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 hideous 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, its underbelly had long streaks revealing its 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 ghastly 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, wrinkled 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 avian creature that had prevailed consumed the beast.
That is, until a screeching wheel of rubber crushed them both. Soon, the two were nothing but red stains on 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.
Carter was a lanky, swarthy man with dark hair and dark, heavyset eyes. Even though he wasn't particularly old, his stress, drinking, and diet had contributed to his wrinkles and balding hair.
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 swung his hiking boots off the desk. Carter took a good look at Logan, who exuded the same devil-may-care, rockstar attitude he had picked up off of Ian Malcolm and the stoic ruggedness of Alan Grant, both of whom he had met many years ago. Logan was notoriously bold, though not as bold as Malcolm. He had a distinctively crooked nose on his sun-beaten face and long, blond hair which he kept under a tan bush hat, and wore a cowboy shirt and khakis.
"What can I do for you?"
Carter looked down at his shoes and muttered: "I'm sure you know what this is about, Dr. Logan. You must've heard about San Diego. Alan Grant -"
"Yeah, I've attended 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 have 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." Logan gave a little grin.
"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, belittling 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 a woman appeared; blonde, tall, and white, with eyeglasses and wearing a 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.
"I'm Angela Ross."
"Bill Carter."
Angela 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. If you don't mind me asking, how come you kept your name?"
Angela 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.
Carter and Logan stood outside in the dark, staring out into the desert and smoking cigarettes.
"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 in the future, you'd come on the archipelago expeditions, seeing what's out there."
"I'm not a geneticist."
"I never said you were," Carter said. "You're the next best thing after Alan Grant and Ellie Sattler, and neither of them would be willing to work for us after what they went through."
"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.