An aged, dexterous male hand fastidiously brushed at the dirt surface, frequent crumples of dust gently patting the tunnel with subtle echoes. Another hand joined it, this one more tender and feminine but equally tentative to the sensitivity of the specimen. The spotlight propped behind them like a tiny sun, the two professionals gradually brushed off the excess earth to reveal more and more of the organic form preserved within the ancient sediment.

"Dr. Grant, Dr. Sattler, we're ready to begin!" the voice of some other man broke the ambiance these scientists treasured.

"I hate computers..." Dr. Grant grumbled for the millionth time, as he and his colleague, Dr. Ellie Sattler, were resigned to rise from their carefully oriented positions which they had to maintain for the last hour, Grant's joints audibly cracking in discomfort.

"The feeling's mutual..." Sattler appealed.

The two intellectuals paced out of the tunnel, re-embracing the real sun's rays upon their eyes and skin, out along their excavation site of the lesser-known Verdant Hills of the Netherlands - the land of Vikings, the land of myths, and to Grant's greatest annoyance, the land of obnoxious tourists.

The three assembled under a tent that barely protected the few electronic pieces of equipment provided for them. There, the scientists, together with the damn tourists, watched as the monitor basically did Grant's and Sattler's job for them, the sonar gradually revealing the buried form entombed within the tunnel.

"How long does it usually take?" Dr. Sattler asked.

"Should bring immediate return," the technician replied,"Honestly, with this kind of hardware, we shouldn't even have to dig it up in the first place."

"Where's the fun in that?" Dr. Grant eyed the geek.

Obviously, there were better ways to analyze a fossil these days; one could have easily attained drones with infinitely more precise motion to uncover the specimen while the user scanned the earth to have a perfect digital representation of the fossil from the comfort of their trailer. Alan Grant declined that privilege for two reasons: he simply loved his work all that much that he enjoyed digging for fossils the old fashioned way; additionally, the embarrassing lack of funding from his benefactors likely posed an issue - most paleontologists were highly respected and renowned for their work, the work of discovering life eons older than human canon; but his work, from the viewpoint of his tolerant investors, crossed the border between legitimate science and outright cryptozoology - pseudoscience, the study of mythical monsters that simply do not exist, in their case...dragons.

Wyverns, not dragons, Dr. Grant always tried to correct his investors, but to them, it was all the same. "Dragons", "Wyverns", "Unicorns", the exact terminology did little to validate Grant's hypotheses in the eyes of the scientific community. Grant endured the criticism like the Apostles in Rome, he knew that he had discovered evidence of more than just a new species of dinosaur, but potentially not even a dinosaur at all - traces of an entirely new, younger classification of vertebrae, like dinosaurs in the sense that they're related to birds, but as much in common with dinosaurs as dinosaurs with birds. Most of them had wings and no vestigial wings at that; multi-fingered wings like bats, thick and powerful upper body muscles that guaranteed flight, round and absurdly heavy tails that seemed a hindrance to flight, and little sign of any feathers, only scales, even fur in some cases. Special organs different from any prehistoric creature were said, by Grant himself with no less honest conviction, to be able to gather into themselves ambiguous substances in order for the specimens to violently eject projectiles out of their mouths - venom, poison, neurotoxins, acid, and (Grant had to get some chrome steel testicular implants for this one) even fireballs.

Yes, the further Grant went into the description of his specimens, the further their aptitude drifted from the Smithsonian and closer to Comic-Con. There were anime that seemed more realistic than Grants discoveries (a term which his peers tended to place quotations around); Alan found pride in this, if only because of the classical scientist of the past that were as well seen as hacks and fruit cakes in their day - time alone proved them all right, and he looked forward to a future he probably wouldn't live to see, an age where the scientists of his time were seen as fools for not believing in Wyverns. But maybe, just maybe, that day is sooner than he thought - Alan grant just struck gold...

"It's a little distorted, but I don't think it's the computer..." the technician deduced as they beheld the fossil.

Hell yes! Grant's inner self grunted like a star quarterback: no mere fragments, no having to put the pieces together, no newspaper articles reporting bogus leads from "that whackjob Alan Grant", it was a complete skeleton, claws, wings, tail, beak, and all. And quite a beak it was, Alan noticed: bulbous, egg-shaped, the lower half curving over the upper half rather than the other way around. It probably used this strange bone underbite like a shovel to dig holes and scoop up its prey into its mouth.

"Look," Dr. Sattler pointed. "The frill-like extensions around the ears. Yian Kut-Ku?"

"Yes. Good shape, too." Alan confirmed. "It's seven... eight feet high. I'm guessing twelve feet long. Look at the extraordinary-" Grant allowed his observant finger to touch the screen. As if to mess with him, the monitor flashed into a blue screen, quickly cutting off his analysis and his train of thought.

"What'd you do?" the technician snapped his accusatory head at Grant.

"He touched it..." Ellie joked, as though Alan had somehow broken the computer by making physical contact with."Grant's not machine-compatible."

"Hell, they've got it out for me..." Grant mumbled as the screen flickered back to functionality, again displaying the fossil, allowing his improvised lecture to continue - the tourist were actually listening now."and look at the flexible neck vertebrae in relation to the deep chest cavity: plenty of room to let out of fireball from its flamesac..."

At this, the tourist couldn't help but laugh, arousing Grant's predictable annoyance; Ellie couldn't blame them, as this was the point where the video game logic kicked in.

"No, seriously!" Grant addressed his justifiably skeptical audience,"Some Wyverns contained a flamesac which enabled them to gather highly volatile particles into a clump of combustible debris, and then in self-defense, projectile vomit a firey missile like a living grenade launcher."

"A missile or a grenade, Alan, it can't be both," Ellie playfully nitpicked.

Alan rolled his eyes."Yeahalright, first of all, a 'missile' could be any kind of airborne projectile, a-er-a rock launched from a catapult could be considered a 'missile'. As for the fireballs, I'm sure they looked like the kind of missile fired from jet fighters when these Wyverns spat one out with exceeding velocity; not to mention they could do it in succession like a, uh, a semi-automatic pistol."

"From 'missiles', to 'grenades' to 'pistols'; Alan, you're just confusing them..." Ellie shook her head.

"Shit!" an old man in the crowd grunted."Them dragons woulda' been pretty damn good to have back in Syria..!" he blared, causing the tourist to laugh as loud as that of a celebrity roast.

"They're not dragons!" Alan slowly groaned through gritted teeth over the laughter.

"That thing looks stupid!" cried a boy in the crowd.

Alan didn't know why, but everyone seemed to quiet down at the sudden input of the chubby, bratty-face little boy standing in the dead middle of the crowd. It was almost as if they were a group of cowardly middle school kids that had parted in half at the arrival of the resident bully. In that actual fashion, the kid stared down Grant like it was close to high noon in the rickety town of an old Western film."It looks like the Cocoa Puffs bird with dragon wings!"

An imaginary tumbleweed rolled past them. In his head, Grant heard the gong of a giant clock signaling the turn of 12:00 p.m. The score of The Good, The Bad, And the Ugly seem to fill the tense air between them. Alan's eye twitched, as did his shootin' hand...then the twelfth gong rang...

Alan smiled and calmly pulled out his favorite trinket from his backpack, holding it out for the tourists to see: the rather huge talon of a Bird Wyvern he dug up in the Volcanic Hollow a couple of years ago, the size of a walrus's tusk; it was clearly from not the same Bird Wyvern seen on the monitor...

Ellie Sattler closed her eyes." Oh, no. Here we go..."

Alan Grant kneeled before the boy patronizingly, holding the talon between himself and the young nay-sayer."Okay: Try to imagine yourself right where you're standing, but a little while after the Cretaceous period. You get your first look at this..."Cocoa Puffs dragon" as you enter a clearing. He moves like a bird, lightly, bobbing his head - and you keep still 'cause you think that maybe his visual acuity is based on movement, like a T-Rex, he'll lose you if you don't move, which, in case you don't know, is a myth. You stare at him, and silly little Kut-Ku just stares right back. And that's when the attack comes-BOOM!" he startled the boy, fling his arms out, "You just received a direct hit from a blazing hunk of bile - not from the front, but from the side...," he explains, imitating air swishing with his mouth," from the Yian Garuga you didn't even know was there. He's not like the Yian Kut-Ku, he's the alpha, a pack hunter. He used coordinated attack patterns, and he is out in force today. And he slashes at you're burning flesh with six of these," Alan draws the stunned kid's attention back to the big talon, the full gravity of the scenario clearly playing out in the boy's eyes as they grow large with shock, "eighteen inches long, three on each foot. Like six meat hooks. He doesn't bother to bite your jugular like a lion, no, his huge jagged beak is too clumsy for that. He relentlessly slashes at you here!" Alan pretended to slash at the boy's mid-torso," and here!" he pretended to slash the boy's groin.

Ellie Sattler curled her lips back. "Oh, Alan..."

Alan Grant was acting as ravenous as the creature he was visualizing." Or maybe he twirls around and whips his barbed tail across the belly, spilling your intestines. Or just maybe, he skips the disemboweling part, spreads his beak around your tiny head, and crushes your skull..." he hissed. "Now personally, I would prefer the quick skull-crushing death; otherwise...you'd still be alive when he and the Kut-Ku start to eat you... because they are just Cuckoo for Children-Puffs..." Alan grinned like the devil himself."So ya know? Try to show a little respect."

"...okay..." The boy finally broke direct eye contact from Grant's smiling face, and silently returned to the crowd.


A little later, the two scientists paced up the hill to their trailer.

"Hey, Alan, if you wanted to scare the kid, you didn't have to make things up: you know better than me Yian Kut-Ku was an insectivore." Ellie jested.

"Yeah, I know..." Alan nodded, but then shook his head."Kids..." he uttered it like a curse word. He turned to his colleague inquisitively. "You wanna have one of those?"

Ellie shook her head." I don't want that kid. But...a breed of child, Dr. Grant, could be intriguing! I mean, what's so wrong with kids?"

Part of Alan liked to think this was Ellie's way of coming on to him; but the intelligent man had the sensation she was only speaking for herself. Regardless, the subject of himself having children was a definite hell no."Ah, Ellie, look...they're noisy, they're messy, they're expensive...

"Cheap, cheap," she defended.

"They smell..." Alan persisted

Ellie Gasped. "They do not smell!"

"Some of them smell!"

"Oh, give me a break!"

"Babies smell!"

Their petty dispute was swiftly cut off by the abrupt descent of a helicopter near their camp. The small sandstorm generated by the propellors threatened to screw up the electronic equipment worse than Alan ever could.

"Cover the site!" Ellie cried over the winds.

"Cover up the dig!" Alan followed up. His first prime Wyverian specimen was NOT going to be damaged by some air jockey's shitty flying!

"Tell them to shut down! SHUT DOWN!" Sattler yelled against the beating propellers.

"CUT THE MACHINE!" Grant demanded.

"Cover it all up! Pull it over!" other staff scrambled to yank tarps over the tunnel entrance.

Alan Grant ran over to the stupid pilot."JUST CUT IT WILL YA? CUT IT OUT! SHUT-IT-DOWN!" Alan pleaded, but then the idiot told Alan something that only he could hear, pointing behind him. "WHAT!?"

Grant practically tore the door open, punching away a pair of jeans. He immediately saw some fat guy rummaging through the (his) mini-fridge

"What the hell do you think you're doing in here!?" Alan snarled, prepared to reenact his Yian Garuga yarn with himself as the Wyvern.

The old man jumped up, not so much in fright but excitement, with a bottle of Alan's champagne in one hand. He thoughtlessly pops the cork as if in celebration, the cork nearly nailing Alan in the eye, resulting in an almost guilty look on his face.

"Hey! We were saving that!" Grant complained; his dream of opening that very champagne to kick off his Nobel Prize party was just now soundly crushed before his very eyes.

"For today, I guarantee it!" the old man reassured with a Scott-British accent. Judging by the jolly look on his face, he seemed happy just to meet Alan Grant. Perhaps this senile elder was enamored to meet the leading Wyverian paleontologist...or he was just one of the tourists trying to steal his booze.

"Who in God's name do you think you are!?" Alan wanted that answer right then and there.

The old Brit couldn't have been happier to answer. "John Hammond, and I am delighted to meet you finally in person, Dr. Grant!"

Now that was an answer that caused Grant's anger to vanish: imagine working at the Trump Hotel in Vegas, and the former Republican President himself strolls right in just to meet you. Hammond shook the stunned Grant's finger and blew a cloud of sand and dirt off his own shaking hand."So I can see, my fifty thousand a year has been well spent!" Hammond observed in delight.

Alan Grant was certain his heart stopped for at least three seconds."Hammond... Hammond..." he repeated quietly.

Just then, Ellie burst in with the same former displeasure Alan bore but a moment ago."Okay, who's the jerk!?"

Alan's muscles locked in place for a sec and rushed between her and the very reason this excavation site existed to make sure she didn't make the same mistake that he almost did and ruin both their lives."Uh, this is our paleoanthropologist, Doctor..."

"Sattler..." Ellie finished, noting the preemptively opened champagne.

"Sattler..." Alan repeated." Uh, Ellie, this is Mr. Hammond..." he explained; his revelation nearly brought the woman to her knees.

John Hammond chuckled, now getting a sense of the lack of context between them."Sorry about my dramatic entrance, Dr. Sattler, we're in a bit of a hurry."

Ellie inhaled sharply at the billionaire. "Did I say 'jerk'?"

"We should have a drink!" Hammond insisted, now that all the confusion was dealt with. "We don't want it to get warm, come along, sit down! Sit down! I'll just get a glass or two it's a -," he quickly turned down Grant's silent offer to get the glasses for him," No, no, no, no! I can manage it, I know my way around the kitchen. Now, I'll get right to the point: ahem, I like you. Both of you. I can tell instantly about people, it's a gift! I own an island. Off the coast of Costa Rica. I've leased it from the government and spent the last five years setting up a kind of...biological preserve. Really spectacular, spared no expense! Makes the one I've got down in Kenya look like a petting zoo!" Hammond laughed at his own joke; the scientist felt contractually required to laugh with him," and there's no doubt, our attractions will drive kids out of their minds."

"And what are those?" Alan asked

" Small versions of adults, Honey..." Ellie quipped, expecting a laugh track to play in the background, but only earning Alan a glare for embarrassing him in front of their investor.

"And not just kids," Hammond went on," everyone! We're going to open next year, that is if the lawyers don't kill me first! I don't care for lawyers, do you?"

"We uh..." Alan paused.

"...Don't really know any..." both he and Ellie replied.

"Well I do, I'm afraid." Hammond actually sounded upset for an instant." There's a particular pebble in my shoe, represents my investors. Says they insist on 'outside opinions'."

Ellie blinked."What kind of opinions?"

John Hammond giggled."Well, your kind, not to put too fine a point on it. I mean, let's face it, in your particular fields, you're the top minds - and if I could just persuade you to sign off on the park, well give it your endorsement, maybe pan a wee testimony, I could get back on schedule, ah, schedule!"

Alright, this was starting to feel like a prank: not only has their filthy rich investor dared to fund what every other potential buyer dismissed as complete madness; not only has that very man arrived at their mobile doorstep just to visit them in particular; now that highly influential figure has outright stated that the council of a pair of crackpots could help in the successful founding of his greatest enterprise yet...has Alan's champagne been tainted with something?

Ellie had to shake the haze out of her head. "Why would they care what we think?"

"What kind of park is this?" Alan needed to know.

"It's right up your alley," Was Hammond's swift response," I tell you what, why don't you come down, just the pair of you for the weekend? I'd love to have the opinion of a paleoanthropologist as well! I've got a jet standing by at Choteau."

Alan Grant began to have a powerful sense of too-good-to-be-true, especially once he recalled his purpose in the Verdant Hills. "I'm sorry, this isn't possible. We just dug up a new Wyvern skeleton..."

John Hammond seemed ready to counter that, "I could compensate you by fully funding your dig."

For God's sake, he just uncovered the world's first intact Bird Wyvern! he couldn't let the lure of quick cash stop him from making history! "And this is a very unusual time-"

Ellie echoed Alan's concern."The timing is-

John Hammond just grinned wider and wider" ...for a further three years."

It was like the man had just dropped an invisible microphone. They'd have to be crazier than a Kut-Ku to say no; Sattler had only one question left: "Where's the plane?"

Alan Grant and Ellie Sattler embraced eachother like a newly married couple. For better or for worse, this was the break they needed, to pave their way to being regarded by the civilized world as actual scientists. The human race was finally going to know all about Wyverns, and the pair would go down in history.

Oh yes indeed, the world would know.