(((The following is a fanfiction not meant for reproduction. It
is simply made as to honor a franchise that I love very much, and for free fanboy
entertainment. The story features mention of iconic characters created by
Michael Crichton, Rick Jaffa, Amanda Silver, and brought to life by legendary
directors Stephen Spielberg, Colin Trevorrow, and J.A. Bayona. Enjoy!)))
#fanfic
#dinosaurs
#raptor
Even
the helicopter ride there felt exotic to Jared.
Since the spectral silhouette of
the island began to materialize across the hazy horizon he had his face pressed
eagerly against the passenger window and never dared to miss a single moment of
this very special moment. The dense forest that threaded over the island came
to him like the opening of clouds toward the gates of heaven. He always dreamed
of having the chance to work there. As a kid, paleontology was an obsession for
him. He drank up every book he could on the subject, especially the ones that
focused on the Cretaceous period, but he never dreamt in sixty five million
years that he might actually get paid to perform only moments away from any of
those ethereal creatures.
Jared was an artist with big
dreams. Those thirsty ambitions led him to a comfortable career drawing as a
caricature artist in the carnival circuit. For years he has spread his talent
across the country, earning for himself quite a respectable reputation along
the way. But OtherWorld caricatures...
they say OtherWorld caricatures was impossible to break into. They were the
leading contracting company in his profession, serving the art Shoppes at some
of the most high profile locations across the planet for many years. And though
they began as a small seed, pushing their roots in the same industry that Jared
had come up in, they have grown prominent to enjoy such a powerful position in
the industry that he just knew applying for this
particular park, with his meager status was a dreamers fantasy. But apparently
it was enough.
He got the return letter in the
mail in surprisingly expedient timing. Seeing the celebrated logo of
OtherWorld, and the ever more iconic brand of the most famous Park in the
universe emblazoned on the heading of the letter, he was certain it would be a
rejection. But it was not. He unfolded the letter and read. It simply asked: “Is
this your work?” And then there was a photograph of an artfully exaggerated
caricature drawing. He was pretty proud of that one and knew it well. Indeed it
was his: a Cartoon illustration of the late and great John Hammond. So he wrote
back simply, “Yes it is.”
His invitation came with an
emphatic phone call from the manager of operations at the OtherWorld Art
Shoppes, who asked him quite dramatically, “we like your stuff, and we are very
interested in having your talent with our team. So this said, I must ask you:
How soon can we welcome you to Jurassic World?”
The answer was “Immediately!” And the flight was the
next day, all expenses paid.
Jared wasn’t really sure what he
was getting himself into. All he knew for certain was the acclaim OtherWorld
got in his line of work, and that the park was the notorious home of living,
breathing dinosaurs. That was all he needed to know.
He never flew in a helicopter
before, but it was no more dangerous of an experience than half of the things
he naturally ran into in his business as a transient artist. OtherWorld was
offering gracious accommodations. They provided him fancy dining and housing
for free just to have his slightly famous sketch at their park, and he was
quite flattered by their generosity. They did let him know that it would only
be for a few weeks until he was on his feet without assistance, but it was all
so much more than he could have dreamed to ask for.
The helicopter ride was long and
grueling at times, but the reward was far too big to pass. There was so much to
earn and nothing to lose. He bragged about the opportunity with his peers, and
knew with an ounce of over-confident certainty that none of it would ever turn
around to bite him in the ass. At least he hoped for that. God forbid if any of
those things stepped out from their cage to run amuck.
He was settled in to his suite
quickly. Every day between the hours of 9:am and 7:pm was prime time at
Jurassic World, and they rushed him to work almost instantly. It was strange
how easily Jared had slipped back into his work mode. He was in a foreign,
unforgivingly oppressive climate, drawing in harsh, humid weather, on an island
housing genetically reproduced extinct creatures as it’s primary attraction,
yet he drew his guests as deftly, and comfortably as if he was back home in his
own preferred environment. Everyone loved his work. His superiors loved having
him. However, all that Jared could focus on was: just get through the day, and soon you’ll get paid, and you’ll get to
see these things you’ve read in wonder about all through childhood.
The Jurassic Park fiasco was an
infamous story that began as an urban legend, which turned out to be a horrible
truth. InGen had tried to cover it up, and that only made things worse for
them. The mad-scientist genetics Mega Corporation would have since fell into
darker works, focusing mostly on weaponry and other controversial intrigues.
But as a bright shining star in the future of science, turned super evil
villain deserving public scorn, they at least knew how to accept their new role
with pride and success. The Ill-fated story of the fall of Jurassic Park was
soon promulgated as a way to deter further advancements in the fertile field of
genetics; also to keep people away from the islands. But instead, it only
proved the opposite: genetic science boomed more fiercely than life had sprung
from the Cambrian Explosion, and rambunctious paleontologists, and would-be explorers
seeking a precipitous new high sought out the forsaken island resorts. After
some time, and passionately fought legal wars, the corner stones for Jurassic
World were at last set again, and the greatest enigma on earth was finally
opened to the public. It has become the most profitable amusement part on the
planet since those archaic days before, and now Jared has become a part of
their growing legacy, even in his very small capacity. He was excited.
His first shift went fast, but it
felt like an eternity, anxiously waiting to reap the spectacular benefits. He
must have drawn a hundred guests. The register read two thousand, fifty-three
dollars in sales on his behalf, and his manager was quite pleased with his outstanding
performance. Jared clocked out at 3:30 and saw that the market circle where his
caricature station was located was still packed with giggling, querulous
children wanting their cartoon image riding the backs of their favorite
dinosaurs. Jared felt a pang of guilt he would leave all that potential money
to his colleagues, but that was just hard-woven into his nature from years in
the carnival business. Besides, he had monsters to see.
There was some wild rumor going
around of a potential new dinosaur attraction being conjured up in the
laboratories. Signs were plastered everywhere hinting at some clandestine beast
that Verizon Wireless would soon unleash upon the world. “Something Is Coming,”
the advertisement read, red demon eyes smoldering in the dark womb of a gripping
green forest. “Something Of Nightmares will be unleashed from Verizon
Wireless...” Everyone was wowing over its mystery on the monorail into the
heart of the resort. He didn’t care, he was slipping his way through the
crowded car to get to the nearest window so he could catch a glimpse at the
most iconic gates built by modern Man. The massive doors were painted to look
like weathered, and splintered wood. They flung open with a fabricated clamor.
The soundtrack clashed from the speakers inside the train, imitating farcically
the crash of castle doors banging open. Than an orchestra ran their intense
strings, and a tribal drum line enraptured its new guests.
One animal was on his mind most
prominently: their genetically enhanced Velociraptors! As a kid he had fallen
in love with the creature’s more famous fossil, as it was forever captured
ensnared in battle with the horned Protoceratops. That was before anybody
really knew much about what happened at the Jurassic Park facility. Then, the
Raptor was known only to be about the size of a turkey, and experts were only
beginning to suspect it to have been covered with feathers. But the geneticists
at InGen changed all that. Their obnoxious DNA mascot at the visitors’ center
claimed that the absence of some well established characteristics was the
unfortunate side effect of splicing genomes in order to thread the missing
parts in their genetic code. But that would soon be revealed as an embellished
lie. They did not like the feathers, and their size didn’t seem menacing
enough. They were looking to attract a new audience to dinosaurs, and so, they
only wanted the biggest and the baddest, but the Raptor was too well loved to
ignore. Some speculation arose to argue that the animal’s fossils were
incomplete, and perhaps these creatures were in fact more robust in their size.
Jared read an article adding fire to this debate, using the famed
paleontologist Dr. Grant’s earth shattering discovery of a velociraptor
skeleton that was almost eight feet in length to support their argument. But
after careful scrutiny even this would be debugged, as the species he had
discovered turned out to be some new beast more closely related to the Tyrannosaur
than the Raptor. With a hefty reign of near two hundred million years, the
genus of Tyrannosaurids was a big family that varied in size, shape, and
weight. The bottom line was, Dr. Grant did not find evidence of a freakishly
large Raptor, and the Jurassic World creatures were just man-made monsters with
synthetic DNA flowing in their veins. Still, Jared wanted to see them.
His illustrated map was hard to
follow, but he found a tour guide that was leading the way he wanted to go, so
Jared jumped in with her group. She was pretty, tall, smart, and a loquacious docent.
She didn’t just know her Park, she knew dinosaurs, and she adored her raptors.
Her eyes were a deep green, and her hair was thick, brown, and turning
goldenrod along the edges from the sun. She spoke perfect English, sweetened
with only a touch of her native Spanish accent. Jared was in love, but he kept
that to himself. As a nomad artist he has lost his touch for social engagement.
Outside of his comfort zone behind his easel he was shy and taciturn, fearing
saying the wrong thing and making a fool of himself. But she saw it; he could
tell by the way flush colored her cheeks ever darker. She flashed him a
flattered grin, but continued their tour. He had questions about the animals,
but locked them up behind tight lips, waiting for her to answer them naturally
as she went on with her routine presentation. Most all answers will unveil
themselves to those who are patient, and paying close attention.
The paddock was a fortress, and
perhaps the most uninviting exhibit in the whole park. But these animals were
dangerous, intelligent, and required the highest security money could buy to
contain them. Watchtowers guarded all corners of the walled facility, and
the personnel mounting those stations were armed with high-powered tranquilizer
rifles. It seemed more of a maximum-security state prison than a tourist
attraction. Jared was impressed.
In the guest lobby, Laura—the
pretty tour guide—first introduced them to the brave team that helped to keep
the raptors healthy and happy throughout their young lives. The top man on the
acknowledgment board was a rugged, handsome gentleman named Owen Grady. In his
photo he had this kind of amused Mona-Lisa-knowing grin turning at the corner
of his mouth; it somehow alluded to a potent charm rather than haughty arrogance,
though Jared suspected he had some of that in him too. But what grabbed his
attention was the man’s job title: Chief Specialist/Raptor Trainer.
They have a raptor trainer? He couldn’t
help but to wonder what that could entail. Fetch, heel, don’t claw my
guts out? Seemed a bit brazen to think a human could tame a
quintessential killing machine. But of course anything was possible when
animals that have been dead for sixty five million years walked the earth
again.
Laura brought them next to the
nursery where the infant raptors had been raised to trust their captivity. All
of them have been moved to the maturing stable, and all that was left there was
some scattered straws of hay, and gnawed dog toys behind very thick viewing
glass. There were pictures of the baby dinosaurs. They had big heads, bright
and wide snake-like yellow eyes, and tiny, agile serpent bodies. They were
strangely adorable, and hauntingly terrible at the same time.
The primal stink of rotting decay
was strong, venting through the walls to pervade their senses. It made all of
them in attendance to wrinkle their noses. But that was a small price to pay to
see the master-class of flesh-eaters in true beautifully brutal
reality.
Jared thought it odd how many kids
were surrounding him at the exhibit. There were warning signs posted everywhere
about what horrible things they might witness, but somehow when it came to
animals, the imminent carnage waiting on the horizon was made a surreal
experience, and parents practically pushed their kids in to learn a cruel
lesson about humility. But these kids were smiling, and anxious to see, with a
sort of sickening bloodlust. They were like snot-nosed pro-wrestling fans,
cheering, and hooting for violence. No matter how civilized we think we are, Ancient
Rome was never too far from our hardwired instincts. Jared couldn’t help them
though, he was just as sick with gleeful anticipation.
Genetic manipulation in some small
way was sort of like caricaturing. An artist had to think fast to solve big problems.
He has to capture very complicated shapes in a matter of only seconds, in order
to finish a face in fewer than five minutes. The Cartoon is supposed to be
exaggerated, but it also has to resemble his subject in some recognizable way.
Jurassic World scientists with their gene splicing, and biology mashing have
worked that same concept in to creating their prized beasts. But their raptors
were something of a masterpiece, outshining what God had originally made in a
few bold strokes that could melt Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. The revered
chaos theorist Dr. Ian Malcolm would probably designate it as the art of
forcing order from entropy, and then he would go on to argue how such an
approach is destined to collapse in extraordinary fashion. But that guy was a
nihilist in Jared’s opinion: a rotten egg who just like to role in to spoil
everyone’s fun.
Laura’s voice was suddenly drowned
out by his elevated heartbeat. He had expected the pack to tool with the guest
some as they entered the main viewing chamber. But they didn’t. They weren’t
hiding, or sneaking. They were right there in plain sight, waiting for them.
They lined up, stalking the glass. Laura assured her group that they could not
see them. But Jared could tell that they knew. The one with the blue stripes
marking her hide crept in, sniffing with a wet snout, her sharp tail erect in
attention. Flies buzzed over and around it’s blood stained jaws. Its serrated
razor teeth curved inward, designed to hook in deep into leathery flesh so she
could easily tear away at her meat. Her signature curled foot claw twitched,
and she held low to the ground, like a wrestler coming in for a clinch. She
slunk in, and bobbed her head. The others flanked her dutifully. The audience
gasped. The palm trees and dense foliage swayed, and sang under a gentle breeze
behind them. The group was mesmerizing. The way their tendons stretched and
tightened in their long necks, the way their sinuous muscles moved beneath
tough tubercle spotted skin, they were poetically graceful and brimming with
alacrity. Their eyes shifted, inquisitively, calculating. It challenged the
human spirit. Nature grew their roots, and stemmed their powerful brains, but
human hands planted the seed. This intelligent monster understood more than we
can possibly comprehend, and they were with a mind that was weighing its place
in the world. Jared could see it thinking. It was painting a picture of her own
what the creature she smelled through the glass was thinking. She could taste
his fear. Slaver fell from her lips as she rolled them back to show those feral
teeth again. As though entranced Jared drifted closer, staring wide-eyed.
Perhaps it was their dangerous beauty that killed their prey. The Raptor
suddenly lashed at the glass, snapping its teeth, smearing the transparent
barrier with slaver. He jumped back. The kids erupted with laughter, and the
beast’s dinosaur companions began bobbing up and down, trilling excitedly, like
birds jeering at him. Jared got the impression they were toying with him after
all.
Laura smiled ruefully at Jared and
said, “ I think Blue likes you.” She winked at him, playfully.
He blushed, and tried on a frantic
smile even though his heart was screaming in his chest.
Still, it was the most exhilarating
thing he had ever experienced. The raptors went about their tribal animal
business, hunting and coordinating.
In private hearing with Laura, Jared
remarked, “They need feathers.”
Laura fell in close beside him. She
showed him an all-knowing grin and whispered, “yes, and they should be smaller... I know... you can ask me any
time now.”
The group sprawled out to study
some of the pieces of information hanging on the walls everywhere.
Jared was nervous. “Ask what?”
She nudged him, that smile of hers
never fading. “How about what time I get off tonight.”
He definitely wanted to ask just
that, but his inquiry broke apart in his throat, “I...I”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m off at
the end of this last tour. Meet me an hour after. Be dressed nice.”
Then she went back to treat her
guests.
The tour moved on. Jared met with
Laura for lunch and made a new friend. He was having the night of his life. He
couldn’t wait to see the T.Rex after his shift tomorrow.
