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Claire tapped her foot nervously on the tiled floor, her fingers knit together on her lap. The sky beyond the window had grown dark, the only source of light coming from the pale moon above. She anxiously chewed at her lip, ignoring the metallic taste of blood that came from her biting. Something was wrong. Owen had left nearly five hours ago, but they hadn't heard from him in the last two. She knew it was a large island, but finding a specific person shouldn't have taken as long as it was. Part of her was taking comfort in the fact that Owen could easily handle himself in any situation. That part, however, was almost completely smothered by another; the one that was fearful that a hiccup in their plan had ruined everything and that Owen was now in some sort of peril. What if something happened to him? What if it was already too late? What if he—
"Claire? Would you please calm down? I'm sure everything is fine," Tom almost snapped. It was clear that the pain, along with the post-fracture fever, was certainly getting to him. He groaned before letting out another series of violent coughs. Beads of sweat began trickling down his gaunt face, the color having drained from his skin.
She stopped her fidgeting, or tried as best she could, in her chair, closing her eyes and slowly counting to ten. She would not panic. Her hands gripped the armrests, her knuckles turning a ghostly shade of white at the pressure. Slow, deep breaths. That's the key. She opened her eyes after a moment, her nerves still gnawing away at her insides. How could she calm down when there was the possibility that Owen was in trouble?
Her gaze turned to Tom, who was still tinkering with the laptop, intermittent curses stringing from his mouth as he tried again and again (and failed) to access his program. An annoyed sigh escaped him as he partially closed the laptop, burying his head in his clammy hands. He suddenly doubled over, a sharp, stabbing pain in his stomach. He hacked, groaning as the painful coughs tore through him.
Claire instantly moved to her friend's side, placing a firm hand on his back as she pulled him into an upright position.
"Agh! Where the devil is he?!" Tom croaked out between breaths.
Her worried expression was both for Tom's health and Owen's safety. She didn't know how to respond, choosing only to place the sickly man against the white pillow. She took the laptop from his bed, placing it gingerly on the side table.
"Can I get anything for you?" Claire asked her ailing friend. She was desperate to do something; anything but sit here and worry.
"Yes, there might be a chance that my desktop in my office has some of the data I require. I doubt it. I'm almost positive I moved all information to my laptop, because I knew someone was messing with it." He sighed and rubbed his aching head. "I just can't quite remember if I did or not."
Tom gave Claire his ridiculously long password. She left right away. Perhaps Owen had thought something similar. He could be in Tom's office as well searching for anything that might save Blue. She tried to call him for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening. The ringing seemed to never end before it went to voicemail.
"God damnit, Owen! If you're making me worry over nothing, I will kill you... Please be okay." She left yet another message.
Tom's office was dark. She stepped in, flipping the light switch, the room lighting up instantly. The place was a mess; papers were strewn haphazardly about the room, and his computer tower was opened and gutted.
"Shit!" she cursed as she stepped cautiously over broken glass. There was nothing salvageable. Everything was ruined save a few silver canisters on the shelf. Even his amazingly organized library, the one she most admired about his office, was destroyed.
The loud chirping from her phone startled her. She hastily reached into her purse, yanking the phone out as she answered without even looking at the ID. "Owen!?"
"Hey, uh, Claire?" Lowery's voice came over the other line. Claire had to fight off the disappointed and irritated sigh that threatened to escape. "Yeah, quick question."
"What is it?"
"Well, Owen called a little bit ago—like, I don't know, a couple hours maybe?" His voice sounded nervous. "Anyway, he was asking for me to let him know if Dr. Robinson's key card was used again—it hasn't or anything but I just wanted to let him know that I was heading home for the night and I have like way too much overtime and I can't stay any longer. So, I've been trying to get a hold of him, but he hasn't been answering. Is he with you?"
"No—no! He isn't." She answered, her stammering voice betraying her. For some reason, hearing that Owen was also not answering other's calls was not comforting to her. Where was he? There had to be some way to find him. Then it hit her. "Hey, before you leave can you tell me if Owen's card has been used?"
"Wow! Why didn't I think of that? Let's see..." Lowrey's voice was accompanied by the click clack of his keyboard. "Okay one use about forty minutes ago in … Paddock nine. Why is Owen staying so late with Lizzie? Is he doing like night time enrichment because I know for a fact that Lizzie sleeps through the night. Only really loud noises will wake her. And she is super grumpy when she is doesn't get her beauty sleep—."
Claire hung up the phone before he could finish. She grabbed a silver canister labeled det746, before running out the door to Paddock Nine.
It was dark. So unbelievably dark.
That was the first thing Owen noticed, the second being the throbbing pain in the back of his head. He tried to move, but with suppressed panic, he found that he couldn't. Ropes were tied around his body, a rigid pole parallel against his back. He nearly cried out in pain as he moved again, the ropes pulling against his recently dislocated shoulder. As he became more conscious, he realized that he was sitting on a slab of concrete, surrounded by trees, or what he could see in the pitch black night. The faint chirps and calls of jungle creatures reached his ears.
He knew exactly where he was.
Oh, how... poetic.
The whispering of voices in the air stirred him slightly. He strained, listening to see if he could identify any of them. There were three male ones, and one distinct female voice. He stilled, hearing the sound of crunching leaves growing closer.
He suddenly felt a presence next to him. "Wakey, wakey Sunshine!" The female voice cooed, a hand coming up to pat him not-so-gently on the cheek. He cringed, his eyes only now beginning to adjust to the darkness, the few lights in the enclosure aiding minimally in his ability to see. "Oh, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you? Whoops!" The figure crouched in front of him, her face inches from his.
Jackie. Of course.
Owen felt his jaw clench, his teeth gritting together. "Oh, fucky—"
"Uh-uh! Language!" She smirked, her hands playing with the ropes across his chest. "Be nice, Owen."
There were many question running through Owen's mind at the exact moment. Too many to count. The last thing he remembered was seeing her at the end of the hall in the creation lab, and then he got knocked out by some asshole. As far as Owen was concerned, Jackie Robinson had a lot of explaining to do. "So you faked your death?" Really, it had been such a cliched, and arguably clever move.
"Duh! Come on, Owen. You really think I'd just jump into the tank? Really?"
"Your radio was in there."
"I threw it in." She shrugged as if the answer was obvious. "You know, to keep you on your toes!"
He felt angry again. Angry and confused. "Why the hell did are you doing this?"
Her eyes gleamed. "Owen, why does anyone do horrible things?"
At his bewildered stare, she sighed. Once again, her face lit up in disturbed delight.
"Money, Honey!"
The room was spinning. There was a ringing in Tom's ears. It wouldn't go away. His vision blurred, a tight, twisting sensation forming in his stomach. He doubled over, retching over the side of the bed, coughing and hacking as the contents of his stomach splattered on the tile. There was an overwhelming sense of dizziness that swept over him; he tried to rise from the mattress, pushing the blankets off of his burning body. The ringing grew louder, causing him to wince in pain.
His body immediately went rigid, then began violently convulsing. He fell to the floor, his body thrashing as he landed.
As quickly as it started, it was over. For a moment, he lost consciousness. He blinked, his eyes roaming around the room as if in a daze. He was still wrought with grogginess, his head throbbing. What was he doing on the floor? Where was he? Tom took in his surroundings. He was in a hospital. Yes, I have a broken leg. he thought as he looked at his throbbing leg. My… My research is gone. He thought to himself again. But why am I on the floor? It wasn't making any sense! The the clouds obscuring his mind began to fade a sharp realization struck him. He was on the floor because had a seizure.
His heart turned to ice, his very blood growing alarmingly cold. He opened his mouth to scream, to call out for the doctor, but found he could not speak a single word. His chest tightened as he felt his heart rate increase.
Frantically, he began running his hands over the major arteries. He found no small lump or incision. At first he felt some relief, but with the painful throbbing of his leg, he discerned a horrible realization.
His dream, his leg, his Genetic Silence Device...
Fuck!
Tom pulled himself along the ground, grunting in pain, stars blurring his vision. He reached for his medkit that still sat where some kind soul left it. The bag held a variety of instruments that he could use for this purpose.
Without much thought, Tom pulled out a heavy duty pair of scissors and began cutting open his cast.
Owen felt the rope tightening, further constricting any small movement. His cold glare burned into Jackie's side, though she made no hint at being bothered. She smiled. "Just making sure you're nice and secure! Don't want you getting away." She gave a firm smack to his shoulder, chuckling lightly at his pained groan. "Oh, sweetie, it's alright. Don't be such a baby."
He could feel his temper rising within him, the boiling anger nearly spilling over. "You mind telling me why you're doing this?"
"I told you! Money!" She laughed again, not swayed by the fury in his eyes. "Oh fine, you're no fun. I guess I can tell you. Might as well." She crouched in front of him again, her hands resting lightly on her knees. "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret," She said, scooting closer, her voice lowering. "I hate working here." She could hardly contain her laughter at his unamused expression. "I know, big surprise, huh? Well, I didn't always hate it, and I didn't always hate Dr. Thales, but then he started being a real dick to me, ya know? Always telling me I was wrong, always pointing out my mistakes. To be honest, it was a little degrading. And annoying. Now, I know what you're thinking. Why do all this because I hate some stupid son of a bitch? Well, here's another thing. I've always been under appreciated here. Everyone is always talking about how amazing Dr. Thales is, or what miracle he'll perform next. It was just sickening. I also come to find out that he makes more money than me! Can you believe it?"
Owen fought the urge to roll his eyes. He bit back the words at the tip of his tongue. 'Well he's your boss, so...' But being at the mercy of this crazy woman was enough to prevent anything from coming out.
"So I thought, what better way to punish him and everyone at Jurassic World than attack what makes them valuable? The first one was just for fun, though. Then, this brilliant man offered me a job; I get rid of the animals, I get money. See, he works for this company—"
She didn't have to elaborate. Owen felt as if he already knew. "Let me guess," he sighed. "InGen?"
Jackie gave him a stern glare at the interruption. "Right, but please, Owen," she growled, shoving his arm. "Let me finish. Anyway, this company—InGen, if you really wanna get technical—wants Jurassic World to go out of business, and no dinosaurs equals no money. Basically puts them in a sinkhole. And it kills two birds with one stone; Jurassic World gets what it deserves, and Dr. Thales 'perfectly safe' life's work gets thrown down the drain. All I had to do was get this baby," she pulled something from her pocket; a small flash drive. Tom's flash drive. She twirled it in her hand, dangling it in front of him. "To my employer. He gets all the info and access to the genes, I get paid. He can control how the devices work. He can change an asset's immune system to whatever he wants. It's just a way to prove that these animals can't survive in captivity. They need freedom, leadership, and the right to kill."
"Like for the military?"
"Like for the military. See? You've got it!" She ruffled his hair, a sly smirk tugging at her lips.
Owen felt his blood turn cold. In truth he wasn't entirely surprised that this was all InGen's doing. He just had no idea they were still set on the idea of weaponized dinosaurs for war. It was idiotic, especially after what had happened with the Indominus. Suddenly, he felt confused. He hadn't expected her to actually tell him any of her evil plan. What kind of villain was she? "Wait, why are you telling me this?"
She laughed again. "Well, I mean, you're gonna die anyway. So no harm done! We've already got Tom taken care of, and we were thorough this time. As you remember, the drugged T-Rex didn't really work out," she gestured to his shoulder. "Now there's just you and your little girlfriend! Technically, Little miss Redhead doesn't know too much about Tom's work, but I really can't stand the slut," Her brows furrowed, her face contorting to a troubled expression. "It's such a shame you have to die, though. You're so hot. What a waste."
The wind roared in Claire's ears as she sprinted across the empty main street, her feet carrying her as fast as they could. The park was eerily quiet at night time, especially without any visitors. The abandoned road sent a chill down Claire's back; but she kept running, her hands gripping the silver canister tightly. Her footsteps echoed around her, beads of sweat forming all over her body.
She finally reached the paddock, though not allowing herself a moment of rest. She swiped the key card and hastily pushed numbers into the pad. She tried one of the metal doors to the paddock, growling in frustration as it stayed shut. She looked around frantically, her eyes landing on the stairs to the observation deck.
The sound of voices on the level above her caused her to stop, the roar of the blood rushing to her ears hindering her perception of sound. She froze, her hand gripping the metal railing. Slowly, she crawled up the staircase, her eyes searching for the source of the noise. She finally reached the top, the footsteps above causing her heart rate to increase. Her eyes scanned the room; there was still another set of stairs to climb.
A tense silence fell over her as she crouched to the ground, quieting her steps as she slowly advanced to the row of cabinets at the wall. She could see two strange men she had never met before out of the corner of her eye, standing with their backs to her. They were not employees. They looked like the militant soldiers InGen had brought in during the tragedy. A heavy breath escaped her as her back connected to the wall, her body blocked by the row of storage lockers.
How was she supposed to get past those guards?
She didn't scream as she felt a strong hand grip her arm tightly, yanking her from her hiding place.
"What have we here?" The man said, his voice sinister. "Oh, hello pretty!"
She struggled against his hold, his grip only tightening at her movement. "No, no! You're not going anywhere." The other said, chuckling.
Claire rolled her eyes. She did not have time for this. With a swift movement, her heeled foot connected with the other man's shin. He howled in pain, clutching his leg as he fell to the ground. She brought a hand to the arm coiling around her throat, lowering the other fist to strike the man, holding her captive, in the groin. He doubled over, his arm slackening at the impact. She swung her elbow, the point of her arm colliding with the man's jaw, knocking him unconscious and allowing her a moment to scramble free. She breathed heavily, though not letting her guard down.
The second man rose again, seething with anger. He came at her, his fists ready.
She dodged his swing, ducking in time as she watched him stumble. He turned around to face her again, this time his fist met her chin. She saw stars and heard the asshole laugh. Anger, adrenaline, and five years of self defense classes gave her strength for what she was about to do. Her own fist smacked him in the temple in a swift sideswipe. He shook his head, groaning in pain and anger.
Claire thanked God she was wearing a pantsuit that day, before swinging her leg high to land a shattering final kick to the jaw.
She stood there as both men lay unconscious on the floor.
A huff escaped her as she straightened her top, her hands reaching up to adjust her hair ever so slightly. It was pointless now, beyond repair, but she could at least try.
She looked ahead, the second set of stairs just feet away, and after that, would be the employee observation deck. She moved swiftly, yet quietly, running on the very tips of her toes. The stairs creaked lightly under her, threatening to give away her position to any potential threats. She paused, craning her neck to listen for any intruding voices. The eerie silence of the room was almost deafening, only adding to the roar of her own heartbeat in her ears.
After what seemed an eternity, she reached the top, immediately lowering herself to the ground in a defensive crouch. She inched along the floor, listening intently. Ahead of her, she saw the control console at the base of the window, illuminating the room in a hazy blue light. There was a man there, bracing both hands on the console.
She searched the room, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of one of Jurassic World's security guards motionless on the floor. Silently, she moved across the cold tile, her hands shaking beneath her. The voice over the man's radio startled her. "Get the gun ready," the voice ordered. "Wait for the command." The man reached beside him, retrieving a red flare gun from it's case. Claire suppressed a gasp. The light sigh that escaped her was silent as she gripped the cold metal of the silver canister that had miraculously survived her previous encounter.
The intruding man made for the door to the catwalks, flares ready.
They were going to wake the T-Rex.
A feeling of anger and strength overwhelmed her. She rose, rushing to the man in front of her, bringing the blunt end of the canister up above her head, ready to land the first and final blow.
"Okay!" Jackie said, her voice sickeningly sweet, as she clapped her hands together. "Well, we're gonna go! You have fun with our friend, alright?" She brought her hand to rest on Owen's cheek, caressing his stubbled face. "I'm sorry, bud," she said with a mockingly sad, insincere laugh. "I really am."
There was a startlingly loud buzz from the speakers, the clicking and clanking of locks and bolts moving in place accompanying the grating sound. The people all stilled, the noise causing a silence to come over them.
A red light formed from the top of the observation deck, whizzing through the air in a quiet hiss, black smoke trailing close behind. The red flare soared, glowing in the darkened sky. The light flickered, the flame sputtering to a stop as it landed with a bounce at Owen's feet.