Author's Note: Wow. Just wow! I guess I didn't realize how much of a start this thing would get-but it's picking up steam rather nicely! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and is tuned into this...It was just an idea! After seeing the movie twice, Marianne's character came alive to me and I just couldn't resist. I know it has a slow start, but that's necessary for character development. Hopefully by now you have a bit from each character to go off of, and they'll develop more as the story progesses.

Keep in mind, this is before the events of the park. I'm having the Mitchell boys and Sophie spend an entire summer at the park, just to build relationships. We're still a way out from the disaster-phase of Jurassic World, so buckle up; it's gunna be a ride. I am pleased to see you're support and feedback and only hope it continues! Thank you!

Chapter Four

After being lead to a stylish, brand new Mercedez-Benz GLE coupe, Marianne had—somewhat reluctantly—placed her things in the back of the vehicle, the red-headed woman eyed her suspiciously while attempting to look busy with her phone. Marianne could tell otherwise the woman was less than impressed with her, but she didn't rightly care. She was so caught up in the fastness of the events should could hardly keep her head on straight. Slamming the trunk door closed, Claire brushed passed her, smelling like roses, and moved to the driver's side. Marianne approached the passenger door and opened it, slipping inside.

Claire took off quickly, the car having the torque of a race car. The tires licked gravel and they were off on a maintenance road, Claire driving the car expertly—more like Dale Jr. than a business woman. Marianne clutched the passenger's door, trying to appear normal, as Claire flicked on the AC.

'I'm assuming Vivian already explained rooming arrangements," Claire interjected, her eyes bolting to the cup holder where her phone was buzzing as it received a call.

"Not entirely—" she cut Marianne off by holding up a finger, Marianne rolling her eyes and gazing at the window as they flew past foliage and tropical plant life. A bird dashed out in front of them, but Claire didn't seem to notice.

"This is Claire. Hi." She jerked her eyes between the road, and Marianne, the phone pressed to her ear with her other hand. She steered the car around a curve, barely slowing, and Marianne's heart leapt into her throat. Was she really that much of a burden to her schedule? Marianne wondered if they'd make it there alive briefly as Claire continued. "What do you mean, weapons? Are you certain?" The woman's delicate, porcelain looking skin furrowed at the brows, then raised a few inches at her sudden surprise, "You're positive?" She gave Marianne a quick, quirked look.

Marianne looked at her, Claire turning her attention back to the road. She nodded as if the person could see her comprehending and then she ended the call with a quick "yeah, sure." Letting the phone clatter back into the cup holder, she cleared her throat, checked her speed, and pressed the gas. "Miss Randal—"

By her assumption, it was Marianne's turn to interject, "Marianne."

Claire, seemingly caught off guard, corrected, "Marianne. My maintenance garage has thoroughly examined your vehicle and done a safety inspection. It seems they came across an…irregularity."

Her heart seized. "What type of irregularity?" Her tone became brash, short, and heated. She'd checked everything herself pre-load and en-route, made sure the car was in pristine condition before they'd left the mainland. She couldn't be having her Chevy breaking down in the middle of the tropics, and she'd had the dealership run diagnostics just to be safe. There was no way something could've happened to it, unless having been tampered with.

Claire must've caught onto her concern, "Nothing mechanical, I assure you," she took another curve, then swerved off the road to the fork heading due east, "My engineer tells me he's identified...weapons inside your car."

Oh. Marianne released a tight breathe and nodded, relaxing in her seat. So they'd discovered her Beretta 9mm and her serrated KA-BAR. Claire, looking somewhat concerned, waited for Marianne's reply. "Oh, yeah? I forgot to mention those I guess."

"You guess? Miss Randal—"

"—Marianne," she said irritably.

"Marianne," Claire huffed, "This is a park. The safety of our occupants is of utmost concern here," she shook her head, "Having undocumented weapons on the island is strictly prohibited per park policy. I'm sorry, but they'll have to be confiscated."

Marianne, giving her a horrified and brazened look, shook her head. "They are documented and I'm properly trained in handling them if anyone should ask," she situated herself in her seat, "I have licensure allowing them to be legally on my person at all times, and if that's necessary for the park, I'll give you copies. But, I'm not about to hand over my gun and my knife when I'm on an island packed with genetically modified dinosaurs who have no idea what century they're in and are packed with instinct—" she took in a breathe, Claire glaring at her now, "and you can't by any means guarantee that I'm not going to need them, so, you can't deny me my personal rights to safety. I'm sorry, but my gun and my knife aren't up for grabs."

"I can assure you, Mr. Masrani has spared no expense in ensuring we have the best and safest technology and security precautions in the world," Claire spoke quickly, as if she were defending herself—and she probably was, as Marianne guessed she had her entire life and career invested in this park. "If Jurassic World was unsafe, we wouldn't be open and functioning superbly. Mr. Masrani, never in good conscience, would've allowed the park to open if he thought it were unsafe for any reason."

Or if he had a conscience, Marianne told herself before she added, "I'd imagine that's what Hammond told his investors and his lawyers, too."

Claire shot her a narrowed gaze, "We have things under control,"

"These are living, breathing dinosaurs, Miss Dearing," Marianne spat, frown lines forming on her forehead, "Titans. You can't just make a eighteen thousand pound T-Rex and think you have it under control. That's were Hammond and his people messed up: they failed to understand that we aren't in control of anything." Marianne paused a moment, looking out her window, before she added, "And hopefully your man made note of the bow in the back under the seat."

Claire began to slow the car, gaze focused out the window, her face stone cold before she whipped a look at Marianne. The road ended just up ahead, Marianne noting they had started following a ridge which turned into a cliff a few miles back. The ocean, roaring up onto the rocks hundreds of feet below, crested white before crashing onto the rocks. Claire stopped the car, Marianne focusing her attention away from the ocean and to the set up which she assumed to be Paddock Six. Claire parked the car, said nothing, and briskly grabbed her phone and exited. She slammed the door rudely, Marianne unbuckling her belt.

She opened the door, and watched the scene before her, Claire entering the buzzing workplace as if she were God's gift to the workforce. Four sweaty, filthy men hauled crates from the back of a fashionable new Jeep Wrangler, walking up the steps to an elaborate walkway system. Claire slipped by them and began heading up the steps, where three more men were talking in the middle of the circular paddock. Marianne, furrowing her brow and thinking how much of jerk the Operations Manager was, followed.

The men slowed their work as she approached, watching her as if she were meat dangling above a pack of hungry wolves. She swallowed, not comfortably with such oppressively sultry stares. Hurrying up the steps, she heard Claire grab the attention of the talking group of men.

"Gentleman," she inserted, her voice sickeningly sweet and professional, "I trust you are prepared to meet your new field assistant?" Marianne's head popped above the railing, her casting a quick glance in their direction, while the three men's gaze immediately swept to her. She looked at her feet, graced the top step, and then looked up. She stopped, one hand still on the railing, her eyes widening a few inches behind her glasses.

The Uncle. Owen.

Her breath hitched. So it had been him.

Every nerve tightened within her body and pounded a warning to her skeleton, and she forced herself to release the railing. Release, step forward, one foot at a time. The commands became clear and focused in her brain, as if she were relearning how to walk. Claire, noticing she'd lost the attention of the three men, turned to face her, arms crossed before her. She gave Marianne a light smirk, and Marianne suddenly wished she could shoot lasers out of her eyes at the woman. Her irritation towards her kept expending, which wasn't particularly a good sign. Marianne a stopped a few feet from their group.

"Gentleman," Claire stated clearly, "Miss Marianne Randal, your new field assistant." She gestured towards Marianne as if they were old time friends, "Miss Randal," she sauntered towards her to stand beside her and backed up a few steps, "Meet Owen, Barry, and Vic." She nodded to each as she presented them.

Marianne could've sworn she'd heard three names, but she was so focused on the one she could hardly keep air moving into her lungs. She was certain her eyes were going melt out of her head she was so hot. Why did she always get so nervous around the good looking men? Shaking herself out of it, she extended a hand to the middle man, a heavier set greying guy with dark eyes and a gait. He shook her hand, "Good to meet you."

He scanned her over, "Dang. I didn't know they hired girls to do this job."

Claire chuckled, "I can assure you, Vic, she comes with the highest qualifications and recommendations." Marianne glanced at her as she finished shaking hands with the African American man, "We wanted to be sure we had the best."

Finally, the man called Owen stepped up, sauntered over and extended a hand, a lopsided grin on his face. He had sparkling, dark eyes, and she noted they were indeed the navy blue, as she had guessed. He radiated a heroic aura, one that was packed not only with testosterone but with control, and practiced ease. She took it, shook it firmly, and he nodded to her and then glanced at Claire, "Only the best for out here, huh, Claire?" He then looked back to Marianne, scanned her, and smiled. "Hey. Owen Grady."

Even his name sounded heroic.

Claire gave him a pointed look, then walked over to the other walkway, which met in the middle and connected with three others going different directions, a big 'X'. She interlaced her fingers in front of her and peered down to the inside of the paddock, the others following, Marianne coming up beside Claire. She looked down, to find the ground bare and painted with a thick foliage of jungle-like plants and fallen logs. A worn trail, heavy with use, circled the perimeter of the paddock. It was eerily quiet.

'When did you get here?" Owen asked, his brow wrinkling with the question. Marianne shot him a look.

"This afternoon, about an hour ago."

Owen's brows lifted in surprise, "And you're out here already? Quick work," he gave Claire a smile, "But, I'm glad you came when you did. We'ere about to do a skin check and—"

"Owen!" came a thick accent from below. Owen turned, and in two strides was at the outer railing, peering over. The four of them watched him, Marianne then looking down at the paddock. A rustling moved in a bush, then was gone as the breeze stilled the plant back into solace. Suspicion cocked her awareness like a gun.

"Yeah, what's up, Briggs?"

"You wanna set the main gate to lock or what? It's down, but it ain't locked into place, mate."

"You got it," Owen nodded, saluting, and then swinging himself around to the steps. He waved them forward to follow him down, "Just come with me and we'll get the girls into place."

They obeyed, and were soon at the main gate. Owen opened the exterior fencing door and him and the African American man entered, Vic and Marianne and Claire hanging back. The outer fence clanged back into place, Vic lacing his arms through and leaning heavily against it. Owen and Barry conversed, Marianne watching past them for any movement into the paddock.

"The main gate always stays locked—"

A squeal of panic shot the air, laced with terror. More of a shriek than a squeal, but it was animal nonetheless. Marianne's nerves tightened and panic soured her stomach.

"Pigs LOOSE! Pigs loose, pig's loose!" The cry came above, prepubescent, and the walkway rattled above them. They all shot their attention upward, where a lanky boy held a reaching assist. He jetted out to the middle of the walkway, when the rustling of foliage caused Owen and the black man to run to gate. They watched a pink piglet squealed, bolted across the clearing, the boy lowering the assist into the paddock to help it out.

"No, NO!" Owen hollered at him.

Too late.

There was a high-pitched squeal, a flash of grey and green, and then the slamming of a metal door into place. Marianne gapsed and stepped back, Claire screaming, as the assist flew from the boy's hand above, his body jerking out of the walkways and tumbling downward. In an instant he hit the ground hard, moaned.

The animal, hissing, whipped its head to look at him.

Marianne's heart pitched and she flung herself at the door, fumbled with the latch, and yanked it open. Rushing inside, she bolted towards the main gate with Owen and the other man, whom she recalled was named Barry, and watche din horror as three more animals slid to a stop before the first. Her ears pumped with blood as she recognized them, horrifically, from Alan's stories and his book and his research. Her mouth parched.

Raptors.

They fanned out, circling the poor boy who was scrambling and dragging his butt through the dirt, panic lacing his shallow breathes. The animals lowered their bodies, arms outstretched and clawed fingers twitching, ready to pounce any moment. They hissed, screeching, communicating with one another and opened their mouths slightly, sporting rows of pristine and sharp teeth. The boy began to whimper now, and Marianne gave Owen a befuddled and brazened look.

"Do something!" She screamed at him. Owen shot her a look, and a second later he slammed a fist into the control panel and pressed the amber colored button. An alarm sounded, the raising mechanism whined mechanically, and the gate quivered into motion. He dashed to his knees, rolled through the opening, and popped up just to the left of the animals.

Barry leapt to action, hit the stall button, and the gate jerked to a step, a quarter of the way open. Her breathing became shallow, her body thoroughly soaked with sweat, as Owen inched towards the beings slowly.

The four of them gave their full attention to him. Owen, bent slightly at the waist and knees, held his hands out to them. He was serenely calm and eerily collected. Something rattled in Marianne's brain and told her he'd done this before, had been eye level with these horse-sized carnivores. She swallowed thickly, her mouth and throat dry, watching. They turned from the boy, inching towards Owen again.

"Hold," Owen said sternly, unwilling to break eye contact, "I said hold it. Delta," he looked to his right, "I said stop." She hissed at him and took half a step back, he looking to his right where the other two had gained a few steps. "Don't even think about it, Echo. I see you."

"Oh God," Marianne breathed, "They…they listen to him."

Barry said nothing, only breathing deeply and uneasily.

The middle one, colored terrifically with a blue streak down the length of her body, nipped at him and shrieked briefly. " Don't give me that crap, Blue," he shook his head ever so slightly, "Enough."

The boy had now slowly made his way towards the fence, Barry swooping under and grabbing him, pulling him back. The raptors didn't like this, and screamed, hissing and pawing at the fence. Owen gradually stepped backwards, and he lowered one hand to wiggle his fingers in their direction, "Get out here, new girl," he said quietly.

Her heart pitched. "What?"

"Owen, are you insane?" Barry challenged.

"You said you wanted to interview, so let's interview." His voice was calm and collected and Marianne shared a nervous look with Barry. He said nothing, and she weighed her decisions right at that moment. It was either this, or go home and give up the job of a lifetime. She'd given up everything for this and she wasn't about to renege now. She swallowed, ducked low, and slowly came up on the other side of the gate.

The dangerous side.

"Slow," Owen said to her, again not breaking eye contact, "Get low and move slowly. They don't respond well to fast movements, it's a threat,' He wiggled his fingers and she came closer, not breaking eye contact with the animals. Her body began to tremble but she swallowed, took deep breathes, and closed her eyes momentarily.

God, please. Please don't let me tremble.

Her last step caused the raptor's to share a look with one another, lower their heads, and part their mouths at her, hissing and twitching and growling in their throats at her. Warning bells in her head caused Marianne's heart to swim, and she froze slightly behind Owen. He slowly moved his hand and fumbled it around her own, and she swallowed thickly again, then felt a tickle in her throat. She exhaled slowly, his hand in hers feeling as if it had been there forever.

"Slowly back,' he said, eyes shifting between the animals, which every time they moved back, they moved forward. "Move slow towards the fence, low, and easy." She nodded, eyes locked on the animal now directly in front of her, amber eyes locked wickedly with her own. She recognized that he'd called this one Charlie.

"Easy," Owen said louder, to the animals. Then, he rasied his arm and clenched his hand together in a fist. They abruptly stopped, Marianne freezing. She gripped his hand tightly, still hunched. He stood tall now, surprising the animals. They growled at him and clicked. "Hold it. Hold." He shook his head slightly, "Fantastic. Frickin' fantastic."

They continued to move back. Marianne's body was alive with adrenaline, hot and sticky with sweat. Her dress might has well have been pasted to her body. Behind her, the tension from the witnesses was so great it was unbearable, and she shot a look skyward, where men poised with huge guns aimed steadily at the animals. She swallowed and managed to form words, "Don't shoot," she called up to them. The raptors all looked at her and stopped.

Owen glanced up, "If you shoot one of them they'll never trust me again. Hold your fire." He put his free hand behind them, and they hit the back of the fence with a sudden jolt. They stopped, Marianne pinching her eyes closed. She opened them slowly as Owen lowered to his haunches. "On three, ready?"

"On three?" She hissed quietly, eyes locked on the animals.

"One," He counted, gripping her hand tighter.

"What do you mean on three-?"

"Two,"

Panic laced her veins, "What—wait!"

"Now!"

In a burst of speed, he turned, lowered her head, and practically thrust her under the fence. They rolled through the dirt, her head knocking against the ground, him rolling on top of her repeatedly. Claire screamed, the animals shrieked and the earth pounded beneath their feet as they lunged. Barry scrambled for the controls, pounded the button, and the alarm sounded. The gate mechanically whined and sank into the ground with a heavy thud.

The infuriated animals roared, claws gaping through the gate openings, clawing and thrashing in rage. They snorted and hissed and growled a few moments, before retreating from the gate. One lingered, Marianne's head throbbing, and she reached up to situate her glasses.

Owen, panting hard, was still on top of her, supporting his weight with one hand. He looked from the animals an to her, then smiled at her, laughing. With his other hand he reached up and brushed aside one of her curls. His calloused knuckles grazed lightly over her cheek, and relaxed her body.

"You ok?" He asked.

She nodded frantically. "Yeah. I'm ok." He nodded, pushed himself up, and Claire burst through the exterior gate, panting hard and frazzled. She pointed a finger at him, the raptor shrieked, and she screamed and took a step back.

"You're insane! Those things could've—"

Owen lowered her hand with his own and stepped by her, "But they didn't, Claire." He stopped and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand and looked at Marianne, who had brushed off the back of her dress. Marred with dirt and small cuts from the gravel, she panted and looked at him, expectantly. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Her mouth dropped open as she fumbled for words, "I, uh, well—sure."

He nodded once, "Six AM, bright and early." He scanned her from head to toe. "And, a word of advice," he winked, "Invest in some boots and some pants."

Claire glowered at him as if she read into something deeper than the statement. Marianne headed towards the exterior gate, looking away from him, spotting Vic staring at her as if she were some type of goddess and not a woman.

"Dang, girl," he shook his head and followed her away from the gate, "You're as crazy as he is."

She stopped, watched as he and Claire marched from the gate, Owen and Barry heading back up the steps towards the walkways. She took a moment to gather her senses, closed her eyes, and inhaled sharply.

She had no idea what had just happened.