Author's Note: Hiya, guys and gals! So it's been quite awhile since I've updated, and with the (recent?) launch of Fallen Kingdom, I've been mustering up some muse to get this thing finished. So, here's a chapter! However, I did want to address a recent review that I got from an anonymous one of you; one that wasn't all that kind, but got me thinking I should explain. The review stated that Marianne, whom had started as a relatable character, has evolved into a Mary-Sue.

I feel like I should apologize - this story has taken quite a number of years to write, by my own fault. And, as I venture forward, I've noticed that my writing style has changed quite a bit. But, however, I also want to suggest that since Marianne is an added OC to this universe, she's predominantly in a ton of scenes, so thus, she has to do something. Claire was predominantly "Mary-Sue" throughout both films, going from a business woman to nearly full-on safari extraordinaire, so people adapting to situations isn't all the uncommon. Furthermore, considering that Marianne has, from the get-go, been a "Tom boy" with her nose in the dirt of the dinosaur world, I personally haven't found her involvement to be all that Mary-Sue. However, since it was a concern, I'll try to develop Marianne a bit more, and have her be more of a victim, since that seems to be the vibe we're going for.

For the record, however, Claire will always be ridiculous, because I just really don't like her character. Okay, enough ranting - please, please, please enjoy and let me know what you think of my untimely return in a review! What do you think should happen next? What would you like to see more of?

Chapter Forty-two

"Claire!"

Already a force to be reckoned with, Owen Grady further exaggerated the suspicion by shouldering his way through the parting elevator doors, a glaring look piercing through his eyes. Between the angered heat blossoming on his face, the sweat staining the back of his shirt, and the putrid smell of vehicle chemicals emanating from his shirt, Marianne wasn't sure what the Control Center specialists were going to think, or how Claire was going to react to their presence.

She spilled out of the elevator quickly, her eyes immediately latching on the massive screen out before the entire room, which was sectioned off into parcels of the park – each paddock and populated area were moving with life, with a large panel of controls off to the left of the screen, where the population counter ticked off body-counts as it scanned the park's database. The scarlet numbers glared back at them, the human icon blinking beside the red-lined number: twenty-two thousand.

Marianne's breath hitched – there were twenty-two thousand people on this island; an island with a vicious, hybrid carnivore running loose. Pulling her eyes from the screen before the room, Marianne turned to consider Owen, who was all but ignoring the security guard who had crossed the room to them, Claire just beyond him bent over a console with an iPad at hand, talking with a younger technical specialist with headphones on and an array of toy dinosaurs out before him.

The security guard, outfitted in a decent suit-shirt and slacks, adjusted the earwig in his left ear and squared up his shoulders as he considered Owen, who steadily came at him without hesitation. Owen was about to bypass him one more, until the man slid to a stop in front of him, arm extended as if it would hinder Grady's approach.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you vacate the premises immediately," he was a black man, with a strong accent that Marianne couldn't quite place. What was most disheartening, however, was the fact that he was at least twice Owen's size, with a menacing glare to match – Marianne scanned him over once, catching his ID badge clipped to a belt-hoop on his khakis. His name was Fletcher.

Owen didn't fully stop his advance across the platform, but slowed his approach to wrinkle a befuddled brow at the guard, now identified as Fletcher. "Well, I suppose you would say that, considering you have no idea what you're talking about," he eyed the man's badge with a focused look, before added with a slightly sarcastic, "Fletcher."

The man's face wrinkled further, if possible. "Claire," Owen shouted across the room, pointing a finger at her over the man's shoulder, "God help me, you'd better have ACU already activated-"

Marianne was almost to Owen in her attempt to keep step that she didn't even hear the other guard come up to her left, grabbing her arm in a rough hold so tight she could almost feel the red marks switch to bruises on her skin. Her cuts had dried, and she was still sweaty and filthy, but that didn't stop from whirling on her heel and pulling back repeatedly, trying to break the man's overly aggressive hold on her arm.

"Stop resisting," he grumbled over her, a tower of strength and clearance.

She huffed, "Let me go and it'll be better for all of us, then," with a glare to match.

He scoffed, shaking his head with a light smirk on his face, as if subtly telling her that she was more of an idiot than he had thought previously. Marianne glared at him, the corners of her mouth pulling down rudely as a bolt of heat struck her stomach from her chest. She could feel the cut on her arm pulsing with pain again, and when she finally stopped pulling and opened her palm, she found that her fist had reopened the wound; fingers stained scarlet from the fresh presence of blood. On top of that, her head had started to throb repeatedly, as if someone were continually standing beside her and driving a stake through her temple and into her skull.

By now, the guard known as Fletcher had shoved Owen back a few steps, and Owen was shouting nonsense into his face, jabbing an accusatory finger in the man's overly-muscled pecs. Had she not been wounded and still recovering from her brush with a lethal carnivore, Marianne would've had the nerve to laugh at the sight of Owen's aggression and wavering patience played out before the guard like a court jester – however, her heart was skipping furiously like an upset and frightened rabbit let loose in her chest cavity, until she saw Claire finally step over to intervene, waving off the guard with a flap of her hand.

Her escort shuffled her over roughly, Marianne pulling for release once again and making it more than evident that she wasn't keen on going anywhere with the man still holding her arm like Hercules. She swatted at his grip on her arm as if it weren't like the dozens of other gestures he was more than likely trained to ignore, trying not to wince in pain as his hold tightened on her wrist. Thankfully, Owen finally seemed to remember that she'd accompanied him, and looked to her offending captor, stepping up to brush the man's arm with a light slap of the back of his hand, as if a cue for the guard to release her before he got serious.

Owen frowned, again; narrowing his eyes. "This isn't necessary. Let her go." When the man did no such thing, Owen turned to face Claire, raising his brows and gesturing with an open hand as if he was serving the situation to her on a silver platter of thin patience. When nothing happened immediately, he shook his head.

Claire glanced over Marianne once, who was far too busy feeling like a microbe to be concerned with her presence. The redhead stepped to the side, nodded to the guard to let her go with a wave of her hand, and then looked back to the iPad currently resting on her open palm. As Marianne jerked away from the guard, she noticed that no longer was Claire's hair put perfectly in place – she was sweating, her face was flushed, and there was a slight tremble to hand. Had the tension in the air been any thicker, Marianne would've imagined it was from the pending thought of panic.

She turned the iPad for Owen to see, Marianne coming up beside him to peer at the screen while gripping her wrist slightly to attempt and stop the trickle of blood from her hand. Her eyes bolted immediately onto the map of the park, followed by the red blinking dot with a Lab ID number hovering beside it.

Claire considered them carefully, lightly tapping a nail on the screen, over the blinking dot. "That's her," she said, her tone serious and hushed, "she's making astounding progress – my guess is she'll be in the park in twenty minutes, give or take."

Owen puffed out a breath from his lips, shaking his head side to side before he ran his fingers through his hair, lacing them on top of his head. Marianne looked away from the screen, to the large monitor across the Control Room, and stepped towards the upper-platform's railing, wrapping her uninjured hand around the thick, cool steel.

She steadily watched the population counter, her heart slowing into a lethargic, painful throb. Her mouth suddenly became parched, as if she hadn't hydrated for a week, and sweat swam down the middle of her back from between her shoulders in a rivulet of heat. For a moment, she was consciously aware that she was trembling, but beyond that moment, it was difficult to recall her name, much less anything around her. Tears pulled at the corner of her eyes, her mind whirling the same thought continually, which froze her breath in her lungs as if it were poisonous ice.

This is your fault, she mentally focused on the statement, remembering all the stories that Alan had told her, and then her insistence in Montana that she should go after the opportunity of a lifetime. She closed her eyes, lowered her head, and scrubbed her face with her good hand. When she looked up, she gripped the wrist of her injured hand, and pulled it to her chest, watching the screen violently for any sign of Alan or Ellie, or even Nick and Sophie, mulling consistently over the thought that had she never come to the park, none of this trauma would've happened.

Which of course, may or may not have been true, given that things were not always so black and white in these instances. Whether or not she'd been present at the park or not, the hybrid may still have compromised her paddock and escaped. Her employment had little to do with anything, in the grand scheme of things – reason told her that much, but guilt plagued her mind with a much more convincing story. Someone had to be blamed for this, so it might as well have been the one who was already shouldering the burden, fault or none.

With another tight squeeze to the railing, Marianne released it and turned to face Owen and Claire, who were still watching the monitor carefully. The entire room felt like a monastery; no one seemed to breathe, much less talk. As Marianne scanned a look around, she saw many people who had abandoned the idea of work in favor of watching the monitor, while others were hustling to communicate with park staff outside the Control Room. The logistics team, situated in a booth down from their platform in the farthest corner, was so out of control that one of the technicians was crying, while two other men were rushing to compile reports. However, most just stared numbly at the large monitor; watching and waiting.

She came up beside Owen, tearing her attention away from observation to the room, noticing that Claire had stooped mid-sentence to stare at her hand. She pointed with a finger, folding the iPad to her chest, one arm across it protectively as if it were her safety net. Her brow piqued, before a look of mild concern dashed across her features, softening the intent look of concentration and control that she'd been used of noticing in Claire.

Clearing her throat softly, Claire blinked twice, looking unnerved. "Marianne, you're-" she released a slow breath, before approaching and gesturing for her to raise her injured hand with a flick of her wrist, "- you're hand is bleeding pretty badly."

Marianne's brow lifted in surprise. Of all the things for this woman to say to her, she'd opted for concerned observation? Marianne tried to mull over a series of responses in her brain so quickly that she finally realized there isn't anything she could ever say that would probably not bother Claire, much less earn her respect and care. Instead, she swallowed back the dryness in her mouth and nodded, brushing aside a curl from her face.

She shrugged, lifting her hand. "Oh, yeah - it's not too bad," she waved it off with her uninjured hand, before gripping her wrist and pulling it towards her carefully, as if it would hide the blood dripping through her fingers. When she looked down to her feet, she noticed that the toe of her hiking boot was speckled with droplets of blood, as was the floor around her.

Claire looked over her shoulder. "Vivian," she waved one of the technicians over from a console, and Marianne immediately remembered her as the woman who'd met her on her first day at the park; Vivian, who worked in the Control Room, came over hesitantly, wiping at her cheeks which were tainted with tears. Her eyes were red and swollen, and mixed with the dazed look of long hours on a computer screen, and the aftereffects of hysterics, she looked exhausted.

Upon her arrival to their group, Claire gestured towards the elevator, then to Marianne's hand. "Would you please get the first aid kit from the hall closet? Miss Randal is in need of some bandages."

Vivian, without speaking, nodded quickly and brushed passed them, wiping at her eyes again. Marianne noticed the tremble to her hands as she folded them in front of her, and the slight shaking of her shoulders as she engaged the elevator by signaling the car to descend. Marianne looked away from Vivian as she entered the car moments later, drawn by Owen's movement to take her hand and lift it for inspection.

He looked amazed, as if were shocked he'd missed it. "Holy crap," he looked up at her from inspecting her hand with a raised brow, "that's deeper than you let on, Annie." HE rubbed his thumb gently over the back of her knuckles, in tender affection.

She gave him a grim smile, and looked back to Claire, drawing her hand back from Owen's to approach the console which Claire had been bent over before.
Seating herself in the chair, she looked down to the computer keyboard for a moment, then to the large monitor stretched out like canvas before the entire room. "Have you contacted Henry or Masrani?"

Claire approached slowly, her heels ticking off quietly; Owen right behind her. "Considering that you're not even supposed to be here, I don't have to tell you anything." She wisped aside the open app on the iPad, and then snapped her fingers for the technician, seated by Marianne, to turn back to his console. "I want cameras on the ACU buildings, and bring up the comm mainframes for the trucks. I want full access to radios, scanners, video, GPS - Josh is already working on getting me hooked up to a body cam."

Marianne stood, a bit quickly. "Claire. Have you called Wu and Masrani to start evacuation protocols?"

Claire whirled so quickly on the heel of her shoe that she wobbled to maintain balance, almost dropping the iPad. She lunged out to grab the corner of the railing to her left, stabilizing herself enough to glare at Marianne so darkly that her eyes flashed a deeper shade of green. "Evacuation? Have you lost your mind?" Her voice raised an octave, "We'd never reopen if we evacuated the island!"

At her outburst, Marianne's brow rose into her hairline, shocked at Claire's tone. She shared a brief look with Owen, who was still frowning with a wrinkled brow. He stalked by Claire, brushing by her lightly with his shoulder against hers, to begin chatting with the technician with the toy dinosaurs in front of him. Without breaking eye contact with the monitor being explained to him, Owen raised a hand, snapped his fingers twice, and gestured for Marianne and Claire to come.

"We've got eyes on ACU," he said quietly, the man nodding as if to confirm Owen's statement. "They're loading up right now."

Marianne turned from her silent battle-of-the-wills against Claire, and stalked over to Owen, glancing over his shoulder to consider the monitor. She was briefly hit with the stark smell of sweat and dirt, mingled with blood and chemicals. it circled around her senses and had she not already been driven to sit down in the computer chair beside the technician, she would've been by the million other processes her senses were taking in around room. Between the smells, change in temperature, the thrumming nervousness of her heartbeat, and the noise from the monitors, the place would've sentenced anyone else to a chair, as well.

Marianne wasn't overly familiar with anyone in the Asset Containment Unit, but she'd heard names floating around here and there about the park in her months on the island. She knew it was an intensely focused department, with millions of dollars worth of equipment, training, protocol, and statue behind the flashy uniforms and trucks. Hamada, as she knew him, ran the unit - she'd seen him once in the park with a group of others heading in for rack time at the unit building. He'd been hard to miss with his name stenciled in thick black paint across his shoulders; a large rifle braced against his arm from a day of field work.

What Marianne did know of the people in ACU is that they were no-nonsense, and they were rough players. As she watched them gear-up on the monitor, the technician worked frantically to try and bring it up on the larger screen stretched out before the room on display, mumbling something about uncooperative audio systems and having to reboot the system. After a few moments of no luck, and only video of the activation of the unit on-screen, Marianne noticed that Vivian had returned with the first-aid kit, and was entirely absorbed with the video.

Marianne swiveled in the chair to face her. "I'll take that. Thank you," she said softly, signaling the woman's attention. Vivian seemed to snap back into her body, as if she'd been having a phantom-like experience, and jarred forward to hand Marianne the kit so roughly that it looked as if she were a fumbling fawn learning her feet for the first time. Marianne accepted the kit, nodded her appreciation to the woman, and flipped the latch open with her thumb, setting it on the console gently.

She started ripping a bandage open, then her cell phone ran in the back pocket of her jeans. Quickly taking it in her free hand, she got up, and moved away from the console, answering the call with a quick swipe of her thumb across the screen. Bandage package still at hand, she cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder, answering with a quiet, "Hello?"

"Marianne, it's me." Alan's reassuring baritone was distant on the phone beneath all the feedback and chatter - he must've still been outside with the patrons all hurrying for shelter, as protocol demanded. Marianne worked the package the rest of the way open with her teeth, before working the bandage out and stuffing the trash under her arm. Unwinding the gauze, she lifted her injured hand, and began wrapping it around the open wound.

She wrapped it a few times, slowly. "Alan," she looked up, and turned to watch the video continuing to broadcast through the Control Room on the large monitor, a roll of relief somewhat pummeling through her chest. Knowing that Alan was still okay, even only after fifteen minutes apart, made a world of difference - especially to a woman who'd just dangled above the throat of prehistoric titan not but an hour or so ago.

When the feedback grew stronger, she wrinkled her nose and asked with a hush, "Where are you?"

There was the muffled sound of voices which were so close, Marianne could make sense of some of the worried conversation and pleas for clarity. It spiked a bolt of concern through her stomach - no one on the island, save a few staff members, were truly aware of the danger the escaped hybrid truly possessed. Owen had mentioned that the park hadn't ever accounted for a threat this significant, which unnerved her further.

"I'm with Ellie," came Alan's reply, which was breathy. "We're been sent to one the park's secure locations by staff." There was a pause, and the brief cry of a child as Marianne listened to a muffled park attendant continue to shuffle people into whatever secure location Alan and Ellie had been directed too. She was about to tie off the bandage with her teeth when Alan came back on the line. "Marianne, I saw two choppers descending not far out of here. Did you find Masrani and Wu?"

Marianne wrinkled her brow, the corners of her mouth pulling down. Choppers could only mean one of two things - either people were arriving, or leaving. It was highly unlikely, given Claire's outburst, that anyone would be evacuating the park at this stage of the phase. What was more, Wu and Masrani's optimism in the park's security features were so high and anchored, Marianne doubted that any of them would leave short of forced measures. Whatever the case, Alan's statement made her turn around on her heel sharply to look at the monitor, finding Owen glancing over his shoulder at her.

She responded carefully. "We haven't heard word yet," were her chosen words, spoken slowly with a low tone, her eyes now bolted on Claire and her team of technicians working tirelessly on the audio for the video-feed. "But I'm going to find out, right now." Without thinking, Marianne marched towards Claire and punched the speakerphone button on her phone with her thumb, frowning severely at the redheaded woman.

"Where are Masrani and Wu?" she demanded, which bolted the entire team into a frozen state. Claire froze like a pillar of rage, the team slowly looking from Marianne to Claire, as if she was expected to give a recently-fired employee any sort of explanation. Given the fact that Marianne was both sweating and breathing raggedly in an attempt to keep her temper, Claire had little option other than to oblige her an answer, or face an entirely new dilemma right in the middle of the first dilemma.

Owen stepped back from his observation of the monitor, and came up slightly behind her, putting a steadying hand on Marianne's shoulder. Her natural reaction was to flinch, given the extreme amounts of adrenaline racing through her body, but after a few mental reassurances that Owen was backing her up and not against her, she relaxed a notch off the insanely-stressed meter. However, her eyes were still bolted on Claire, unwilling to release the woman from her attention.

Owen spoke then. "Claire," he said patiently, as if he were negotiating with a child. Claire was beginning to lose her temper, because her breathing had turned uneven, and her face was tinted with a flush of red so light it almost complimented her staggering features. She stood still, her tablet at her side, and Marianne could see the mental effort that was going into keeping her sane and professional.

"Have you called them?" Owen placated again, softly.

It took Claire a few beats to make a mental decision, first going from negatively determined and then to surprised, and then finally at uncertain. It must've been difficult, Marianne surmised, for an Operations Manager like Claire to relinquish the facade of focused control. Things were quickly spiraling out of Claire's grip, and she needed help - she needed boots on the ground, working to manage damage control, before things got out of hand - any more than they already were, anyway.

She sighed, looking away hesitantly. "Masrani is on his way as soon as possible, and Henry should be arriving shortly with Lillian. The entire lab is on precautionary lock-down, and we are currently working on pulling everyone in from the park. We're at Real World One." Brushing aside her hair in an attempt to appear flippant, Claire looked back to Owen. "I even called Hoskins."

Her phone pinged, and she glanced down at the message almost immediately. Her pride had returned, because as soon as she'd glanced at the message, her chin jutted up and she spun on her heel towards the elevator, tablet still at hand and ID badge rhythmically brushing against her hip with each step.

"What?" was Owen's instantaneous reply, and Marianne could practically see the heat explode on his cheeks. He stepped back as if Claire had just smacked him across the face sharply, looking offended and concerned all at once. "You did what? Isn't he back on the mainland?"

Marianne's attention spiked to life once again, as her pulse kicked up a few notches - instantly, she had the thought to leave and return to the Paddock with the raptors, and Alan, and guard the research - that was, if Hoskins wasn't already on the island. Considering the construction of the hybrid paddock, plus the recent injury to Delta, it was highly unlike that InGen didn't have presence on the island. And since Hoskins was the liaison between the park and the corporate office on the mainland, it wasn't difficult to assume.

Claire took the defense, putting her hands up in a placating fashion as she pressed the elevator's button. "Just calm down," she said with an edgy tone, "With everything going on lately with the Indominus and Delta's recent surgery, InGen thought it best for an unannounced inspection and evaluation." When her tablet's screen lit with a notification, she looked down and added quickly with a flappable wave, "Plus, they needed to meet with Masrani about negotiations anyway, so Hoskins flew in two days ago."

Two days? With Alan still on the phone behind her back, Marianne stepped up beside Owen, looking gravely at Claire. She didn't say anything, just hung her head solemnly, and gripped the phone tightly in her hand. However, when she felt the phone vibrate, she brought it around and checked the screen to find a notification from Nick had popped up, while her call with Alan was still active. If Hoskins had been on the island for two days, any number of things might have happened already, including the jeopardizing of the raptor information.

Backtracking to her text messages, Marianne highlighted the one from Nick, and her heart stopped: They separated me from the girl. She's at the clinic.

Within seconds, Marianne slapped her phone to Owen's chest, not waiting for him to take it before she stepped away. He fumbled with the cell phone until he read the message, and spurred to life right behind her. They were both headed for the elevator, determination set in their shoulders, when Claire looked horribly confused and whirled on them with a wrinkled brow and demanding tone to her biting, "And where do you think you're going?"

"They took Sophie to the clinic," Owen said hurriedly, watching the numbers tick off above the elevators. "I'm going to see my niece and make sure she's alright."

Claire stepped up. "Absolutely not. You have to stay in a contained location until ACU has the threat neutralized." Motioning to the screen, she waved her hand in a circular motion, as if it woujld speed the process up on the audio connection that the technicians were working tirelessly to restore, sweat and jitters all included. Marianne felt pity for them briefly, until Owen whirled on his heel and threw a finger up at Claire, his face twisted in an attempt to contain rage.

"Do not attempt to tell me what I can and cannot do, Claire! Sophie is my niece, and she is eight years old - nothing is going to keep me from that clinic and seeing her, and there isn't one frickin' thing you can do about it!" His voice echoed across the room, jarring everyone to a complete standstill as they considered the commotion coming from the elevators. Marianne noticed for the first time that Owen was trembling with rage, and almost stepped up to guide him to the parting doors, but instead hesitated.

Owen lowered his hand, carefully. "Maybe you should figure out where your nephews are, Claire," was the only comment he made before moving towards the elevator car, grabbing for Marianne's hand as he did. He practically drug her into the elevator, where he slapped her cell phone back into his hand, and practically punched the lobby button with a fist. He was breathing steadily through his nose, as if he were some type of animal. Then, he raised her wrapped hand, considered the aready-stained gauze, and scrubbed his stubbled face with a hand.

And as Marianne looked back through the closing doors, Claire was already dialing her phone.