The lumbering beast walked out of the bushes. Almost unholy, it looked like a sick cross between some of the ugliest animals alive - the blobfish and the anglerfish - but based on land.
Around it was an equally ugly landscape. The trees were dead and the sky grey. Other small, repulsive creatures ran away from the beast, fleeing inside of dark holes and jumping into a polluted river.
The beast's shell was spiked and round, and underneath it there was dark brown skin. Torn up, it's underbelly had long streaks made up of flesh and muscle.
One of its short front legs was merely a stump covered in a shiny coat of red.
The beast moaned in agony, trying to scuttle across the dirt, but froze with fear as a hideous thing fluttered down from a tree.
The thing had a long neck and a greasy body that was covered in black feathers. It stood on two legs, its body leaning forward. Obviously, it was in much better condition than its upcoming meal.
Snarling at the beast, it craned down its neck and pushed it on its side.
The beast roared as it flailed helplessly - it couldn't get back upright. Its fate was sealed; his killer raised one foot above its exposed belly, and then brought it down. A sickle-like claw dug into the brown, wrinkly skin.
The killer pulled its foot back, peeling his prey's skin like a potato. The beast could only respond with wails and bellows, and it felt horror as its killer repeated the process. Over time, the bird like creature that had conquered consumed the beast.
That is, until a screeching, circular ball of rubber crushed them both. Soon, the two were nothing but red stains in the earth.
Bill Carter looked out the window of the Jeep. Nothing but sand and dirt; he could hardly see the mountains in the distance.
It was a far cry from the upscale hotels and offices of Cupertino that he worked in.
What the hell were they thinking, he thought, sending me to Arizona of all places.
Carter sighed and stared out the window. Soon, the tiny E.D. Cope complex came into view.
The Ross abode was nothing more than a series of hastily assembled hovels and ditches. Shovels, pickaxes, and wrenches were scattered all over the entrance to the main building.
Carter turned to the driver.
"Wait in the car."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr…"
"Logan. Tom Logan. And you're Mr. Carter, if I'm not mistaken."
"Yep."
Logan motioned for Carter to sit, and took his boots off the desk.
"What can I do for you?"
Carter looked down at his shoes and smiled. "I'm sure you know what this is about, Dr. Logan. You must've heard about San Diego. Alan Grant -"
"Yeah, I've seen his lectures."
"Then you and I know both know the field of paleontology is practically extinct. There is no reason for you people to persist in digging up rocks and bones in the dirt after what InGen brought to the world."
"You know, if you had listened closely, you'd had noticed that they created aberrations. Organisms that resemble nothing that we've found conclusively in the fossil record. Grant described the Velociraptors as oversized. Theropods lacking feathers, that sort of thing."
Logan stood and began pacing.
"Ask yourself this, Mr. Carter. Why do humans still dig up artifacts in China or Egypt when we know so much about these civilizations?"
"Come on, it's a stupid question," Carter said. "The comparison is all wrong here."
Logan sat back down and put his hands on the desk, rather dramatically.
"No, it ain't. We as humans strive for knowledge. To understand culture. And through paleontology, we can understand the evolution of life on this planet."
"Big deal."
Logan continued: "Our field of work is crucial to biology. What John Hammond made is a load of bullshit. It has nothing to do with actual paleontology."
"Then work with us. Help us correct the mistakes he made. Improve on the progress they achieved, that now has been left abandoned-"
"What are you saying?"
"I'm offering you and your team a chance for greatness. To finalize something. You'll achieve a project the likes of which has never been seen before. Not by science. Certainly not by Hammond."
Logan furrowed his brow. "You know, Mr. Carter, insulting my career is not the best way of going about trying to hire me."
"So what do you say?"
"I don't know, Carter. I'll have to think about it."
Carter heard footsteps in the hallway. The shape of appeared; blonde, glasses wearing a white lab coat.
Both men turned to see her address Logan.
"We're about ready to wrap this up. Getting to be really cold," she said.
Logan nodded.
She walked to Carter, extending her hand.
"Angela Ross."
"Bill Carter."
Ross sat down in a chair next to Carter's.
"So what brings you to our crappy little digsite?"
"I was just asking your husband if he wanted to work with the company I represent. By the way, I notice you kept your name. I like that, it's progressive."
Ross blushed. "Too many els in Angela Logan. I tend to trip over my own tongue."
"I'd like some time to discuss this with my wife, Bill," Logan said.
"Of course."
Carter stood up and walked out the door.
"You see, the missus isn't too keen on me working for this large corporation of sorts. But those conditions you told me about earlier over the phone, they're just too good to be true. I could bring my own team, you said. I understand I'd be doing -"
"Genetic work. Consulting with us, helping us perfect the assets. And the archipelago expeditions, seeing what's out there."
"I'm not a geneticist."
"I never said you were," Carter said.
"I'll think about it."
"Still? Come on, you gotta be kidding me."
Carter rolled his head. "Listen, I'll still be in town today and tomorrow. You have my number. Head on over to this address and we can finalize any details, work out a contract. That way, the missus doesn't know what's going on."
Logan nodded. "Alright. I'll be there tomorrow morning."
Carter extended his hand. Logan grasped it, and shook it with anticipation.