Life Sentence

- Chapter 5 -
A Fresh Start

by TeeJay

—==''''==—

Summary:
Corporal Jake Sully is hit by a piece of shrapnel and finds himself lying in a Venezuelan VA hospital with a pair of useless legs and a big hole blown through the middle of his life. Pre-movie.

Author's Note:
Okay, last chapter, guys. Hope you enjoyed this—as much as it could be enjoyed.

A huge thank you to goes out J who offered to beta-read this story for me. You've been a great help!

Just a little remark on the side... We are in the year 2146 or 2147 when Tom is supposed to ship out to Pandora. Why would there still be paper money? (Quote Jake: "... a guy with a gun ends his journey for the paper in his wallet.") Everything else is hi-tech in this era, I honestly can't see people paying cash with paper money anymore. Thus, I'm just gonna ignore canon and rewrite this idea a little. You'll see.

Disclaimer:
There's a few dialogues and scenes towards the end of this story that were taken from a 2007 version of the movie script, so these are obviously not mine. Neither are the characters or situations of this story or the movie. They are property of James Cameron, Twentieth Century Fox, Lightstorm Entertainment or other copyright owners. No copyright infringement intended. Mr. Cameron, it has been a blast, playing in your sandbox. I hope you don't mind.

Rating:
Rated T (PG-13) for language and violence

—==''''==—

Ba-dee da dum, ba-dee da dah
Life's like a firefly
Green and glowy
Bright as a star

Tom sang the lyrics in his mind as he whistled the tune out loud. He had to grin, it was such a cheesy song, and the lyrics didn't even make sense. However, somehow the tune was stuck in his head.

He exited the RDA building, its large glass façade towering high above him. Looking at his watch, he realized he had just missed the last maglev that would take him from Assembly Square to Arsenal. Shit. He'd have to walk all the way over to Central Street to get home—which was something he usually tried to avoid, especially at night. The area around Wheatland wasn't exactly safe. Good thing he had taken his filter mask this morning on the way out.

His unease grew with every block he walked. The further he went, the less fellow pedestrians he saw. His step quickened, as did his breath and heartbeat. He knew he was being paranoid, but he turned around—he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following him. When he saw only deserted streets and the occasional vividly glowing advertising screen, he chastised himself for being so silly.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he had crossed Harvard Boulevard. Finally there were people in the street again. Even the street lights seemed brighter and more cheerful—if anything in this city could still be considered cheerful.

Turning right on Huntington, he felt someone suddenly grab his upper arm, viselike, dragging him into an alley between two buildings.

"Hey," Tom protested, "Get off me!"

"Shut the fuck up, dumbass," a deep voice hissed.

The guy pushed him so hard that he almost tumbled to the ground. Tom pulled out of his grip and whirled around. "Leave me alone, asshole!" He pushed back at the guy.

"Getting rebellious, are we?" the man said mockingly, and shoved Tom against the wall. It was only now that Tom was able to see the guy's face in the dim light. An ugly scar was marring his cheek from below his eye down to the corner of his mouth.

Without thinking, Tom's knee shot up and he hit the guy in the balls, but he hadn't used the right angle. Scar Man bent over and Tom started to bolt, but the guy tripped him up by grabbing his ankle. Tom hit the ground, his side colliding painfully with the hard concrete.

There was a metallic click and he felt something cold press against the side of his neck. "You really shouldn't have done that," the voice said menacingly. Tom's heart skipped a beat before it started racing.

"What do you want?" he stammered.

"You got cash on you?"

"A few cash chips. That's all."

"Give them to me," Scar Man commanded.

Tom rolled onto his back and fumbled desperately in his pocket. He held three chips out to Scar Man.

"How much is on these?"

"I don't know. Fifty bucks maybe?"

Scar Man snorted disdainfully. "Fucking joke," he muttered and grabbed the chips. "What else you got?"

Tom lifted his arms in defense. "My credit card. That's all, I swear."

"Yeah, credit card's no use for me, unless I take your fingertips."

Tom held his breath, sensing he was in real danger. Scar Man started to turn around, and Tom started to release his breath... but then the guy turned back. There was a grin of true evil on his face. "Fucking bloodsucker, this is for the Thai knee."

There was a plopping noise and suddenly Tom felt a sharp pain in his chest. He gasped for air, clutching his torso. He didn't notice his hand came away bloody. He felt his vision starting to blur and the pain slowly subsiding.

'What the hell is happening?' he thought, and then, 'Jake. Where are you when I need you?'

The last thing Tom Sully ever saw was the dark, smoggy sky of the city and a the dim glow of a light being switched on in the building next to him.

—==''''==—

"Shut up," Jake growled through his teeth, but the buzzing noise continued without ceasing. It took him a few moments to shake the last hazes of sleep from his brain and realize that the buzzing wasn't his alarm clock or a video call, but that it was coming from his door.

"Go away," he yelled, hoping the sound would carry through the door. Since he could pretty much hear whatever was going on next door that was above room sound volume, he was pretty sure this would too.

The buzzing didn't stop like he'd hoped. "Okay, I'm coming," he finally relented.

With a groan, he rolled onto his back and sat upright, instantly wishing he hadn't. The dull, throbbing pain in his head intensified with any sudden move he made. A look at the clock confirmed that it wasn't only from the few drinks too many he might have had the night before but also from lack of sleep. 7:26 AM meant he hadn't even slept four hours.

He rubbed his face after he had dragged his useless body into his wheelchair. Whatever the reason was for anyone to wake him at this ungodly hour, it'd have to be good.

The door slid open when he activated the button on the control panel to reveal a man and a woman, both clad in business clothes.

"Jake Sully?" the man asked.

Jake squinted up at them, noticing a badge clipped to both their waistbands. Shit. Had he done something the night before he wasn't aware of?

"Yes?" he hesitantly said.

"I'm Detective Carlisle and this is Detective Fraser. Can we come in?" the man asked.

Jake rolled back a foot to clear the path from them to walk into his apartment. The agents looked around for somewhere to sit, but came up empty, so they just stood in the middle of the room.

"What's this about?" Jake asked.

"Are you Jake Sully, brother of Thomas Sully?" Det. Fraser asked.

Jake nodded. "Yeah."

Det. Fraser's voice was sympathetic. "I'm afraid we have some bad news. This won't be easy to hear." She paused, her eyes lingering on Jake's paralyzed legs before she looked into his eyes again. "Your brother was killed last night."

Jake did a double take. Had he just heard right? He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Killed? Tom? Excuse me, what?" he stammered.

"He was found in an alley off of Huntington Street last night. It appears to have been a mugging."

"Whoa, wait. Mugging? Are you sure you have the right guy?"

"Yes, Mr. Sully, we are sure."

It only then dawned on Jake that there was a certain physical resemblance to his brother he easily tended to forget. He swallowed again, almost choking on the lump in his throat.

"My brother's dead?" he whispered.

Fraser nodded sadly.

"How?"

Det. Carlisle now spoke. "He was shot in the chest."

"Please tell me you caught the bastard," Jake said through clenched teeth, sudden anger welling up in his stomach.

"The investigation is still ongoing, but we have some leads."

Jake just shook his head. This couldn't be real. Tommy, dead? What the hell kind of cruel joke was this?

Det. Fraser's voice jerked him from his reverie. "Do you know why your brother might have been in that area last night?"

Jake tried to think. Huntington, wasn't that near the harbor? "He... I think... he worked near there. For the RDA. He sometimes worked late."

He didn't know why he'd said that. After all, he hadn't spoken to Tommy in months, but he remembered that his brother had been complaining about the long hours when they were still on speaking terms. It suddenly made perfect sense—and yet it didn't.

"Did your brother have any enemies or people who might have wanted to harm him?"

Jake frowned, trying to think. He couldn't recall Tom having mentioned anything. "No, I... Not that I know of. Tom and I," he stumbled on the words, "we weren't exactly close lately."

"Do you know what your brother was working on?" Carlisle asked.

"No. I mean, he was part of the Avatar program. He was supposed to ship out to Pandora some time soon. That's all I know."

Fraser nodded, writing something down on a touchpad. "Thank you, Mr. Sully. We also need to inform you that it is procedure that a family member needs to identify the body. You are listed as his only remaining family, is that true?"

Jake nodded.

"Your brother is currently being held at the State Morgue in Billbanks. Would you be able to go there to identify your brother later today?"

Jake nodded again, it was almost an automated reaction. His mind had gone completely blank except for a horrible mental image of his brother lying in a dark alley, bleeding to death. His brow creased in sudden agony.

The detective seemed to have noticed this. Fraser wrote something on the back of a business card and handed it to Jake. "This is my number. If you have any more questions or if you can think of anything else, please call me. The address of the morgue is on the back."

Jake took the card, letting his hands fall into his lap, too drained to speak.

The detectives turned to go, ending another unpleasant but yet somewhat routine call. Crime rates in this city had gone up by 2% over the last year.

Jake watched the door close behind them, his fingers absently running over the small piece of printed cardboard in his hand. It was painful—the only reminder that what he had just witnessed hadn't just been a bad dream.

—==''''==—

"Yo, Sully, go!" one of the customers cheered. Near the pool table, Jake was balancing his chair, front wheels off the ground, while holding a tequila shot on his forehead. Some of the onlookers started clapping and whooping.

Jake grabbed the glass and slammed down the shot, accompanied by more cheers. He turned his wheelchair around with a stupid grin on his face. The rowdy bar wasn't quite the place you'd bring your mom, but it was one of the few places these days where Jake felt comfortable. And the one place he knew he might be able to forget, if only for a few hours.

He turned his attention to the wall-sized screen, which was showing the World Cup game—men running on antelope legs. His expression became stony. It was another reminder of what he couldn't have. He tried to push the thought away. He didn't want anyone's pity because he knew better than anyone that this world was a cold-ass bitch.

A noise at the bar captured Jake's attention. Through gaps in the crowd he could get a glimpse of a couple sitting on barstools. He watched how the man slapped the woman he was with. Hard. She cowered but the man got her arm and raised his fist, shouting. It was an eternal tableau, one that Jake had witnessed one too many times. Most people looked away, but not Jake. Not this time.

This was what humanity had come to. If you wanted a fair deal, you were on the wrong planet. The strong preyed on the weak. It was just the way things were, and nobody made an effort to change it. Jake made a quick decision, starting to push the wheels of his chair.

Next to the bullying man, Jake stopped. No one took any notice of him. He leaned down and grabbed the leg of the man's barstool, yanking at it. The chair flipped and the man went down hard. Sudden rage flaming in his gut, Jake hurled himself from the wheelchair, toppling on the guy. He got a grip on him like a pit bull and started punching the crap out of him, right there on the floor.

The people around them jumped back in surprise and shock, some of them gasping. Jake got in a number of good punches before a bouncer jumped in and tried to drag him off the man. More people started pulling at Jake, voices were yelling now, but Jake didn't hear anything but red hot blood rushing in his ears.

It took some struggling to get Jake off the guy. The bouncer didn't bother putting him back in the wheelchair. He dragged him straight to the back door, hurling him out, which sent Jake sprawling on the cold and wet pavement. A moment later, his chair crashed down on him, banging across the alley, landing near the trash cans.

It had been a while since he'd been thrown out of an establishment, but Jake smiled inwardly at the irony despite the adrenaline still coursing through his blood. He struggled to rise on one elbow, bleeding and bruised, but still crazed and ready to fight.

"I hope you realize you've just lost a customer!" he yelled at the bouncer, who vanished inside with a disdainful sneer on his face.

Jake collapsed onto his back, panting. To himself, he muttered, "Candy ass bitch."

He stared upward at the levels of the city. Magtrains roared overhead like illuminated shooting stars against a vista of gray geometry. As if perfectly timed, it started to rain. 'Outstanding,' Jake thought, lying there, blinking.

A hollow laugh escaped his lips. "If it ain't rainin', we ain't trainin'!" he shouted jauntily to no one in particular. More than ever, he longed for the one thing he had ever wanted in his sorry-ass life—a single thing worth fighting for.

Too riled up to make the effort of finding his wheelchair, he kept lying spread-eagled on the ground, raindrops pouring down from overhead. He could feel his t-shirt getting drenched against his torso.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he could see shadows approaching. Steps came closer and came to rest next to him. He could make out two pairs of shiny shoes. He squinted up at two men in matching suits and trench coats, their features reminiscent of unremarkable and blandly threatening FBI agents and auditors.

"Are you Jake Sully?" the agent on the left asked.

"Step off. You're ruinin' my good mood."

"It's about your brother," the other agent said.

"What, are you here to collect on his debts or something?"

Agent no. 1 spoke again, undeterred by Jake's sarcastic comment. "Are you aware of the fact that your brother signed a contract with the RDA?"

"Vaguely," Jake said. "What does the RDA have to do with this?"

"Then you also realize that the RDA manufactured an avatar body from his DNA."

"Yeah, unless you mean in scientific detail. What are you getting at?"

The agent on the right went over to where Jake's chair lay on its side and put it next to Jake, who had propped his torso up, leaning back on his hands.

"Mr. Sully, we would prefer if you could come with us so we can explain the details to you in more appropriate surroundings."

"The fuck I'm going with you without seeing some kind of identification."

The agents were clearly getting irritated now. Agent no. 1 held out an ID card. Jake took it, turning it over to read it in the dim light. "Corporate Investigation Agency? This doesn't tell me a damn thing."

"We are here on behalf of the RDA. They would like to offer you the opportunity of taking over your brother's contract."

Jake's laughed mockingly. "Yeah, right. Have you looked at me lately? Why would the RDA want to fly a cripple out into space? This is total bullshit."

Agent no. 2 answered in an annoyingly calm voice. "We regret that you seem to think this is a joke. The RDA is taking this offer very seriously."

"The RDA can go screw itself," Jake hissed. "My brother would still be alive if it wasn't for their idiotic remotely controlled creature shit. You can go and tell them I said this: Fuck you and leave me alone."

"That is very unfortunate, Mr. Sully. We would—"

"What part of 'fuck you and leave me alone' did you not understand?!" Jake interrupted, raising his voice.

"Very well," Agent no. 1 said. He fished a business card out of his coat pocket and held it out to Jake. "Please contact us if you change your mind."

Jake took it and demonstratively ripped it up in front of the agents' eyes, letting the pieces fall into the puddles of rain next to him.

The agents gave him one last pitying look and then walked away.

Jake continued to sit in the rain for a long time, his thoughts revolving around his brother and the exchange he had just participated in. Questions started forming in his head, and there was a flicker of doubt whether his initial response of sending the agents away without hearing more details about their offer had been the right thing to do. However, as he continued to think about Tommy's death, it wasn't hard for Jake to push the notion away.

—==''''==—

Today he would bury his brother. Jake felt trapped in a nightmare. It was still so unreal, the idea that Tommy was dead. He kept thinking that he'd come home and activate the vid panel to give Tommy a call, and his brother would be there on the screen, trying to pretend he was still mad at him. But murdered in an alley somewhere? It just wasn't fathomable.

Jake looked at the note with the address on it he had hastily scribbled down. The trip down here to the crematorium had been a blur, but nothing could bring you back to reality quite like the smell of unclean air and the unhealthy noise of the city.

At the uninviting glass door, a guy behind a window buzzed him in, separated from the outside world by a plexiglass pane equipped with a microphone and loudspeaker. Clinical anonymity at its best. Jake explained to him the reason why he was here, and he heard the tinny voice say, "Please wait here, a technician will come and get you in a minute."

The minute was more like five that seemed to stretch into eternity. Jake watched the guy behind the window, who was stupefyingly playing some sort of video game on his vid screen, blowing heads off of less than scary looking monsters. 'Wonderful,' Jake thought. Just the right way to attune yourself to entering a crematorium.

The technician finally arrived and let Jake in. Jake followed him to the elevator in the hall which took them to the basement. Neon lights overhead illuminated a comfortless world without sunlight where metal doors branched off the dreary gray hallway. They entered the one that said 'Furnace Room'. Jake felt strangely detached from reality.

"Mr. Sully," he suddenly heard a vaguely familiar voice that he hadn't expected.

He looked up—and there they were again, the two agents from the night before. Jake stopped his wheelchair. Fucking vultures, it was just like them to turn up here, in this place, at this moment. Did the RDA have no scruples?

"We never got to finish our conversation last night," Agent no. 2 said.

"Yes, we did," Jake retorted and wheeled past them in disregard.

A row of stainless steel furnaces greeted his sight and he saw a large, rectangular cardboard box standing on an elevated grate in front of furnace number 5. Jake wheeled closer, coming to rest next to the cardboard coffin. The technician opened the box and drew back the black plastic foil covering the body inside. Jake wasn't prepared for this moment, and it was as if he was watching events unfold in a movie. He stared down at a dead man's face. His own face—or a clean-shaven version of it.

It was unmistakably Tom, looking just like he had the day before, when Jake had to identify him in an anonymous, cold hospital morgue. It suddenly hit Jake. There was no doubt anymore. No dream. No nightmare. Except... it was.

"Jesus, Tommy," he murmured.

Standing by, watching, the agents were getting restless. Breaking the silence, Agent no. 1's voice reverberated off the concrete walls. "The RDA will pay for the standard cremation. We take it that this is the method of choice for your brother's burial." It wasn't a question.

Jake swallowed, barely registering the agent's words. The only cemeteries where they still did interments were way outside of the cities. Embalming had become so rare that hardly any morticians offered it anymore. And if they did, it cost you a fortune and a half. No way Jake could come up with that kind of money.

He tried to imagine what Tommy would have wanted, but they had never talked about this. Then he vaguely remembered his brother, the eternal scientist, had once told him that he didn't believe in life after death, that once your life was over, it was over. Jake hoped it meant that to Tom it wouldn't make a difference how his body would be put to rest.

One of the agents nodded to the technician and the plastic cover was placed back over Tom's head. The lid of the cardboard box closed and the attendant started sealing the box with a tape dispenser—like a package for shipping. The cardboard coffin with the barcode number 976323 was rolled into the furnace.

Agent no. 2 spoke. "Your brother represented a significant investment. We'd like to talk to you about taking over his contract."

Agent no. 1 chimed in. "Since your genome is identical to his, you could step into his shoes. So to speak. It'd be a fresh start, on a new world. And the pay is good."

"Very good," Agent no. 2 added.

Jake was once again reminded just how cruel this world had become. "Can you give me a fucking moment!" he snapped.

"We'll be waiting outside." The agents retreated and stepped out of the room.

The technician pushed a black button on the furnace's control panel, igniting the row of powerful burners along the coffin's bottom and top edges. An orange glow emanated from the furnace window and the flames started eating away the cardboard. Black soot began to cover the window, obstructing the view.

Jake stared at it for a long time, listening to the whooshing of the gas-powered flames. The strong preyed on the weak. A guy with a gun took all Tommy would ever be, for the cash in his pocket. How was that fair? Tommy didn't deserve this. If anyone deserved to die, it was Jake. Why did it have to be Tommy? Jake bit back angry tears before they could well up.

So they wanted him to continue Tom's legacy. The Suits' concern was touching, but totally bogus. Stupid fuckers, all they were worried about was losing the millions they had already spent.

Jake let out a quick breath through his nose. The egghead and the jarhead. Tommy was the scientist, not him. His brother was the one who wanted to get shot light-years out into space to find the answers. Him—he was just another dumb grunt, getting sent someplace he was going to regret.

Was he really ready to go out there and take Tommy's place? What did he still have left on earth that was worth staying for? He figured Pandora couldn't be any more of a hellhole than the one he was already living his aimless life in.

Pushing the wheels of his chair, he approached the door. It couldn't hurt to listen to what the RDA had to offer, could it?

—==''''==—

The essentials of Jake Sully's life fit comfortably into an army bag. A few shirts, pants, underwear. Shoes too, although he didn't consider them a necessity. The trip to Pandora had been postponed for two weeks, something to do with a leakage in the spacecraft's coolant tank. As Jake gathered his belongings for the trip down to the RDA compound out in North Ridge, a perky newscaster's voice droned away in the background on his wall-screen.

"The Bengal tiger, extinct for over a century, is making a comeback. These cloned tiger cubs at the Beijing Zoo are—"

The commentator's voice was interrupted by a beeping sound and Jake wheeled over to the screen. A flashing yellow icon was indicating he had an incoming message. He activated it and his heart almost stopped.

His brother's face was looking back at him. It took him a few seconds to realize it was a recorded video message and not a real-time call. He realized he had held his breath and quickly sucked in a lungful of the refiltered air.

Still in shock, he watched the screen intently as his brother started speaking. "Jake, I hope you get this. When you do, hopefully, I'll already be on the way to Pandora. I don't know if you even wanna hear any of this, but I didn't want to leave things as they were the last time we met. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said.

"Looking back now, I know you've never had it easy, and I guess some of what you said to me that day has truth to it. I wish I had done a lot of things differently and paid a little more attention. And shredded your ass a little less." On the screen Tom broke into a grin, which faded quickly. "But most of all, I wish I could have said a proper goodbye to you.

"We're gearing up now, the shuttle's leaving in just over a week, and everyone's recording last messages to their loved ones. Geez, that sounds so corny. Love—that word never really came up between us, did it? Probably because we were too busy battling each other for who'd get the most attention. But, well, here I am, recording my last message for you. For a while, anyway."

Little did Tommy know it would be his last message. Ever. Sudden tears filled Jake's eyes and the face of his brother blurred. When he blinked, they dislodged and he let them stream down his cheeks.

"Okay, so... Like I said, we're leaving soon, and then it'll be six years in space. It's kind of a scary thought. I mean, do we really know what happens in cryo? Are you aware of things? Do you dream? Or is it more like in a coma? Guess I'll know soon enough.

"I saw my avatar today. It's still tiny, like a 10-year-old child, except that it's blue. Hard to believe I'm gonna be operating it. They call it 'driving'. I'm gonna be an avatar driver. And I'm not the only one, there's this guy I'm sure I mentioned before, Norm, who's also gonna be on Dr. Augustine's team. He's kind of a nerd, but," Tom broke into a grin, "I guess so am I."

Jake had to smile along with his brother, feeling the salty tears drying on his skin. There were a lot of attributes Jake would have associated with this brother, but nerdy wasn't one of them.

"Oh, before I forget, I'm attaching a file to this message. You can send me text or video messages through the link-up specs in that file, but there's no real-time capabilities. They told me it takes three to four weeks for a message to reach us out there, but, well, I guess it's better than nothing. So, anyway, if you wanna get in touch, you'll know how."

Tom was turning his head around; something was obviously capturing his attention in the room he had recorded this message in. He looked back into the camera. "Listen, I gotta go. Again, Jake, I'm sorry. For everything. I hope you'll be doing okay. Please promise me you're not gonna get in trouble, okay? Hope to speak to you soon. Say, in six or so years. Take care. Bye."

New tears welled up, but Jake fought to swallow them down. "Thank you, Tommy," he whispered to the now blank screen. It had eaten at him that the last thing they'd ever said to each other were accusations and harsh words. Now he knew Tom had made some kind of peace with what he'd said, having voiced his regrets to his brother.

Jake felt infinitely grateful, and he wished he'd had a way to convey to Tom the things that were on his mind. Somehow, even though he didn't believe in any of that paranormal, spiritual stuff, he was hoping that the silent speech he had uttered when he was watching his brother's cardboard coffin disintegrate in the crematorium's furnace had reached Tom somehow.

Pandora. He would be going there in his brother's stead. It hadn't even fully sunk in yet, but Jake suddenly knew that it had been the right decision. This had been Tom's dream, and he would be damned if he'd not at least give it a shot to continue his brother's legacy.

He didn't have a clue as to what would be awaiting him there. He hadn't had any training. He had no idea what being an avatar driver would entail. He would be the odd one out. He smiled. It wasn't as if that was anything new.

"Okay, Pandora, here I come," he muttered.

Who knew, maybe it wouldn't be just another hellhole after all.

—==''''==—

THE END

—==''''==—