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Avatar: Rainbow

Chapter 1: Yellow

July 27, 2144

Marine Corps Recruit Depot,

Parris Island

Jacob Sully looked up at the sign. One of a number of people of various ages, skin colours, and with both sets of plumbing issued to the human species. Walking up to the receiving building on Parris Island. Glancing at the sign above.

THROUGH THESE PORTALS PASS PROSPECTS FOR AMERICA'S FINEST FIGHTING FORCE.

UNITED STATES MARINES

Right, he thought. No pressure.

Pressure. Slowly shuffling forward to the building, towards the "gates of hell" as the recruiter had called it (something about "Devil Dogs" had been uttered as well), he felt it in abundance.

"Fuck."

He glanced to his right. A kid. Probably his age, unless he lied on the application form, but looking like a kid all the same. Glasses, brown hair, brown eyes, the type of kid that was always either being picked on in the schoolyard, or absent entirely by virtue of not wanting to be found.

"Fuck fuck fuck."

And unlike such kids, good at swearing, if a little unoriginal. Jacob had never been in a schoolyard – an interior play area, sure, but there wasn't enough room in most schools for actual schoolyards, not to mention that kids had to be kept indoors due to the pollutants that fouled the air all down the east coast and from what he'd heard, the west as well. But the kid, he could connect to. Because it was the type of kid he'd enjoyed bullying in the past.

"Shit."

The kid stopped moving. Jacob glanced at the sign. And then glanced back at the kid.

"Y'know, I think the idea is that we keep moving."

The kid looked up at him, and Jacob noted the height difference – how little of it there actually was.

"Um, portals?" Jacob asked. "They're beckoning."

The kid rubbed his hands together. "I know. I just…I mean…"

Jacob shrugged and kept walking.

He didn't check back to see if the kid followed him.


Seriously Jake, the Marines?

Yeah, the Marines. Army seemed too tame.

That's not what I mean. Christ, you have your whole life ahead of you! I-

Don't tell me how to live my life Tom. Ever.


July 30, 2144

It was Black Friday.

Ironically, it actually did fall on a Friday. Three days had passed since walking through "the portal." Three days of paperwork, medical tests, the loss of hair, and an initial strength test. Standing to attention, Jacob fought the urge to run his hand across the stubble that graced his forehead. Because it was Black Friday. The day Drill Instructor Fairbairn had decided to show up to make the recruits' life a living hell. Or because Captain Bowditch had given the order. He wasn't sure which. Right now, it didn't matter.

The events passed by in a blur. A lot of "sirs," a lot of "no's" and "yesses," and a hell of a lot of insults that applied to every gender, race, sexual orientation, profession, ancestry, and-

"Sully! What the fuck kind of name is that?!"

"Sir, it's my surname, Sir!"

He hadn't expected Fairbairn to come around to him. The people he'd singled out had all been people taller and/or muscular than him.

"Sully…dear God, what a fucked up name! You here to sully my Corps?!"

"Sir, no Sir!"

Surnames. It wasn't as bad as some of the other insults went.

"Bullshit! I know your type you lowly scum-sucking maggot!"

He probably did, Jacob reflected.

"Now get on the ground and give me twenty!"

Jacob obliged. He ignored the sergeant's insults, all of which were based on the million other insults he'd managed to cram into the bunk room in the space of less than five minutes.

"Dear God, what is the world coming to when fuck-nuggets like you get into my Corps?!"

And the insults were easy to ignore. Because the worst was out of the way.

The sergeant knew his type.

Tom had more or less said the same thing.


Tom, I want to do it okay. Just…get out there, y'know? Fight for something? Save the world?

What's there left to save Jake?

Oh don't start that tree-hugging bullshit again.

Jake, that drill instructor told you what he told everyone on Careers Day. You can't just rush into something like this.

I can. And you can't stop me.


August 12, 2144

The martial arts program was quite easy.

Jacob had plenty of experience punching people. And kicking them for that matter. Usually the kicks followed the punches, considering that in his experience, a punch was usually enough to knock a dweeb to the ground. The kicks were enough to make sure they stayed there.

Right now though, it was just boxing. Punching a pad again and again, as Recruit Chalow struggled to hold it in place. The same twat that he'd seen at "the portal" three weeks ago. Already three weeks worth of training had taken their toll. The glasses were still there. The hair, however short, was still there. But the muscles were slightly larger, the skin slightly harder, the voice slightly deeper.

Which might have counted for something if the same couldn't have been said for Jacob himself. Because he kept punching. Right up until he sent Chalow falling down into the ground.

"Fuck."

Jacob flexed his fist as Chalow looked for his glasses.

"Come on, seriously?" he asked, Jacob asked. "You can't take a bit of boxing?"

"Fuck off."

Jacob spat at him. "Worthless. Absolutely worthless."

"I said fuck off."

"And I said you're worthless. And fat. And slow. And lazy. And a four-eyed dweeb who can't-"

Challow snapped.

It was strange, really, Jacob reflected. He'd gone through worse abuse under the instructors, as had Challow. His mind registered the irony as Challow's fist collided with his jaw, sending him falling down into the mud himself. He supposed in the instant that as Challow landed on top of him, continuing the punching, that they'd just both reached a breaking point that was simultaneous. One mind and teamwork and all that. Not that it stopped him from grabbing Challow's neck with his left hand, choking him while punching him with his right, then kicking the kid off him. And as he scrambled to continue the assault, the only thing that stopped the continuing fight was Bowditch grabbing him from behind and yelling right in his ear.

And he smiled. Even as Bowditch threatened him with starvation, castration, excommunication, and a lot of other things ending with "ion," he still smiled. Which didn't help the drill sergeant's temper one bit.

Though as he saw Challow get slowly to his feet, as he saw the twat reach for his glasses, only to find that they were broken, he reflected that it had been all worth it.

One-hundred push-ups later notwithstanding.


Mum! Mum! Jake hit me!

Tom, I…oh my God, you're bleeding! Jake, what did you do?!

He started it!

Jake, this has gone far enough! I…Tom, put this to your nose and face upwards. Jake, what on Earth is wrong with you?!

I hate you! You always take his side!

Jake-

I hate you!


August 22, 2144

In school, Jacob had learnt of places like Auschwitz. The gas chambers where a few million Jews and Gypsies had been put to death. A technique reviled and condemned in the 20th century, only to be repeated in the 22nd. It was something the recruiter had brought up. As a marine, he could help stop those things from happening.

But first he had to pass the USMC's version of the gas chamber. Which, after some jumping jacks to build up a sweat, had involved fitting on a gas mask before walking into the cooker. Or "the sieve" as Fairbairn had called it, the idea that it would filter out washouts before moving onto stage two of training. Something that had been happening for the past month, but so far, Jacob had stayed in. He'd told himself, and any smart arse who asked why he'd joined, that he was here for the hardship. To pass any test a man could pass. But now-

I can't breathe.

The CBRN (chemical/biological/radiological/nuclear) officer was giving instructions but Jacob could barely hear. His head was pounding. His eyes watering. His chest, his heart…both on fire.

I can't breathe!

Was there something wrong with the seal? He tried fiddling around with it. Only to loosen it.

Shit!

And the sensation got worse. He gagged as his throat exploded in fire. As his eyes gushed like waterfalls.

"Recruit Sully?"

The CBRN was walking over to him.

"Recruit, the hell are you-"

"I can't breathe!"

And he ran. Bursting out of the door. Ignoring the jeers of the other jarheads. Out into the sunlight. Coughing and spluttering, he threw his mask down onto the ground. Gagging, he looked around for water. On instinct, he raised his hands to his eyes and started rubbing.

"I'd stop that Recruit."

And stopped. Because while rubbing his eyes was instinctive, by this stage, listening to Drill Instructor Fairbairn was instinctive as well. But even so-

"Stop rubbing your eyes!"

He stood to attention. Blinking in the place of rubbing, his hands shaking as his sub-consciousness tried to get them back to his eyes.

"Are you meant to be out here, Recruit?!"

"Sir!" Jacob coughed. "No…Sir."

The drill instructor picked the gas mask off the ground. "Useless. Absolutely useless." He tossed it over to Jacob. "Are you yellow, Recruit?"

"Sir, I don't understand, Sir!"

"Are you a coward?!"

"Sir, no, Sir!"

"Are you a liar?!"

"Sir, no, Sir!"

Fairbairn knocked him over the head. "That's a lie right there! Now put on your gas mask, get your sorry arse in there, or I'll sign your dismissal form myself!"

So it really was the sieve, Jacob reflected. Either bear the CS gas, or be binned. That far more efficient technology was available to civvies and standard issue on Pandora from what he'd heard notwithstanding.

"Move it Marine!"

And he did. Heading back into the CS chamber. Fixing on his mask. Hoping that this time, he'd got it right. Glad that for all the primitiveness of the gas mask, it at least prevented him from seeing the smirks that was no doubt on every other recruit's face. Steadying his heartbeat as best he could.

Choking to death. What a way to go.

As he and the other recruits began push-ups, as the gas swirled around them, Jacob reflected that's how his parents must have felt.


Tom, I'm just heading out, and-

Mum's dead.

What?

Dad's dead.

Tom I…what…

There…there was a fire Jake. On the subway. They…they choked to death.

you called me up to tell me this?

Jake, I thought it better you hear it from me.

Fuck you Tom.

Jake…

The guys will be round soon. They'll want us at the crematorium. You…want me to come round?

What?

We…I think we should go together Jake.

yeah. I…yeah, that would be good.


September 4, 2144

"Outstanding Sully. Outstanding. Looks like you're not a limpdick after all."

Thanks Sir. I think.

Primary Marksmanship Instructor Somerville wasn't as bad as Fairbairn, Jacob reflected. The insults were still there, but they were fewer, and balanced out with praise. It might have been something to with learning how to fire an M16 (a weapon that was a relic even by 21st century standards), but he'd taken the time to ensure that each of the remaining recruits could actually fire the bloody thing. And actually hit the target.

Bullseye.

Jacob smirked as he reached for another clip. It felt good to be good at something again. To be better than someone. Case in point being Challow, who was struggling with his magazine.

"Magazine points towards the enemy numb nuts."

The four-eyes looked at him. "What?"

"The magazine. You're putting it in wrong."

"The hell do you care?"

Jacob raised an eyebrow. He wanted to say something clever, but no words came out. He didn't know. He supposed it was just one of those instinctive things. An instinct he hadn't possessed in the past but-

"Give it here."

Jacob leaned over and took the rifle, not checking to see if Somerville was looking. Challow looked on.

"See, the magazine points towards the enemy. And what else you've got to remember…"

"Why you helping me?"

Jacob looked up.

"Why you helping me?" Challow repeated, rubbing his glasses. "You hate my guts, right? That fist fight?"

Jacob shrugged. "We're in phase two of training. Way I see it that's ancient history."

"Oh. Sure." Challow put his glasses back on, apparently willing to take the words on faith. "Ancient history. Right Sully."

"Jake."

Challow took the rifle and lined up his sights.

"Name's Jake," he said. "I figure that out here we can operate on a first name basis.

Challow fired. And missed.

"I mean, that gas chamber…it was on my birthday, believe it or not. I mean, how fucked up is that? Day you're born, thinking you're gonna die…"

"You chickened out," Challow murmured, before firing again. And missing.

"Yeah, well…I came here for the hardship. I figure gas is just part of it."

Challow glanced over at Jacob. "How old are you?"

"Since last month? Eighteen."

"Right," Challow said, smirking. He lined up his sights. "Nineteen."

Fuck.

He fired. And hit his target.

"Nice shot four-eyes. You might make it to Private after all."

Jacob swung back to his own firing position as Somerville passed by. But before firing he glanced at Challow again. And he glanced back.

"Name's Paul," he said. "Since we're on a first-name basis."

"Right," Jacob said. He returned to firing. "But I'm still the better shot. Just remember that four-eyes."

Challow fired. Jacob fired. And he smiled.

It felt good to be called Jake again.

Almost as good as scoring another bullseye.


You are such a mummy's boy, you know that?

Well excuse me for reaping the benefits of straight A's.

What about PE?

You think mum cares about PE Jake? Just because it's the only subject you're good at doesn't mean you get brownies for it.

Shove off Tom.

Face it Jake, I'm better.

I said shove off!


September 28, 2144

"So where you from?"

"Kansas, the Dust Bowl. Since crops are a thing of the past, figured that enlisting was the best way to provide for the family."

"How paragonic of you."

"Paragonic isn't a word."

"Oh. Right."

Jake took Challow's word for it and continued cleaning his rifle. His hands were hard, his muscles harder, and he was sick of yelling how his rifle was special and reciting its serial number. But the Crucible would begin tomorrow. Tomorrow, he'd be grouped into a squad chosen at random, shipped off to Page Airfield, and enjoy 54 hours of hell, as Fairbairn had oh so eloquently put it.

But even if he'd never admit it, he was looking forward to it. Because after being here for two months, if anything, he wanted to see it through. Somehow, he and Challow had become friends. Somehow, he'd managed to avoid washing out.

"Y'know, my sister's fifteen. Maybe I could set you up next year."

Case in point. But Jake kept cleaning the rifle.

"So where you from anyway?" Challow asked.

"Boston." Jake laid the rifle to the side of his bunk. "City boy through and through."

"Oh yeah?" Challow asked. "What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"City living."

Jake shrugged. "Cramped, for one thing. There's twenty billion people on this planet and it's like Boston's got most of them." He sighed. "Oh, and dirty, and I'm not just talking about surface level. Had to wear a rebreather every time I headed outside. Suppose that's one thing country boys don't have to worry about."

"You kidding?" Challow asked. There's so much dust in the mid-west I could barely leave the house." He sighed. "Y'know, when I think of my family back there…I mean, well, I can't help but think I got lucky, y'know? Least out here I don't have to worry about choking to death."

Jake remained silent. City life…the air reeked, the food reeked, water didn't flow half the time, and he'd sucked it up as best he could. Tom…he shook his head. Tom had always been the whiner. It was Tom who'd been taken out of school for a month for asthma, the prick spending all of that month keeping up with his schoolwork. Never watching the afternoon cartoons but instead being an anti-social mummy's boy.

"So that's why you're here then?" Challow asked. "Great outdoors?"

Jake didn't answer and went back to his rifle.

"Jake?"

"Yeah, sure," he murmured. "Great outdoors."

He decided not to tell Challow the truth. That the reason he was here was to test himself. Find something worth doing. Because as grim as city life was, it was still life. The food sucked, but there was enough of it. The air was foul, but you could still remain healthy if you knew what you were doing. And there were plenty of ways to get entertainment. Sims, drugs, sex, heck, even the gym.

But for now, best to stick with being the nobody. Because chances were that he and Challow would end up in different squads. Let the guy think they were in the same league. A delusion that he and Tom had ended years ago.

It was such a thought that occupied Jake's mind as he field stripped his rifle again.


Stanford eh? So you'll be among your own kind then.

Hardy hah hah.

What's your degree again?

Xeno-biology. I'll probably major in xeno-linguistics.

Xeno…what? You mean the na'vi? Tom, are you seriously thinking of throwing your life away?

Says the person who enlisted.

Yeah, well, least I'll still be on Earth, not in lardy lah lah land with the Martians.

Laugh all you want Jake, I've already got an internship with the RDA. They'll pay for my college fees while you're paid…whatever it is you're paid.

It's not about the pay Tom. It's about getting out there and actually doing something.

huh.

Huh what?

Getting out and doing something…that's what I'm doing Jake.


October 1, 2144

Page Airfield

"Shit, drones!"

Jake reached for his training rifle, only to fumble it. The last three days had been a nightmare of patrols, simulated wounds, sleep deprivation, and every other piece of shit the drill instructors had thrown at them. Up until this very second, the prospect of shooting low-frequency lasers at drones would have seemed like paradise. Right now though-

"Get some!"

It was terrifying.

But he still fired. The drones were low altitude, each with a pair of fans. Not used in battlefields much, but there was always the chance.

"Fall back!"

It was Challow who gave the order. The squad's acting sergeant. A thin grey line of men and women steadily backstepped, firing their lasers repeatedly. Reloading as they had to, per simulating a rifle's actual magazine size.

"Keep firing!"

Like he needed an excuse, Jake reflected. But he did so. And before long, every one of the drones had stopped flying, as an imaginary bullet caused imaginary damage.

"Cease fire."

And he did so. He looked at Challow. The man grinning. His eyes shining behind his glasses. Muscular arms holding what looked like a dinky rifle.

"Great job kid," he said to Jake. "But you need to draw your weapon a bit faster."

"Yeah, sure Paul," he murmured.

"Challow," his friend said. "Call me Challow."

"Yeah," Jake murmured, watching the squad move off to continue the simulation. "No problem."


Pandora. A moon of the gas giant Polyphemus, situated in the Alpha Centauri system. First discovered in 2129. Currently home to over 1000 employees of the Resources Development Administration, Pandora is the world's source of unobtanium, the lifeblood of the global mag-lev system and matter/anti-matter power generation.

Not interested Tom.

Not interested? Jake, I'm going there. If the Avatar Program accepts me, I'll be talking with the na'vi. Actual intelligent aliens!

Yeah, well, tell me, are the aliens flying around in starships and asking to see our leaders? Can I go and shoot them?

Shoot them? Jake, the entire point of the program is to prevent shooting and…and no, they don't fly around, or do anything like that. Well, not in spaceships but-

Okay then. Like I said, not interested.


October 11, 2144

It was Family Day. And on a bench by "the portal," Jake sat alone.

He didn't glance back at the sign that had greeted him two months ago. He wasa marine now, and he didn't need any sign to tell him that. Instead, what told him was the uniform. The hat he was wearing. The timetable that Captain Rothschild had given him as to his assignment at the School of Infantry. Between now and then, he had ten days leave before having to turn up at Camp Geiger. Ten days where he could more or less do whatever he wanted. Ten days, and he had no idea how to spend them.

"Jake!"

He ignored the voice. He knew who it belonged to. And deep down, in a part of him training had tried to seal away, he felt a flutter. The same kind of flutter he'd felt when he'd shown his parents his certificate of achievement in PE. The feeling that came from knowing that for once, he could show off an achievement in school and not have to stomach them fawning over his brother.

"Jake!"

His brother. Tom Sully. The man who was walking over to him, and calling to him. Jake stood up, keeping his movement slow. He owed nothing to Tom, he reminded himself. He could sit up at whatever speed he damn well liked, not spring to attention for any officer, commissioned or otherwise.

"Hey bro," Jake murmured.

And yet Tom was here. They'd conversed over the net and he'd mentioned Family Day, that he'd be on leave for ten days, and if his brother wanted to see him in that period of time, he'd have no objections. No pressure of course.

"Hey Jake."

And cue the reunion.

"You look…good."

And the awkwardness.

"Thanks."

"The uniform. It looks…nice."

Lots of awkwardness.

That said, the assessment was one Jake could agree with. It felt…good, to be wearing something. He'd never had to wear uniform at school. Some schools used uniforms, but you needed quite a bit of money to go to those establishments, and money was something that the Sully household had never possessed in great abundance (like many other things). Though admittedly not lacked either.

"Gotta say," Jake said, beginning to walk along the grass, not meeting his brother's gaze. "Didn't think you'd show."

"Well, don't get used to it. I've got three assignments due this week, plus some more lab training as part of the internship. Only got here using the mag-lev."

Jake nodded. And despite himself, looked at his brother. He wore black trousers, a white collared shirt, and carried a jacket draped over one hand. It looked formal. Like a uniform of another kind. Of another world.

"So…" Tom said, as they still walked. "What's next for you? Now that you've graduated."

"AIT," Jake murmured.

"Pardon?"

"Advanced infantry training," Jake said. "More combat techniques before assignment."

"Any idea where?"

"Venezuela, according to scuttlebutt."

"Right," Tom said softly. "Venezuela."

Jake noticed that Tom's pace had slowed. He stopped walking. And Tom did as well.

"Something you want to say?" he asked.

"No."

"Really?"

"Well, y'know…Venezuela, the oil…do you have any idea how much deforestation it's suffered? It-"

"Christ!" Jake threw up his hands and advanced on Tom. He was in uniform, he could kill with his pinkie, and once, just once, he wanted his brother to back down.

He didn't.

"Deforestation, oil, it's always the same with you! People are dying and all you care about is how many trees are saved!"

"I didn't say that."

"We've got people over there risking their lives so that you can-"

"For what Jake, for what? So we can get some of the last drops of oil on the planet?"

"There's a war going on!"

"A war that we're only making worse!"

Jake clenched his fist. He wanted to punch his brother. Break his teeth, kick him while he was down, yell that mummy and daddy were no longer around to take his side. But he couldn't. And Tom…suddenly, Tom looked different. Older, despite being his twin. Tired, almost.

"Come on," Tom said. "I didn't come here to fight."

"Course not. You're a civvie."

He began walking away. Inviting his brother was a mistake. They'd been cordial enough on the net. But everything was…wrong.

"Jake, I've been accepted into the Avatar Program."

Very wrong. So wrong that Jake stopped in his tracks. And turned round.

"Avatar?" he asked.

"Yeah, Avatar," he said. "It's the RDA's-"

"Tom, I know what the Avatar Program is. I mean…you…"

Tom sighed, turned around, and started walking. Sitting down on the bench where Jake had once been. For awhile, he remained silent, running a hand through his hair. Hair much longer than Jake's was, even if it was the same colour.

But when he looked up, he was smiling. As if he were a child again.

"Jake," he said. "It's…going well, okay? Really well. I mean, Stanford, the internship…they want me Jake."

"The RDA gay for you?"

"Hah hah. I mean, think about it? Do you know how many people get to leave Earth, let alone the solar system? How much it'll cost to grow an Avatar for me?"

"I'm guessing a lot."

"Billions." Tom laughed. "But hey, I'm worth it Jake, that's how much faith they've got in me. And the trip…I mean…it…"

"It's what you've always wanted?"

"Yeah," Tom said, his voice earnest and honest. "Yeah, it is."

And Jake believed him. He'd known. Even before Stanford. Pandora this, Alpha Centauri that. The mentions had been sporadic over the years of their lives, but they'd still been constant. And Tom was…well, living the dream, as the saying went. The type of boy who'd always watch science fact rather than science fiction, and now he could star in science reality. And as his brother, Jake sat down beside him.

"Both in our own jungles eh?"

"Yeah," Tom said, putting his hands together. "I mean, there's more jungle there than here, but…well, same principle I guess."

Jake nodded. Slowly. Wondering what to say. Good luck? Keep in touch? How much did it cost to send messages across…however far it was between Earth and Alpha Centauri-whatever-it-was? How long was Tom going to be there? When did he leave?

"You wanna get something to eat?"

Best to start with the small questions, he decided.

"Sure," Tom said. "Got good grub here?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Dunno." Jake laughed sullenly. "Depends on what you like nowadays I guess. Or what algae flavours at least.

There was so much he didn't know. What the future would bring. For both of them.

But for now, right this moment, he did know this – Tom was his brother.

And right now, he welcomed that.


A/N

There's a bit of a story behind this story (no, that's not the first time I've used that phrase). It's covered on my homepage, but I'll give the lowdown here.

The idea for this was to take up a writing challenge - write a seven chapter story with the titles corresponding to the song I Can See a Rainbow, and have each of the song's represented colours tie into some aspect of each chapter. Somehow, I settled on writing an Avatar prequel, charting Jake's activities prior to the film. It was originally going to be more upbeat, but, well, that comes more into play in later chapters.

So, this chapter. Involved far more research into USMC training than I cared for, as well as watching clips from Jarhead and Full Metal Jacket (which, at least in the latter's case, were a bit more entertaining). In the final revisions done to this chapter, I did end up adding the Crucible scene, if only to get in the actual scene where Pandora was discussed. Cut down on the action though, for various reasons, and to give Challow some more foreshadowing. Oh, and fun fact, the subway idea came from the original script, were Tom was meant to die in a subway fire.

Anyway, that's that. Next update will come in January I'm afraid, as I'll be overseas until January 6th. So until then, kìyevame. :)