Hello again! Thanks to all who review and even to those who don't.

So this chapter isn't really much my own, I must admit. I found an AVATAR script online, and this was a deleted scene. I've just decided to flesh it out a bit, because I found it insightful into Jake's character before he arrived on Pandora.

Italics = Voice Overs from a log journal.

The strong prey on the weak.

I became a Marine for the hardship. To be hammered on the anvil of life. I told myself I could pass any test a man could pass.

It takes him ages to put his goddamned pants on. Hell, it takes him a fucking decade to pull his pants off. He has to rocking himself from side to side, over and over and over again, pulling on his pants the whole while. It's one of the many stupid little things he misses that makes him a little more bitter and sink a little deeper into his depression.

Once they are on, though, he manages to squeeze out of his sardine can of a room and out into the lovely, smoggy, miserable bitch of a world. It doesn't take long for him to wheel himself over to the magtrain station. He doesn't bother to look at the train schedule, or even the ticket prices. He's been down here so many times before, there's practically a seat with his name on it by now.

The magtrain stops and he wheels his way down to a bar. The same bar he's been visiting almost every night for the past few months. The patrons are always noisy, but they mind their own business.

He rolls into the bar, says hi to a few of the veterans he recognizes, and orders himself a few shots of "whatever the hell you feel like". He downs the first one watching the World Cup. Seeing all of those men running about with their perfectly functional legs leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, so he downs another shot for good measure. He starts doing tricks by the third one, balancing the shot glass on his forehead while doing a wheelie in his chair. This gets the other vets to clap and whoop, especially those missing a body part or two themselves.

Let's get it straight upfront. I don't want your pity. The world's a cold-ass bitch.

He notices a man at the bar with a woman. He hits her. Hard. The poor woman cowers away from him, trying to get away, but he's got her by the arm. He shouts at her, raising his fist. People turn their heads away. They don't want to look. They don't want to see what's happening. In some detached, analytical part of his brain, he can understand this. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Right? Especially if that evil is more than likely going to whip your sorry ass into next Tuesday.

But he'll be damned if he looks away.

You want a fair deal, you're on the wrong planet. The strong prey on the weak.

His knuckles turn white as he grips his wheels, jaw set as he rolls himself forward.

It's just the way things are. And nobody does a damned thing.

The burly sonofabitch doesn't even bother to take notice of him as he comes to a halt beside the stool. He reaches down with one well defined arm and –

YANK! The stool is whipped from right under the bastard. The man falls to the ground. Hard. He doesn't even pause to take in the huge thump the man makes as his head smashes to the ground before he, quite literally, throws himself onto the man. He grabs hold of the man like a pit bull and wails on him, simply beating the tar out of him with every inch of strength he has in him. The bar is in chaos now. People are yelling and pulling and shouting as the bouncer drags him out.

All I ever wanted in my sorry-ass life was a single thing worth fighting for.

He is unceremoniously tossed onto the hard pavement. The force of it sends him sprawling on the pavement. He lay there dazed for a moment before his chair comes crashing after him, bouncing into a pile of garbage. He pulls himself up, scraped and bleeding and still looking for a fight.

"I hope you realize you've just lost a customer!" Seeing no one, he collapses onto his back. "Candy ass bitch." He mutters to himself. Whether he's referring to the dickhead in the bar, the bouncer or himself, he wasn't really sure. The magtrains roar above him and, just to top it all off, it starts to rain.

"If it ain't rainin' we ain't trainin'!" He shouts jauntily into the night. Too tired and in pain to move, he rests on his back, arms spread eagle as he lies amongst the trash. He supposes it would be kind of poetic, if he were into shit like that.

He doesn't know how long he's been lying there when he notices two people approach him. He pretends not to notice, but his mood plummets even further when he sees two shiny pairs of black shoot stop right beside him. Looking up, he sees two men dressed in identical black suits, completely unremarkable in any way (save for the fact that they were so unremarkable) and vaguely threatening. Definitely government Suits.

"Are you Jake Sully?" one of them asks. He flips them the bird.

"Step off. You're ruining my good mood." Frustratingly enough, they neither seem bothered, offended or even unimpressed by his show. A cold snake begins to coil within his belly, and it sure as hell isn't from the rain.

"It's about your brother."

The strong prey on the weak. A guy with a gun took all Tommy would ever be, for the paper in his wallet.