’d seen her fair share of blood and guts. Spilled enough, too. But what happened next was unlike anything she had ever seen. There was a blurring mass of red and black that unfolded from Socorro’s flesh, unravelling and unfolding like a mix between an opening flower or a spider’s web. The mass of black and red swallowed the man, compressed and compacted him, clothes and all, and pulled the mass of pulped meat and churning biomass into Socorro’s flesh.

People were screaming in the observation room behind her. An alarm was sounding. Klaxons blared.

Socorro took his free hand and began bending the metal harness away from his chest-

Frances drew her sidearm and emptied the clip until blood, brain, and bone splattered the once sterile room. She heaved a breath with her heart pounding in her chest, never taking her eyes off the corpse.

Silence reigned, punctuated only by the alarm. For a long moment, Frances just stares.

The body does not move.

Someone in observation whimpers. 

The corpse twitches.

Frances swaps for another magazine but it's too late. Black and red whirl, and the bullet holes are gone. Socorro’s head is intact with eyes blazing hellfire as he rips solid metal away and he hits the floor with a thud that seems to shake the whole room. People are panicking now, screaming, hollering, and running. Frances pushes back her own panic and fear back and works off of reflex to reload and refire. Round after round punches through tan skin striped with faded blue even as she backpedals towards the exit. The bullets don’t even phase whatever the fuck Socorro is as he rises to his feet and glares her way, at least until his head snaps back when a shot punches clean through his skull and drops him. Frances runs for the exit and seals the door shut behind her before calling for all security personnel to rendezvous on her position and ordering Bridgehead to be put on lockdown.

“This is Ardmore! I need all armed personnel on my position!” She screamed into her comms as she watched the boy’s body jerk and twitch with those swirling tendrils of viscous red and black. 

All she did was blink and she missed it.

There was a resounding BANG and alarms and alerts began to blare anew. Frances looked with wide eyes into the interrogation room at the human sized hole punched clean through one of the ceiling vents. The sounds of bumping and thumping came directly over her head a moment later before another thunderous BANG shook the building, followed by the dreadful hiss of escaping oxygen. It was like a shaped charge had gone off somewhere above her!

It was almost like…no, but that was impossible!

He couldn’t have busted out!?

From the panicked notifications and alerts she received soon after, it seemed he very well had!

He was running.

Bullets chased his heels. Machines dotted his way. Yellow things with many legs, hulking upright monstrosities of metal, vehicles, and other things he had no name too. He did not let them impede him. He smashed through them, picked them up and hurled them with his strength, tore them apart with his bare hands! Then there were the humans. Some got out of his way. Some did not. Some shot at him with their guns. Those he crushed. 

He did not know where he was running or where he was going. All he knew was that he had to escape! Had to get OUT! He rounds the corner, bare feet slapping across concrete and metal, and runs headfirst into an oncoming squadron of armed humans and mechs who open fire.

Bullets sting and burn but do not kill.

He turns and he runs!  He has to get off the ground! Has to climb!

Up one of the structures he goes; hand over hand, leaping from metal bar to crossbeam and smacking yellow machines out of his way. Down below the humans are yelling and screaming and mobilizing. Movement is everywhere and it pulls his eyes in every direction. Guns were raised and they open fire.

Spider ducks their bullets, curling into a ball and maneuvering between the metal around him as ricochets bounce and spark. Spider-That was his name, right? Spider? No, it was Mi....M....Miles? No, that wasn't right. Milessssssoccoro? Socorro. Spider Socorro. That sounded right. Yes. He was Spider Soccorro!-does not stop climbing and goes faster than any human or Na’vi should move until he is at the very top and all of Bridgehead and beyond is sprawled before him. Between the clouds of dust and gray smog, he saw a long stretch of barren earth stands between him and the jungle while a blue expanse of ocean was at his back. Glinting metal lay between both promises of escape. The jungle, he decides. His thoughts still felt fragmented and broken, but somehow, he just knew that was where he belonged! Echoes of memories fractured by green light made his head throb. He recalled the sensation of moss and bark under his hands and hauling himself up alongside laughing blue faces. It only reinforced the knowledge that the jungle was where he had to go.

The sound of propellers beating the air had him turning to see a gunship closing in on him with weapons trained and ready. Spider bares his teeth with a hiss even as he steps back at their approach. His heels kiss open air.

Instinct tells him to jump.

“If I fall, I die!” His panicked thoughts bleat as the gunship comes close enough to where he sees his blurry reflection in the windows.

“No, you will not.” Something answers.

The gunship opens fire and Spider turns and jumps into open air. 

Gravity takes him and unfamiliar instinct angles his body so that he lands feet-first in a blur of black and red.

The shockwave his landing creates sends any nearby humans flying.

“Run!” Says the voice.

Spider grits his teeth, digs in his heels, and runs. He does not notice the streaks of black and red that surge and ripple across his limbs. Does not feel the bullets being ejected from his body. Barely feels the weight of gravity as he takes a flying leap at Bridgehead’s wall, nor sees the swirl of red and black encasing his feet when he hits solid metal and he begins running upwards in outright defiance of physics.

He does not feel much at all. His vision has tunneled, and all thought is pushed to the back of his mind as he climbs and climbs and climbs! All that matters is escaping! 

“Keep going! Almost there!” Says the voice. He could not tell if it was a man or a woman.

He obeys, though, and before he knows it, he’s over the lip of the wall. Miles and miles of bare soil are between him and the jungle, and the sight makes his stomach churn. Bridgehead like a festering wound on the land, and the humans were like-

“Like a sickness?”

The answering thought echoes inside his head like laughter ringing, and it stuns Spider long enough for the gunship to catch up. The roar of its engines scorch. the air as it swings about to face him with guns spooling up in preparation to fire.

“What?” He finally speaks, voice hushed and suddenly scared and overwhelmed by it all. 

“Trust me.”

The voice sounded more defined.

Less like a stray thought

Less like his own. 

Spider’s vision fades the same time the gunship unloads on him.

And the last thing the lone pilot sees is a swirl of red and black that leaps forward with hungry smile. 

Chapter Text

Miles Quartich-the original-did three tours in Nigeria without a scratch. First day out in Pandora, a viperwolf turned his scalp into a zipper. Needless to say, he had seen plenty action, no doubt about that. He'd seen combat, seen battle, and had a good idea on how things can go south fast. So, when he and Blue Team were pulled back to Bridgehead because of an “attack”, Miles thought his predictions of an oceanic flank had come true. There were no mounted defenses on the western portion of the defensive seawall yet, so naturally the aliens would have their best shot hitting them from there. He expected the bay churning with a screaming blue horde riding all sorts of nasty critters. What he did not expect was to see was a visible line of destruction cutting straight through Bridgehead toward the western wall and several defense turrets blown to smithereens.

“What the fuck?” Lyle took the words right of his mouth as they crested the burgeoning city.

From the air they saw overturned trucks, smoking tankers, collapsed skeletons of half-built structures, smashed AMPS, and judging by the scores of white shrouds dotting the tarmac, many, many casualties. The entire Medical Division looked to be out working to tend to the wounded and ID the dead. Emergency field tents and hubs were popped up in a trail leading from the southwestern Killzone and the jungle.

“This…this couldn’t be Sully, right?” Z-dog hedged; her voice tinged with shock.

He had no answer. For all his borrowed experience, nothing in Miles Quartich’s memories compared to this. “Let’s gets a sitrep first, people.” He commanded, keeping any emotion out of his tone as they descended towards the airfield. They didn’t wait long. Second their boots touched ground there was an escort waiting to take them straight to Ardmore. An armed escort. Whatever had happened while 1st Recom was away had the general spooked to high hell and back. Straight to Ops they went and were walked into the familiar organized chaos of a hastily assembled strategy meeting. Ardmore stood in the center of the holographic screens examining aerial shots of Bridgehead, live surveillance of the surrounding jungle, and camera footage taken from parts of the city. She was center of calm amidst the flurry of activity around her, and after a long drag of Pandoran air, Miles stepped into the eye of the storm to stand at attention.

“General.” He greeted.

“I’m sure you saw the mess coming in, colonel.” She declared without looking at him.

He shrugged a blue shoulder and said, “Was hard to miss. What happened?”

He had always respected Frances Ardmore. The woman was meticulous, efficient, calculating, and unphased by anything. Some called her machinelike, but Quartich thought that made her the perfect woman for the job. Now, there had always been a cordiality between them; mutual respect. They knew their jobs and did their duty well. However, there was something in the way she spoke to him that was unlike her usual calm assuredness. Something cold and clipped laced her voice and her eyes were thin slits as she rewound one of the security screens and widened it for a macro view. Judging by Wainfleet’s frown and side-eye, his corporal caught the change in attitude, too.

“Take a look.” Was all she said and started the video.

Miles instantly recognized the inside the interrogation room and his ears flattened when the sound of Spider’s screaming came through the audio. His stomach clenched as borrowed memories came unbidden again. Memories of brown hair, dusky skin, and warm lips. Of the baby swaddled her arms. Of his own name leaving those lips-

"What's your name, kid?"

"Spider Socorro!"

"...Miles?

“Nobody calls me that!”  

Blinking out of their first encounter in the jungle, he frowned at what was onscreen.

“General, what-” He started.

“Watch.”

He shut up and watched. Listened to the sound of Ardmore personally interrogating him. They didn’t even need him to answer and just took snapshots of whatever his brain offered up. Ignoring the cold sensation pooling in his gut, he asked, “You said you couldn’t get anything more out of him?”

“For Sully, yes, but he’s been inside Sully’s base in the mountains. With what we’ve extracted, we almost know exactly where it is as well as lynchpins and allies in Sully’s resistance, human and Navi both. All we need is the armor and firepower to muscle through the natural defenses.”

The surprising intel hit him like a sucker-punch and made him feel lightheaded.

That’s what he told himself, at least. It wasn’t because Paz’s son was still screaming his throat raw on tape and the realization that he’d been fucking hoodwinked was beginning to settle in.

“I…wasn’t aware.” Was all that came out.

“I know. But that isn’t why I called you in here, colonel.” Ardmore’s voice had lightened by an ounce or two, but now it was back to being as hard as granite. “This is.”

She fast-forwarded through the next minute of footage and let it play once more.

They must have been done with him because they were unstrapping him and getting him down. Even from here, he could see the front of Spider's nose and lips were stained with-

Metal cuffs tore and a man was lifted off his feet. The hand holding him squeezed-

-blood. Blood and red writhing black and so much more. Then gunshots. Spider’s body jerking with each round. A heartbeat of calm. Then that churning swirl of dark colors dancing across the bullet holes and erasing the blood. Spider’s face undamaged and twisted into a feral snarl with glowing red eyes as he ripped himself free. The camera angle changed, showing people running for the exit. Ardmore covered the labcoats and pulled the trigger until Spider lay dead again. Then he got right back up and jumped onto the ceiling.

Wainfleet once again summed it up perfectly.

“What the fuck?!” He hissed as they watched Spider, hanging upside-down like his namesake, with his bare hands make a hole in the ceiling to crawl into. The camera switched to outside views of the facility from multiple angles. Each captured the moment Spider Socorro burst through solid metal out into Pandoran air barefaced and hit the ground running. Some people jumped out of his way. Those ones who didn’t were shoved sent flying through the air. The cameras switched to track his progress and it was clear he was not slowing down. If anything, he was going faster!

“We clocked him just over forty miles an hour here.” Ardmore idly commented. She nodded back to the screen without sparing him a glance saying, “You’ll love this part.”

He turned back just in time to see Spider take a running jump at one of the mega dump trucks as it rolled out in front of his path. The camera caught him soaring through the air like Pandora's lighter gravity had become zero around him. Then he hit the tire as it was still moving and went completely vertical. As in: he gave all laws of physics the bird and sprinted straight up the truck's frame all the way to the bucket. Bullets chased after him, but he was too fast. He crested the bucket, zipped over the load of dirt to the other side, and leaped off the edge. Miles Quartich then watched in disbelief as the boy fell and hit the ground, and instead of his bones, the tarmac cracked. After leaving a crater in his wake Spider just got up and kept. On. Running. 

It just got worse from there. Worse as in…impossible? Unbelievable? Outright batshit insane? Quartich didn't have the words. A distant part of him began wondering if this was some kind of sick joke, because all of a sudden there were ground assault vehicles-Swans, they were called-giving chase and soldiers mounted on the turrets unleashing hell. In response, Spider scooped up nearby swarm-assemblers and tossed them over his shoulder like they were banana peels in a goddamn cartoon. It wasn't funny when they slammed into the Swans and flipped them end-over-end, killing everyone inside. They watched footage of Spider running right up the side of more buildings, scale pylons, vault from structure to structure like a professional acrobat, and when he ran out of high-ground he was leaping away from grasping AMP suits and shoulder-checking whatever he couldn’t dodge with the force of a runaway bulldozer; an unstoppable force moving at impossible speed straight for the wall. The only time he did slow was when he would get shot. The cameras got some nice closeups of him catching rounds which were then promptly spat out of his back and shoulder like old gum. Or when an AMP shot him out of the air, and instead of being split in half by the round, he just smashed into the ground with his entire torso wreathed in that red-black mass that faded to show he was completely unscathed. 

Finally, Quartich couldn’t take it anymore and spoke just as the screen he was watching showed Spider lob a scissor-lift into a tanker truck and erupted it into a cloud of oily smoke that caught over a dozen people in the blast.

“General Ardmore what in the hell am I looking at?” His voice came out tight, hard, and angry with teeth bared and tail lashing in agitation.  

Ardmore didn’t even flinch.

“I said watch, colonel.”

With a flick of her finger the video was fast-forwarded to show the internal and external feeds of a kestrel gunship that had been in hot pursuit of Spider throughout the chase. The external feed zoomed in to show Spider standing on the top of Bridgehead's protective wall with his braids whipping in the wind. His eyes were brown again and his expression reminded Miles of his first day in captivity; a wild and scared animal with chest heaving and teethed bared in a Na'vi snarl. Suddenly those eyes-Paz's eyes-flashed red and his entire posture relaxed. His face slackened but quickly became something razor sharp with a cruel, hungry grin. The pilot signaled they had eyes on target, and with the 'affirmative' given, opened fire. 

What happened next was worse than everything he'd seen thus far. Beyond worse. Because while Miles Quartich had seen some shit, he’d never seen someone jump through a hail of gunfire and bodily smash through a cockpit. They could hear the pilot screaming as Spider took hold of him, cocked back a fist, and punched a hole clean through the man’s chest. Then he just…absorbed him. Clothes and all. Blood, bone, sinew, fatigues, helmet? All of it was swallowed by those squirming, ropey tendrils that blurred over Spider’s body to leave him literally wearing the man's clothes. And his helmet. And his body. And his face! Jumping into the cockpit, the doppelganger righted the kestrel with practiced ease and emptied all rockets on nearby turrets to disable them before turning around and fucking off towards the jungle. Those new kestrels were fast, so he covered a lot of ground before the target-lock alert started flashing and buzzing. Meanwhile, the thing wearing a dead man's face acted like this was just enough day at the office. It calmly got up from the cockpit and ran to throw itself out of the open side. A second later, the feed went to static when the missile hit.

Ardmore broke the silence that had settled over the Operations Center.

“We shot him down just over the jungle. No body was recovered and we assume he's on foot." She turned and leveled a steely gaze directly at Miles and asked in a voice that was flat, sarcastic, and dangerous with implication and accusation, "I take it you didn't know about this?" 

Quartich just stared at her.

"Thought so." Ardmore muttered before stepping forward with hands behind her back and a voice pitched for all to hear. "To answer your question, that is your new target. I'm putting you and Blue Team in charge of a task force to find whatever this is and neutralize it with extreme prejudice."

"What about Sully?" He heard himself asking, eyes locked on a screen showing Paz Socorro's son with his borrowed memories and emotions at war with one another. On the one hand, Sully. Nuff said. On the other...

There was a long pause where Frances turned and leveled him with a look harder than steel and said in a calm voice, "Colonel, I just watched a sixteen-year-old boy punch a hole through solid metal and shrug off rounds we use on the Na'vi. If you think Sully takes priority then I will have someone else handle what I consider priority. Do I make myself clear?"

Quartich's entire spine was rigid.

"Crystal." 

"Good." Frances held his eyes for a moment longer before suddenly letting out a harsh cough. She winced, rubbing at her chest. After a moment, she spoke.

"He depressurized all of interrogation when he escapes breakout. There weren't enough masks for everyone, and I was lucky. Pandoran air still burns, though..." She trailed off with a shake of her head and looked between the two Recombinants, "We lost a lot more when he tore through the city. Find him, colonel, and make sure he doesn't do it again."

Spider awoke to two things. 

The sounds of the jungle; caterwauls, chirps, hums, calls, whirrs, and clicks of plants and animals alike, the familiar comforting humidity and warmth of the sun, the feel of the forest floor under his back. And the worst headache of his life. 

For a long moment, he just lays there paralyzed and groggy with pain. He felt dizzy and feverish, and everything just felt off. He felt like a herd of angtsìk had walked on him. Eventually the pain and discomfort began fading away and he looked up to see the sun shining through the canopy.

Something flickered and danced above him. 

He squinted, grunting and groaning through the fog clouding his mind and vision, and blinked at what was floating above him. An atokirina was descended gently from above. Its gossamer, feathery petals tensed and pulsed, controlling its sway on the breeze, and Spider stared in shock. He knew how sacred the Woodsprites were. Everyone did! He'd never seen them around another person other than Kiri, and even then, this one was close enough for him to touch. The atokirina spun gently in the breeze slowed to land directly on his nose, and in that moment, Spider realized something.

He could feel it touching him. 

He could feel it touching him because he wasn't wearing his mask. 

He wasn't wearing his mask!

The atokirina was flung back into the air and drifts away as Spider panicked and flailed for his exopack tograb a hold of his mask. He finds nothing. His pack his missing. His mask absent. All he has on is his loincloth. Eventually the panic winds down, mostly due to him not choking on the air and dying, and he takes that first hesitant inhale. His lungs do not burn. The air is damp and sweet and warm, nothing like the dry, cool supply of his mask. Slowly he rises to his feet, feeling lost in a dreamlike haze, and marvels at the feeling of air on his face. He inhales another lungful of air, along with the numerous new scents all around him ! He turns in a wide circle, marveling how he could smell the grass, the trees, the plants! A laugh escaped his throat, disbelieving and awestruck! What had happened that made him-

Agony.

His knees hit the dirt, ears ringing and hands going to his head as if to keep it from splitting-

Flashes of green light dance behind his eyes. The hum of the machine. His body immobilized. His throat and mind rent raw.

"Where is Jake Sully?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" He sobs.

Strong hands toss him onto a cold metal floor. A boot kicks him further into his cell. 

Blue fingers roll him over, and Quartich's face, his father's face, looms above him. "They're gonna kill you, kid. Last chance. Help me help you." He tells Spider with something not unlike pity in his eyes. The unfairness that Miles fucking Quartich gets to be Na'vi while Spider isn't makes something ugly twist in his gut. He spits a wad of blood into that hated face and hisses a weak "Fuck you!"

"Where is Jake Sully? Where is his family?"

"I DON'T KNOW! THEY LEFT ME, OKAY? I DON'T KNOW!"

An unfamiliar voice in his cell.

"You poor thing..."

The terrible sensation of fading away, of being so stretched thin that his last thread broke. Of his heart shuddering to a stop.

And then overwhelming HUNGER! HUNGRYHUNGRYHUNGRYHEWASSOHUNGRYMEATSOCLOSEREACHANDGRABANDTEARANDCONSUME!  

Metal peeling under his hands. Body moving. Sense of direction. Trapped. Escape. Escape!Escape!Escape! FREEDOM! Enemies! Food...No! Escape. Run! Run! Run! Run! Chased! Pursued!

Kill! 

“If I fall, I die!”  His own voice as he perches high above the ground. 

An unfamiliar voice answering in his head.

“No, you will not.” 

Jump! Run! Up!

He stands on the edge with freedom in sight.

“Trust me.”

Darkness, hunger, and screams-

-and awakes from memory with a horrified gasp to fall on his hands.

...Hands that are now writhing with red and black tendrils. It felt like his heart stops for a second time. He feels them. A thousand tiny fingers undulating with hunger, brought to the surface by his fear. They dig up the earth, tear up the grass, and burrow like worms for roots. They search for food and find nothing satisfactory.

Spider screams and flails, shaking and swiping at them.

"Get off get off get off go away!" He frantically thinks.

Surprisingly, they obey.

A prickle of heat rushes through his whole body as they suck back and vanish back into his skin like the stalks of the loreyu plant. 

Spider stares at his hands with wide eyes.

His skin is unmarred.

Taking a long, slow breath, he focuses. A frission of heat runs him again and the flesh of his hands just unravels into a roiling mass of twisting, undulating shapes that coil and grasp and flick at the air. He feels them again. Feels how they longed to move, to consume, to become, to reshape, and change...

His voice comes out in a terrified whisper.

"What's happening to me?" 

Chapter Text

Pandoran nights were bright. The bioluminescence of all the flora and fauna, the natural brightness of the sky, and the glow of the nearby planet and moons illuminated the dark in a way that was not found on Earth. At least that was what Spider had learned from the scientists; that Earth had only one small moon and no glowing plants or animals, so humans had used fire to see in the beginning. Then technology came, and eventually humans covered their planet with so many lights it blotted out their stars and moon. Of course, the air pollution and smog helped with that. Spider had seen pictures and it looked absolutely horrible. He had wondered just how could anything survive there? How could humans do THAT to their own planet?

The point was, humans could not see in the dark, and all the lights in Pandora's jungle just casted long shadows.

“So why can I?” Spider thought, perched in the shadows of a tree, working hand over hand to tie a proper bowstring around the length of bent wood in his lap. Working in the gloom like this would have been impossible, but now? Since he’d woken up the shadows had thinned, the night seeming brighter than before. His eyes were sharper and picked out details he should have only seen during the day.

Throughout the day, Spider had scavenged enough plant fibers to braid into a tensile cord like he’d been shown and found the right kind of wood from the right kind of tree that could be carved and bent. He had been on the move since he awoke to get as far away from Bridgehead as possible and only stopped long enough for water, food, and to collect resources. He pushed himself hard, though, and all the while he had been ravenously hungry, hungrier than he could ever remember being in his life. There were fruits, fungi, and vegetables that were safe to eat, but it nothing seemed to be enough. Still, after the tasteless gruel the humans had fed him, he wouldn't complain. His first bite of a spartan fruit, of real food, had been enough to make him want to cry.

He missed his real bow. He had made it himself with Kiri’s help and Lo’ak had taught him how to shoot. Maybe he’d be able to find it again, but he would work with what the forest gave him. 

When night began to fall, he had taken to the tallest tree he could find and climbed up into the safety of the canopy. Looking back, he could see the distant lights of Bridgehead peeking through the trees. Not only did the height make him feel safer but it also gave him a good view of his destination. Off in the distance loomed the floating shapes of the Halleluiah Mountains, and hidden within the caves, High Camp.

Home, and it was so far away.

Spider had covered a good amount of ground, much more than he thought, but it would take days of travel to get to the mountains! Worse was that he didn’t have the luxury of his friends to help him through the journey. He had no comms, barely the beginnings of a bow, and was just one small human in Pandora’s vast jungle. Viperwolves, jungle ikran, palulukan…and those were just the big predators. There were poisonous plants, venomous insects, and a hundred other things that could easily kill him. He wasn’t even inside the safe zone anymore. The animals didn’t recognize him here, so close to the humans as he was.

All of a sudden, everything just reminded Spider how humans did not belong here. That he did not belong here. It was something he had struggled to overcome all his life, the stigma of humanity and Miles Quartich's blood staining his veins. Neytiri’s cool, disdainful eyes flashed before his eyes along with stares from other Na'vi who saw him as just another Sky Person. Just another demon. He was not like them! Would NEVER be like them! 

Wood creaked and Spider forced himself to relax his grip on the bow and set it down next to him with shaky hands and inhale a long breath.

Breathing.

Ha!

The wind gently kissed his skin, tussled his braids, and brought the smell of the jungle to his nose; all the flowers, fruits, herbs, and plants. Brown eyes opened and a smile etched the corners of his lips. The forest below glowed and pulsed with pale blues, vibrant greens, bright pinks, and soft purples. Colors that were much more vivid without a lens of hard plastic over his eyes. He couldn’t wait to see the look on all their faces when they saw him now! Lo'ak, Kiri, Tuk...

Spider frowned and sat back against the mossy trunk of the tree and held up a hand. When the heat pulsed through his body, he forced himself to stay calm and not panic as the flesh rapidly darkened and peeled apart. Even now, it was terrifying to see. The rootlike extensions were almost like the end of a Na’vi’s tswin only sharper, barbed, pulsating, and faintly thrumming with a dull red light that glowed in tune with his own heartbeat. Not long after he had awakened, he had heard the far-off sound of engines in the distance heading towards him. He hadn’t had the time to process what was happening to him and had just ran. He ran and ran and ran, faster than he could remember moving in his life, and did not stop until the sounds were gone. From there he had slaked his thirst and fed the gnawing pit in his stomach as best he could. And sometimes when he reached out for a piece of low-hanging fruit, that rush would surge through him, and his hand would do…this.

Spider let out a long breath and willed the strange far-off sensation of a hundred moving parts to return and retract. A moment later, and his hand was back; five fingers and all. If he did make it back alive, he’d have to explain…this. Whatever this was.

He didn't even know where to begin! Was it something the RDA had done? Something he could not remember? He had noticed the were gaps in his memory as the human's prisoner. Mostly they were just flashes of pain, isolation, and the green light of the machine that still ached to think about. Sometimes he’d remember moments of being dragged by his armpits down corridors, of lights in his eyes, and bruises on his ribs. Maybe it had been all for the best if he didn’t remember it all...even if there were some things he didn’t think he could ever forget. 

It was like trying to remember a dream, but he could still feel the sensation of metal warping under his fingers, feel bones crack as he sent bodies flying with a single blow, feel a throat crushed beneath his grip, and then…

Pain blossomed behind his eyes, and he flinched as jagged pieces of memory poked against the inside of his skull.

-He was one in a dozen others listening to the prerecorded message that played for the newcomers. Everyone had to go through it. Morale boost or something. The whole spiel of “Your duty here is to ensure humanities survival.” and all that crap. Earth was fucked anyway. At least the pay was good-

-Guard duty was boring. Stand still and watch the same whit lab coats walk up and down the hallway, Salute when the general walked in and out, try to ignore the kid’s screaming. He hoped they’d just shut him up already so he could get posted somewhere else-

-“His vitals are taking a nosedive! Get him out of there!” One of the scientists yelled. Well, looks like the kid finally kicked the bucket. He unstrapped the binds, reached out to grab him, and-

After that came a surge of overwhelming hunger and anger, and a desperate need to escape! To get out! And then...well...Spider bodily shuddered and opened his eyes. Those had been…he was pretty sure those were not his memories. 

"What happened to me?" He wondered aloud, voice quiet and face screwed up in consternation. 

The jungle provided no answer. 

He shook his head and ignored the ugly churning in his gut. Instead, he put all his energy and focused into fashioning his new bow. He didn’t have arrows yet, but he’d make some eventually. Worse came to worse he would fashion a sling. Anything to not to be entirely defenseless. The work was good. Took his mind off of...things. Things like if Lo’ak could see him now, his friend would be poking fun at him. Probably laugh and say something like, “Cuz, I thought humans were supposed to be great builders and stuff? You call that a bow?” and Spider could practically hear Kiri reprimanding her brother for teasing him, and Tuk would just be giggling at it all.

He hoped they had made it.They had to have, right? Spider was sure Quartich hadn’t taken any other prisoners, and he was pretty sure the man would have told him if he had. 

His face twisted into a grimace as he remembered the moment of their capture. Tuk's cries, Kiri's desperate reassurances to be calm, the fear in Lo'ak's eyes when Quartich pulled his knife. 

"I'm not that man."  He had said with that stupid smile on his face. Yeah, right! He was exactly the same! What kind of monster wanted to kill kids! Despite all his talk, he sure as hell acted like the man who had massacred the Omaticaya! It was his fault! ALL OF IT was that man's fault! Everything wrong in Spider's life could be traced back to one Colonel Miles Quartich! He claimed he wasn't Spider's father, tried to manipulate him against Jake and his family, but when Spider didn't listen, he just handed him right back to the scientists like he said he would. He really was a demon! Because of him, the Omaticaya had lost their home and so much more! Hundreds had died in the destruction of Hometree! Then he tried to blow up the Tree of Souls and killed even more people! And on top of that, he got Paz Socorro killed in the battle as well.

His mother.

He didn't like to think about her, even though he often did. She had been part of the mission to destroy the Tree, something that was awful and terrible and he was glad the humans had been stopped, but Spider didn't even have the chance to know her. All he had of her was a single picture he'd gotten from the scientists who had raised him. With Quartich, it was different. Everyone knew him and what he'd done, and Spider had heard plenty of stories to cement the fact that his dad had been evil. But his mom? Nobody had known her. Since he wasn't like his dad in looks, or, you know, being evil, he had always figured he took after her.

So many late nights he had spent staring at her picture taped to his ceiling, just wondering. Had she been funny? Stern? Kind? Mean? What had her laugh sounded like? Her voice? What had she been like and how much of her was in him?

But because of Miles Quartich, he will never know.

Spider Socorro curled up in the bough of the tree and let the sounds of the jungle and his own breathing chase away the ache and anger in his heart until he finally fell asleep.

If he ever got the chance, he was going to put an arrow through Quartich's heart. Again. 

He dreamed he was walking through the forest.  Each footfall lit up the grass beneath his toes and there was a pounding in the air like the beat of a great drum.

A voice called his name.

“Spider!”

Kiri’s voice! He tore through the leaves until he stumbled into a familiar clearing. The same one he’d found Kiri asleep in the day of their capture. It was also empty.

“Kiri?” He called out.

The voice that answered was not Kiri's.

“Spider.”

He spun on his heel and stepped back in alarm as a human woman emerged from the brush.  She was barefoot with tan skin, brown eyes, and wavy dark brown hair. Spider recognized her. She was wearing the same short blue-green dress she had worn in her picture.

“…Mom?” He whispered.

“Spider…” Paz Socorro breathed.

Suddenly her arms were around him, pulling him against her chest, and Spider felt warm, safe, secure, and loved in a way he only ever imagined a mother was supposed to make one feel. His arms came around her and he clutched her to him, holding on for dear life.

Spider looked up at her. There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask, to know!

“Mom-” He began.

“Shhh.” She pressed a finger to his lips and swiped one of his dreadlocks behind his ear.

This close, Spider saw that they really did share the same eyes.

“My son.” She whispered and the world shifted around them. It was eclipse, which made the vibrant pink strands of the Tree of Souls stand out even brighter. Spider had never been to this sacred place, but he had seen it from a distance and saw it shining through the stone arches protecting it.

Paz took his hands in her own, expression pleading and eyes wide.

“I do not much time. My son, listen to me.” She began. Spider opened his mouth to speak, but her grip tightened around his fingers enough to hurt.

She said, “There is a great darkness coming. More deadly than the humans. Heed my words! You must come here to this place no matter what! You must come here!” She commanded.  Up above, thunder split the black sky with jags of red lightning that toyed and twisted the shadows across her face. Their hair whipped in the gale and Paz raised her voice over the roar, “Trust me, my son! Trust her voice and her gifts! She will guide you!”

Spider could only stand there, paralyzed and unable to speak as she reached out to cup his face again.

Her smile was the last thing he saw.

“I love you.” She said, “You will see me again. Now…wake up.”

And he did. He awoke so violently that he almost fell right out of the tree and lost his new bow.

He reached to catch it, but it bounced off the tip of his fingers and all he could do was watched it fall all of the way down to the forest floor and out of sight.

"Damnit!" Spider cursed in frustration and flopped back to where he had been resting. 

For a few minutes he just lay there panting with wide eyes as the dream played over and over again in his mind's eye. Spider had never dreamed of his mother! Ever! And that dream had been so real and so vivid he could still feel the phantom touch of her fingers grazing his cheek!

"What the hell!" He groaned and pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes until he saw spots. Lost as he was in thought; Spider almost didn't hear it. Morning calls of birds, insects, and a dozen other animals surrounded him. The sky was bright blue and the sunlight shining through the greenery and the air was warm and sweet. It was an idyllic Pandoran morning. 

At least it would be if not for in the distant sound of engines.

Spider instantly sat up and looked back from whence he'd came to the glint of metal in the sky heading his way. 

A lot of metal.

His eyes widened. 

Wasting no time, Spider descended the tree without a second thought. With practiced ease, he slid down the soft lichen and mossy bark and swung from branch to branch until his feet hit forest floor and he took off into the jungle. It didn’t matter if it was a patrol, or an actual hunting party; Spider had to get as far away from them as possible!

He practically flew through the jungle. Whatever had happened to him had made him faster and stronger and quicker! He moved swift and fast like a yerik; vaulting huge roots and rocks and ducked low-hanging vines and foliage without even slowing down. He was beginning to trust his body and his instincts more and more. Every now and then, he’d feel that prickling surge in his feet and legs whenever he took a larger leap or grabbed something to haul over. He felt a level of control over his own body that he’d never experienced before! Everything just felt...more! There was no ache in his legs or burn in his chest! He never slowed, stopped, or even felt like he needed to!

Except eventually he did when hunger snuck up on him and stabbed him the gut.

His stomach loudly growled, and Spider slowed to a stop and let out a groan. Okay, maybe not so tireless after all. All that running may have not tired him but now he felt lightheaded, weak, and ravenous. Unfortunately, as he looked around the low hanging branches and thick ferns he now stood in, what food Spider knew humans could eat was nowhere in sight. His stomach gurgled and another pang of hunger rocked through him. Quickly straining his ears, he heard no sound of airships in the distance and quickly began rooting around in the undergrowth. There had to be SOMETHING he could eat!

In hindsight, he really should have picked up on the signs. 

Why it was so quiet in this little grove of shadowy trees. 

Why no birds chirped, or animals called. 

Why that only happens when a predator is lurking nearby.

One minute he was digging through the soil at the base of a tree, trying to see if maybe he could at least dig up some tubers or something, and the next? Something moved in the corner of his eye, and Spider turned just as something long, orange, and sharp whistled through the air to catch him square in the chest. He was lifted off his feet and pinned against the bark with pain whiting out his world.

His lungs worked, but no air came for him to scream.

His body jerked and spasmed, but he could not make his limbs obey.

A high-pitched squealing filled the air, and somehow Spider managed to look down to see what had killed him.

The long red-orange dart-like head of a lanay'ka, a Slinger, protruded from his chest. Two slim wings on either side of the back of the head were flicking to a stop, and it was letting out a shrill cry to alert the other half of its body, which soundlessly emerged from the thick ferns. Red and orange with a yellow underbelly and dark markings, the creature's long bulk stalked forward on four powerful paws while two frontal legs, like those of an insect, were tucked close to its broad chest. Now completely blind, it followed the sound of its missing head. Slingers were...weird to say the least. Weird and dangerous. They were two separate creatures; a head and a body, offspring and parent respectfully, both connected by their queues. When they hunted, they would move slowly and silently until they found prey. When so, it would cock back its long neck and hurl the ‘head’ forward. The head used its small wings to help guide itself to the target, and then would cry out for the body to come where they would reconnect and feast. Their favorite prey were hexapedes, but a lone human seemed to appear just as appetizing. Oh, and it was also venomous. That was probably why Spider couldn’t move, and everything felt hazy and slow, and why the pain was beginning to fade into a dull throb, and…and…

…why he wasn’t dead yet?

“You are not dead! Get up!”

The voice boomed over the squealing head. It echoed in his ears and inside his skull and brought forth images of white lab coats and needles and the sounds of human screams. All the while, the Slinger ambled closer, long muscular neck stooping to reconnect with its head. There was a mouth inside the stump where the head was, and it looked like something out a nightmare.

“Move or you will die!”

A surge of prickling, hot energy washed strength into his arms and dulling the pain even further. Spider didn't even begin to think and cried out in agony and exertion as he reached down to pry the foot-long needlepoint from his abdomen, and with a final scream he hurled the still-squealing head as far away as he could. It sailed away into the brush and the body immediately turned and galloped after it.

Spider did not want to, but he had to look, expecting a hole fountaining with blood and viscera…

There was indeed a hole in his stomach. However, it was not bleeding. No, instead Spider watched in shock as red and black tendrils boiled over the gaping wound. They erupted from his flesh to intertwine, overlap, and tangle together like a web; knitting himself back together before his very eyes. The pain vanished entirely, and in just a few seconds, he was good as new. Then the hunger hit him. A gnawing, tearing, ache tugged from deep within in his gut and spread through the rest of him like the Slinger's venom. It was a living, breathing thing that chewed on his bones and  the corners of his mind demanding and commanding him to feed! To consume! 

Letting out a voracious groan, he clutched at his freshly healed belly and rolled onto his side with breath coming out in ragged pants. His senses had gone haywire: his mouth watered, his ears rang, and his skin felt like it wanted to crawl off of him! He was so hungry that it hurt! 

Movement had his head snapping in the direction of the Slinger.

The animal reconnected its head and had swung around to face him again. Two tiny black eyes watched the human rise to his feet with bared teeth and eyes that were beginning to glaze over with a toxic red glow. Spider’s body was shaking all, and he snapped at empty air with a hiss. He felt no fear. Fear was nothing compared the hunger!

The Slinger stood its ground and cocked back its head in preparation to throw, and Spider lunged. The head shot forward like a loosed arrow with wings buzzing, but time slowed to a crawl and he ducked so that it whizzed over his shoulder, and Spider jumped forward with arms outstretched and a feral sound ripping from his throat.

Spider latched onto the muscular neck like a burr and cock a fist back to strike, barely registering how his hands and feet were now a blurring mess of hungry tendrils that assisted him by burying into the Slinger’s hide. The animal struggled and thrashed, whipping its long neck about and rearing to shake him off. Spider grunted as it slammed him hard into the ground twice before its frontal arms reached up to pull him off. The sharp ends pierced his flesh, stabbing into his side and thigh. Spider howled but did not let go. He struggled and shouted, planting his feet and reaching down to grab one of its insectoid arms and yanked as hard as he could. Bone audibly snapped and the Slinger writhed with pain. It only spurred Spider on. He crawled up onto it humped back, legs and knees a festooned with tiny hooked harpoons, and Spider raised both fists above his head before bringing them down with a savage cry.

A lanay'ka was a tough beast, all muscle and tough skin and, but Spider broke its back like a twig. All four legs gave out from under it, and it collapsed to the earth in a heap. 

Upon its death, Spider's body reacted further. He jerked as four long tentacles of sinewy braided black erupted from his back to stab deep into the fresh corpse. The Slinger’s body roiled and darkened to the same color, and then it was breaking down, collapsing into itself and being compacted and pulled into Spider’s body.

The young man groaned in a mix of relief as the hunger abated, but also discomfort as he suddenly felt too heavy and bloated; stuffed to bursting like he had eaten too much. When the dark extensions of his body ceased their work and retreated back inside him, the excess weight he felt seemed to settle somewhere within him, and Spider sucked in great lungfulls of air as the rush faded and the satisfaction of eating a full meal.

The realization of what he’d done came over him a minute later. 

Shock roiled through him as got up off the ground and stared at his hands.

He could not believe what he had just done! Had that just happened!? Had he actually just done that! Killed a Slinger with his bare hands!? And then he…he had…eaten it!?

Spider jumped as the voice chose that moment to whisper in his ear and inside his head.

“Predators consume prey. It is the order of things.”

“Wha-! Wh-who are you!” He called out in a panic and spun as if to find the invisible speaker. 

“Do not be afraid."

A laugh that was all nerves and panic burbled out of him when he replied in a cracking voice, "Little too late for that! What-"

A susurrus laugh, low and raspy was his reply.

"We are like the lanay'ka, you and I. Two beings connected to survive. Both captured and kept weak and powerless, cold and starved.”

Pain roiled inside his skull, and Spider was suddenly assaulted by visions of memories not of his own.

-He was in a laboratory. Trapped behind glass. Kept cold and frozen. Alone and hungry. Watching as the creatures outside moved and spoke and stared, not knowing that they were being stared right back at-

“Until they brought us together.”

-Spider was looking at himself. No…no, he was being looked at through the inside a glass container. He saw himself inside his cell; beaten, bloody, bruised, curled up in a corner and barely responsive as a woman in a white lab coat walked forward to take his chin and tilt his head to look at her. She said, "You poor thing..." and the sound of her voice was familiar. He could almost remember what happened next, but he did not have to. She held a needle in her hand and returned to the glass and reached out-

“Do you see, now?"

Spider was back on his hands and knees again with sweat pouring down his face. 

“You're the one who's been talking to me.” He heard himself whisper. "When I was running...and on the wall...that was you talking to me!"

"Yes! I who gave you the strength to survive. To break your shackles. To destroy your enemies. To heal from what would kill you. My gifts have made you strong."

As if shoved to the forefront of his brain, Spider suddenly recalled the dream and his mother’s voice warning and advising him. “Trust me, my son! Trust her voice and her gifts! She will guide you!”

Slowly, he began to stand.

"Who are you?" Spider asked, "What do you want?"

"The same as you. To return home."

"Okay...voice in my head..." He began slowly, "And where is home?"

The whispery response he got was heavy and sad.

"It has been so long...I can only hope it remains. When the forests were still young, I knew it as Vitraya Ramunong-"

"The Tree of Souls?" 

"Yes! You know it?"

"Yes?" He hesitantly answered.

"Please, I beg you to return me!" 

"Okay, okay!" He waved his hands and shut his eyes. The desperation and pleading in that tone was almost a physical thing. "This is crazy." He whispered in a rush, "This is crazy. Am I crazy? Um, okay. Okay, okay, okay. What's, uh, what's your name?"

"My name," There voice answered after a pause, "Is Aima."

"Okay...Aima. I'm Spider. Socorro." He was so used to enforcing his last name. It was a habit he'd picked up when he was young, to distance himself from the image of Miles Quartich.

"I See You, Spider'Socorro."

The Na'vi greeting surprised him, and he almost returned it to the empty air before he blinked.

"Are you...what are you?"

After another long pause, the answer he got was solemn, quiet, and made all the hairs on his body stand on end. 

"I am Aima. Firstborn of Eywa."

"What?" He breathed. 

"Tell me, Spider'Socorro. Do The People still sing her songs? Do they still keep the balance of my mother's creations?"

"The Na'vi?" 

"Yes. Them."

"Yeah. Yeah, they do." Spider suddenly felt like he had to sit down again. 

"You are troubled."

"What...happened to you?"

"It is...painful to recall. I was young and I foolish. I sought only to impress her. To show her that I was worthy of her love. To show her what I could do. I only wished to be like her..." 

The ache in that voice was so familiar, as was the sentiment behind it. 

"What happened?" Spider breathed.

"The People...the Na'vi...they lived and thrived on my mother's creations, but I saw potential for more! I taught them how to build with stone upon stone, to make wheels that turned and carried, how to use the metals in the ground..."

Spider blinked hard. "The laws of Eywa." He answered in surprise. The Three Laws of Eywa, or the Na'vi Way, was a creed known by all the Na'vi way that was older than the First Songs. In order it went: You shall not set stone upon stone. Neither shall you use the turning wheel. Nor use the metals of the ground. It was a creed and example for all Na'vi to follow so they did not destroy the environment.

"Yes. They were written because of me. My teachings led to destruction and ruin. As punishment, I was exiled and cast beyond the sky into the blackness."

Much like her desperation, the grief and guilt were tangible enough for Spider's own heart to feel like it was his own.

"My body was scattered like seeds on the wind, but I still lived; adrift among the starts until the humans and their vessels of metal found me. They returned me to my mother's creation to study and learn of me. I do not know their intentions were, but I was fortunate enough to be introduced to you, Spider'Socorro. Your body gave me strength. You may be human, but your heart and spirit are strong like that of the People. You have my thanks." 

"But...but I didn't do anything." 

"Yes, you did! You gave me hope! Hope that I may return to my mother's embrace and assist her in pushing back the humans! I feel your pain, your anguish, as I know you feel mine. You have suffered much, child. Your heart is strong. Your spirit stronger. I can feel what you desire most...yes...you wish to be one of them. One of the People. Accepted, loved, cherished."

Spider felt like his heart stopped for a second time and swallowed the lump in his throat. "I do." He whispered.

"Reunite me with my mother, if only to beg forgiveness, and I will ask of her to grant you your wish."

A vision flashed before his eyes. Of himself; tall, strong, and very, very blue. The way he always imagined he'd look if he had been born Na'vi or had an Avatar to call his own. His breath caught in his throat. 

"How-"

"Through the Great Mother, all things are possible."

"But...but how? I can't connect to the tree! I'm not Na'vi, I don't..." He trailed off and ran a hand through the back of his scalp where a tswin would be.

Another deep, soft chuckle of amusement.

"You cannot tsaheylu as they do, yes, but fear not. I have made you so much more than that."

Spider watched as dark coloring rippled through his skin and across his arms.

"My gift to you, Spider'Socorro. Consume. Learn. Become.”

High-pitched squealing suddenly pulled at the edge of his hearing. The Slinger’s head was still buried in the dirt just a few yards away, crying out for the rest of the body to retrieve it.

And with a sinking feeling in his gut, Spider realized he was still hungry.

“Do not be afraid. Embrace your instincts. Let it feed you. Let it teach you.”

Spider rose to his feet.

The head was still chirping as his shadow fell across it. Its wings buzzed fruitless, but it was stuck in the dirt and unable to move. Brown eyes met the tiny black beads of the head, and Spider swallowed a lump in his throat before he knelt and pulled the head from the dirt. He licked suddenly dry lips, before taking a breath and opening his mouth to speak. “I see you, brother, and thank you.” He recited the ritual from memory as his hands began to shift and writhe, reciting the words from memory and long practice. “Your spirit goes with Eywa. Your body stays behind to become part of The People.”

Spider let his body take control, and in a blur of red and black, the head was gone, and his hunger was soothed.

"Not The People, Spider. You."

Aima's words heralded a rush of prickling heat and sensation. He grunted and stepped back, body writhing. His brain felt suddenly flush with information. Something clicked into place and his left arm was suddenly boiling with red and black and growing longer, thicker, and protruding in odd places. Nerves connected, muscle and bone flowed like water, and Spider gaped as his arm from the shoulder down was completely transformed. The new limb was jet black with streaks and stripes of bloody red. A shoulder pad of hard bone covered his collarbone, ribs, and armpit. Where his arm would be hung a long, whiplike appendage made up entirely of thick, tightly packed and bunched coils of braided muscle. Stubby points ran the length of it like a thorny vine. A crown of four barbed spikes jutted out around where his wrist would be, each about a foot in length. All of that ended in a two-foot long serrated point of that black, bonelike material, wickedly sharp and was shaped almost like a Slinger dart. 

Spider stared.

The spikes twitched. He could feel them, flex them almost, like fingers. They slid in and out of muscular sheaths, meant to latch on and secure...

Stunned, Spider turned his gaze to a nearby tree and let his screaming thoughts take the backseat in favor of his letting his body do the work.

The arm flexed as he shifted his weight, cocked back the Slinger arm, and threw. He could feel the muscles inside tense, unlock, and release, and the length extend and shot forward like a grappling hook. The sharp point punched straight through solid wood and held fast. A thought sent those four supportive spikes jamming into the wood for additional support, and Spider simply relaxed and...reeled himself in. His feet left the ground, all his body weight supported by the cable of impossible strong muscle and sinew and zipped through the air into the tree. He grabbed bark and stared in awe as he flexed and yanked his new arm clean out of the wood. The second he thought of getting his human arm back, the limb blurred with red and black, and it was so. Another thought had it regrowing into that bladed, whiplike appendage.

Spider stared at his hand and flexed his fingers, utterly awestruck by what he could do.

The voice of Aima, spoke again.

"My gift to you, Spider. Eat of the creatures that walk the forest. Take their strengths for your own! With each new hunt your strength will grow! And I.." Spider could hear the smile in her next words, see a flash of sharp teeth in his mind's eye, "Will be here to guide you."

Chapter Text

Frances Ardmore was not having a good time.

The past twenty-four hours had been one big emergency meeting with almost the heads of nearly every department in Bridgehead in the wake of Spider Socorro’s escape. She’d met with the heads of engineering and construction to assess the damages and tally the losses, which were many. She wanted those destroyed turrets on the wall rebuilt as soon as possible, but they would take time.

Then she met with her chief of security to dig up every scrap of information they had on Miles ‘Spider’ Socorro and pull every second of footage with him in it. From the minute he appeared on the cameras inside Blue Team’s gunship, every second he was in his holding cell, every interrogation, all the way up to the time of his escape; she wanted all of it reviewed.

Finally, she wrapped things up Bridgehead’s eggheads to try to make sense of the alien monster that was now top of her To Do List. She didn’t care what anyone said. That was NOT a human. The scientists agreed. Not only was Spider Socorro COULD NOT be human, but he also broke several laws of physics along with several inches of pressurized steel. It was like watching chickens with their heads cut off. “A human body shouldn’t be able to DO THAT!” they’d argued and spat forth half-baked theories and observations like “too much mass” and “impossibly dense” and “high thermal readings” that gave her approximately Dick and Diddly on how to kill it.

Everyone was on edge, too many people had seen what had happened and were scared, bodies had to be incinerated, and worst of all was the report she had to write on all this. Command had to be notified, and they would be, but not before she wiped this threat to humanity's colonization off the face of this damn rock!

And her cough was still persisting AND her morning coffee had tasted like shit, so yes, Frances was not having a good time.

Things were looking up, though, because-and it was the darndest thing-that there may have been a reason for why all those people recovering from cracked bones, bruised organs, and poisoned lungs in Medical after all! Why a freak of nature had caused good men and women to be put in the incinerator and their names put past-tense! Because as they were combing through hours of footage, there was a day where there had been few enough people patrolling the halls and the guard rotations had swapped at just the right time for someone to slip into Socorro's interrogation cell and stick a needle into the semi-conscious boy. 

Now? Now Frances walked through the halls with a squad of armed security personnel flanking her towards one of the R&D SciOps wings. Security had informed her that the target was still unsuspecting and inside, and there were little occupants to get in the way of Frances apprehending her. T

he doors to the laboratory opened with a whoosh of pressurized air and Ardmore strode into the sterile, white-washed interior with iron in her bearing and stone carving her face. She swept the surprised faces of the microbiology department, over their multitude of shiny equipment, holographic displays, and shiny bright lights. Her eyes landed on the back of a dirty-blonde head bent over a microscope and she wasted no time.

"Miss Leptis?" Her tone was a command, and the woman lifted her head and turned to look at them in surprise like she hadn't heard them walk in. As a matter of fact, Ardmore noted she was the only one who didn't move. Her eyes widened as the guards moved to apprehend her, and before she could even let out so much a "What?" she was yanked out of her chair and cuffed on the spot. Frances watched coolly as she was marched out into the hallway before turning to the rest of the scientists who were watching the spectacle with wide eyes.

She stared them all down as more guards filed in and declared, "Until further notice, no one leaves this room." before leaving without a second glance. They knew better than to question her.

Doctor Henrietta Leptis was a virologist who was here to study and learn how to kill whatever alien germs and pathogens infected humans, even though there was surprisingly little in the way of infectious disease or sicknesses on Pandora. Other than that, there was nothing of note about the woman. No criminal record, squeaky clean history, reports and paperwork submitted on time, and not a single noteworthy thing about her since she had come to Bridgehead other than a recent visit to one of the on-site doctors for prescribed headache medication. Just another cog in the machine. A cog that was their only link to Socorro. They went straight to an interrogation room and cuffed the woman to the chair. She was surprisingly compliant, most likely out of shock, and had barely said a word other than a handful of confused burbles and half-sentences along the way. Frances did not waste any time and placed a datapad in front of the woman with a looped recording of Leptis walking casually down the hallway and into Spider's holding cell, then the feed from the inside showing her walk up to the beaten and battered boy and bend to take his chin and tilt his head to look at her.

"You poor thing." The cameras picked up her whisper. Then her hand slipped into her pocket and produced a syringe filled with some dark fluid that was pushed into the boy's arm. He jerked once, still barely conscious, bruised face twisting in pain before settling into true unconsciousness. Without another word Leptis rose and made for the door and walked out into the hall without so much as a backwards glance. The timestamp marked it as the night before his escape. 

Frances watched Leptis' reaction in silence. Watched the genuine shock and confusion and bewilderment slack her jaw and widen her eyes. Watched the panicked sweat bead across her forehead and her chest rise and fall with shallow breaths. Watch how her eyes darted side to side, trying to understand what she's looking at. Over a minute passed before Henrietta Leptis looked up and stared at Ardmore with wide eyes that were wet with panicked tears.

"I..." She croaked. Her throat bobbed and she looked at Frances then with a such fear and horror that caught her off guard. "I thought I was just dreaming!" She whimpered.

Frances narrowed her own. "What?" She deadpanned.

More tears spilled over Leptis eyes.

"Oh god! Oh god it was real! She was real!" 

"Calm down!" Frances commanded with iron control and asked, "Who is she?"

"Oh god!" She whispered and looked down at her hands that were violently shaking, "W-we were testing samples of the velocivirus! S-some of it got on my clothes! I-I followed all procedures, but it...I thought it was just a rash!"

Frances opened her mouth to speak, but that's when she saw it; the veins in Henrietta Leptis' hands and fingers were darkening and turning black. Her eyes widened and she locked eyes with the virologist who was staring right back with eyes so bloodshot they looked red. 

"I didn't think any of it was real!" She mewled, "I thought the voices were just bad dreams! I thought everything I did was a bad dream! What have I done!? You gotta lock down the lab! Please! Help me!" She whimpered as the veins in her neck flushed with the same inky color. It spread up and across her face and into her eyes that rolled into the back of her skull followed by her head, which slumped against her chest.

Both her and the guards stood frozen and staring in mute shock as the disturbing scene came to a close. 

Leptis just sat there slumped with her head lolling to the side. She had...just stopped. Her chest stopped rising, her breathing cut out, her body just slackened and went limp like-

One of the guards hesitantly stepped forward and reached out a hand to prod at Leptis' shoulder. 

-just like Socorro. 

"Stop!" She barked, but it was too late.

Henrietta came to life and lunged with jaws open wide to clamp teeth slick with dark fluid around the man's fingers. It was amazing how strong the human jaw was. If someone was determined, they could bite through a finger like a carrot. And that's just what happened to the poor man's pinkie finger.

If that was all that happened, Frances would have happily fed Henrietta her entire hand.

No. No, what happened next was much, much worse.

Because as the poor man jumped back with blood gushing free, and her second guard lunged at Henrietta who swallowed the digit with a mad, feral grin? What happened next was veins of the same oily color spread like wildfire across the man's flesh until every vein was dark. He screamed and writhed before letting out a long groan and turning to Ardmore with madness in his eyes and jaws weeping black. Her hand went to her sidearm just as he lunged.

Chapter Text

Time had meant nothing as she was cast adrift into the blackness. She could not feel, taste, hear, or even think. She could not See. Not until those who lived from beyond the blackness came. Piece by piece she was returned in dormant eggs of consciousness. Specks at first, but those specks grew and consumed all they touched until her unconscious mind became conscious enough to learn that she had been forgotten.

Her mother's Chosen Children, Eywa's precious Na'vi, no longer sang the name and songs of Aima. 

Aima, First of Eywa, who walked among the People as Flesh and not Spirit in the days where the Tulkun warred and the forests were young.

Aima the Clever, who showed the first Na'avi how to craft bows and spears from wood and bone. Aima the Teacher, who taught the People names of the plants and animals and the first lyrics to their Great Mother's song.

Aima the Builder, who shaped the first wheel and laid stone upon stone to climb higher than the trees.

Aima the Dreamer, who had looked to the stars beyond the sky and wondered what else lay beyond her grasp. 

Aima the Rebellious, who went against her mother's wishes and taught the People the people the secrets of mixing rock and flame to create and shape metal.

 Aima the Mournful, who wailed as Great Mother Eywa shook the earth to crumble her island creations of stone and metal and drown Aima's chosen people-Not Eywa's but HERS-who loved and sang songs of the one who walked beside them in flesh and blood rather than song and spirit! The Great Mother, oh Loving Eywa, sank her daughter's dreams of ever reaching beyond the stars beneath waves of salt and blood. 

Aima the Death Bringer, who crafted a life of her own. One that would fell every plant, every animal, and every one of her Mother's precious People until the whole world was barren as her broken dreams!

Aima the Traitor, who challenged the one who birthed her and was torn asunder.

Aima the Demon, whose remains Eywa took and scattered among the Stars she had loved so much, who slumbered for eons until the undying remains of her corpse orbiting Pandora made contact with RDA ships entering the planet's atmosphere. Those pieces not burnt up from the engines or re-entry scattered across Pandora to land in the jungles, ocean, plains, mountains, and when they made contact with the plants and animals there, they began to infect and spread.

Aima's conscience, broken into uncountable fragments of a once-mighty whole, began to reawaken and learn. Through eyes, ears, noses, tongues, roots, bark, and fronds she learned of how so much time had passed and how her mother's world was under threat by a People who came from a star and descended from the sky. These Sky People, these humans were fascinating! She learned so much from the ones she managed to infect; sifting through their brains, peering out of their eyes, and listening with their ears. They'd flown from a dying world where not a shred of green existed. A species crushed beneath the weight of their own intellect! So clever, they were! And so arrogant and greedy. They had no Great Mother to teach them and trampled their world with rampant feet, wrathful hands, and greedy mouths.

And as an inspiration can come from dreams, so too did inspiration spark in the slowly reforming mind of a bitter, vengeful goddess.

"I could be their mother."

Yes! Yes, she could see it! A new world ripe for her to rule and guide! A world dead and dying, and her to be its savior! To save humans from themselves and stop their slow march to extinction! She would build anew; life birthed from her very flesh unhibited by a mother's disapproval and quickened by human ingenuity. She did not doubt that there would be rebellion, stubborn creatures as they were. So unwilling to submit! It would be too late for them, though. She would spread into bodies and minds and weave herself so deep into their souls that to kill her would mean to kill themselves! She would bury into their dead soil and spread under their poisoned sea and breathe life into their corpse world with the bodies of the fallen to feed her growth, and the tidal wave of flesh, mind, and unity would birth forth fresh creation and wonders!

Aima was spirit as well as flesh. Something the humans in their small minded ways of metal and arrogance and greed could never comprehend. Of her that had begun to infect and spread could rejoin and subsume into the whole. The more of her that came together, the more of her that awakened, and the stronger she became. All she had to do was wait and bide her time.

Until Jake Sully rallied the Clans and cast the Sky People out. She had raged for a time. Raged and feared. For as Toruk Makto took to the sky, Eywa Spoke and Aima trembled. It was infuriating to be humbled again. Her mother had lost none of her strength while her daughter struggled to even think. So she had watched and waited, quietly piecing herself together and wait for an opportunity to strike, and what a lovely opportunity presented itself when the humans returned. She had hoped they would. Kindred spirits they were, in a way, unable to accept defeat. 

Yes, they would make fine children for her to guide.

And speaking of children...

Between the bouts of clarity that sparked and died like embers in a fire where Aima did plot and scheme instead of sleep and dream, she began to hear a name echoed in the roots and whispered on the wind. Earth, air, and water all knew the name. The animals beckoned at her call. The plants swayed to feel her touch. 

Kiri, the world whispered, Daughter of Eywa

And Aima hated!

How dare she be replaced! Not even born from Eywa's own flesh but through an empty vessel! One created created by humans, no less! An imitation! A falsehood! Or more likely, something to watch from afar and nudge blindly through whisper and whim. The perfect little daughter who had no idea what she even was! She was unworthy to be claimed as such! Why!? Aima could not understand! Was her mother so afraid of having one who could stand against her again? The thought made her smile in the throws of rageful, formless sleep. It said much of Eywa that she would rather watch from afar as her world burned then have another to walk in Spirit and Flesh to challenge her.

Well, if her mother claimed such a champion, then so would she! 

And what a delightful twist of fate that a champion was practically dropped into her lap. Spider Soccorro. He had almost escaped her notice if not for how loudly his name made the humans whisper in the halls and the laboratories and the room where they tried to peel open his brain and break his will to get his secrets. And what secrets! How fortunate that he was as close to the False Daughter and called her friend and sister in his heart. His was a lonely soul, outcast and yearning for acceptance, so eager to please and prove himself! So eager to belong! For mother's love and father's approval He would be the perfect vessel. 

It was so simple to ensnare him! So many humans were unknowingly infected. All it took was a pull here, a tug there, a lapse in memory, some desire to turn down this hallway towards this chamber. Fill the syringe. Ignore the squirming fluid as it climbed up the needle. Skewed judgment and righteous anger. Put it into the traitor's arm and press down on the plunger. Forget it all even happened. Forget the unsealed containment tank and microscopic pinpricks of undulating black sensationlessly burrowing into soft flesh and connecting to unprepared brains with lethal intent. From there it was kind words laced with desperation, begging him for help. The promised reward of what he wanted spurred on further by dream influenced dreams of long dead mother he only knew from a picture placing trust and warning him of a duty only he was worthy to undergo!

It had taken much of her strength to direct her consciousness into one of the samples of her body locked away within the human's laboratories. Even more to imbue the boy with her might! His mind had been so flayed it was easy to slip in and gain control, but afterwards she had been weakened by the effort. The risk had been worth it, however, and she watched through the boy's eyes as he enjoyed his newfound body hurtling towards where his home, his friends, and Jake Sully and her mother's precious little false daughter awaited.

She hoped the humans enjoyed the gifts she'd left behind. So many humans affected by her touch, their bodies ripe with incubating infection growing more and more potent until... 

She may have been weakened, but she could still hear the echo of beautiful screams within her consciousness. It would not do for the humans to stop her prematurely, now would they?

She still needed her little Spider to spin her a web to catch all that she desired.