John Hammond could not sleep. He sat back in a luxurious chair staring at a massive window encompassing the entire wall of his luxurious quarters. The glass was military grade bulletproof, heavily tinted on the other side, giving him a king's view with perfect privacy. He sat back in a luxurious leather seat, sipping a glass of warm Earl Gray tea lightly sweetened with Asteran royal honey. The room was dark, save with a small light of an electric clock that sat on his elegant mahogany desk. There was a full moon out, giving Isla Astera, his island, a serene, yet hairy glow, perfectly outlining the shadows of the Ancient Forest that lay beneath. The shadows seemed almost like sketches of monsters themselves patiently waiting for anyone stupid enough to traverse those woods alone and unarmed. Here and there, Hammond would see small dots of lights in the valley, small outposts where hunters would gather by the fireside, eating freshly roasted meat cooked in a stone oven, or the industrial lights of electric street lights or communications towers sitting in fastidiously upon high hills. The appetites of Asterians, especially The Handler, ceaselessly amazed Hammond, as though they were as hungry as the monsters themselves. The meat of the monsters was abnormally high in protein and other minerals, giving the Asterians the fuel they needed to pursue the hunt and develop the endurance required. Hunters' food they called it; it was even thought that a regular human being could not digest it. . .

"Damn, bloody fools" John Hammond hissed under his breath in the dark. Visions of the failed dinner continued flashing in his mind, how a sudden energeticly delightful day turned into a catastrophe and almost resulted in violence. He couldn't understand why they couldn't appreciate this place. He didn't, however, wholly blame all of them. Hammond was spiteful against them for different reasons. Malcolm was the instigator and had initially riled them up, but Dr. Sattler and Dr. Grant so weakly caved into Malcolm's rambling. He insulted Hammond's hospitality and the Asterian culture, and Hammond realized that it was now up to him to broker peace between the two groups, hoping for a better tomorrow. The tour, he reminded himself was not yet over. Suddenly, he heard the knock and the door.

Mildly surprised, he took his cell phone, opened an app that allowed him to control certain amenities within the park. He unlocked the door with a push of a button. "Come in," he said quietly.

"Mr. Hammond" spoke the voice of young woman. "I beg your pardon sir, I don't wish to disturb you. . . "

"That's quite alright," said reassuringly. "I'm awake. An old man like me always appreciates good company. Some tea?"

"Yes please, thank you," she said respectfully.

Hammond turned up the dimmer on the lights slightly, revealing the handsome, yet strong features of the young and underappreciated Serious Handler. The woman walked over to the warmer and poured herself some tea in a small Ivory cup. "Have a seat" Hammond pointed at a small chair opposite him. The Serious Handler sat down rotating her chair to face the window. Peering out to the nightscape of Asteria. "It's a beautiful view is it?"

"Yes," she muttered," as long as we're right here..." The serious handler paused for a moment.

"Something on your mind?" Hammond asked, business as usual.

"Sir Hammond. . ."

John Hammond held up a hand. "No more of that. You can call me John. We've worked together for years now."

"John, I want to apologize for Julian's violent outbreak. The commander has reprimended him for his outlandish behavior."

"No worries", Hammond said. "This was entirely Malcolm's doing; I really hate that man. I wanted to throttle him myself, to be honest with you. Maybe I'll give him a pair of swords and make him fight in the arena. . ."

The serious handler laughed mildly. "The First Fleet commander has ordered Julian to join the envoy tomorrow, this proving both the effectiveness of John Hammond's security protocols and civility of the Asterians."

"Oh," Hammond said, perking up. "That will be a show!"

"I don't blame them however," the Serious Handler admitted," The foreigners have obviously never seen anything like the wyverns. This is very powerful nature at work here, Mr. Hammond."

Hammond watched the young handler closely, recognizing the double meaning of her words. She was concerned, he could tell. "They need not be concerned," Hammond said. "Nature brings hazards as well as blessings. I expected men of reason, not dark age fools."

"True. Well, they were overreacting. Astera's warriors stand guard and the island is completely secure. If you have any enemies they could never. . ."

"Enemies?" Hammond interrupted,"I am the man who's using cutting edge science to resurrect a whole world!" he claimed then spread his arms wide like an onstage magician. "Who on earth would want to conspire against me?"


The dusty Speedometer read 85 miles per hour, the red staff vibrating violently over the white little numbers. Dennis Nedry sat in an unclaimed, crowded Veloster, a small Megaman figurine sitting upon the dashboard, its head rattling like a snake's tail from the little car's momentum. The vehicle rocked and should violently. Mountains blurred past as the vehicle race down the 95 freeway. The man was large in all the wrong ways, his gut rotund and it didn't even seem possible for him to fit in that size of a car. For comfort, he wore shorts and a thin undershirt that was now sopping with his sweat. The vehicle's air condition system wasn't very effective, and he had been in the vehicle for too long. He reached over and do a small bag of chips sitting in a box he had propped up on the passenger seat and took another piece of jerky.

Dennis Nedry blasted down the 95.3 Ray South towards Las Vegas, Nevada, driving like a maniac. The fat geek's heart thundered in his chest with excitement. Very few times in his life had he felt this amount of adrenaline, but when he got a phone call from a representative of a very notable CEO associated with Biosyn, he was speechless. Obviously, Nedry believed the first couple of emails and phone calls were trojan folders. But when he was finally greeted at his apartment door by an attractive female representatitve, dressed in business casual, who calmly explained the situation to Nedry, the initial offer was too much to exist. Apparently, Nedry's computer skills, academic history, and professional portfolio had gained the attention of a noticeable businessman. Of course, he already worked for a businessman, that was nothing new; however, Dennis Nedry despised John Hammond, who he believed vastly underplayed his skills, irritatingly discarded his advice, publicly berating him, and (worse of all) horrifically underpaid him.

He hated Hammond, the Asterians, everything; Dennis Nedry did not hate InGen, however, Even as he worked as an intern in the company, everything worked out decently for him until old Hammond came along, hiring top researchers within the company to understand is "project," bringing the ass-kissing lawyer Gennaro who spoke 200 miles an hour, hordes of investors, and dragged him on that island, with those certifiable barbarians that patronized him regularly. "Ah, well. . ." He thought to himself. No hard feelings. What's done is done. You can't copyright DNA. The sexy woman who briefly gave him the rundown explained who this other corporation was and how they intended to utilize InGen's cloning practices, and Dennis completely agreed. Not only was Biosyns business far more logical, but it appeared more lucrative. However, the representative did not go into too much detail. Yet, she promised her supervisor would explain everything later, preferring to do so personally. Dennis was all in. He took another loud chomp out of a piece of jerky and blazed through the desert, the mountains looking down on him like the dragons of the island. . .

Nedry had arrived near Dusk. Vegas was crowded as always, pulsating with life, the streets and sidewalks jammed with traffic. Nedry had barely managed to find a parking space with the immense parking garage of the Cosmopolitan Casino, known for its contemporary designs and artistic decadence. Dennis parked his vehicle, put his nice shirt on, grabbed his things, locked up his car, and wheeled his suitcase over to a nearby garage entry.

He entered an elevator, pressed the ground floor button, and was immediately shuttled to the lobby Upon leaving the elevator, he followed several signs towards the check-in desk, until there was a buzzing in his pocket. He twitched, the sudden unfamiliar ring and buzzing pattern of the burner phone the CEO's representative had given the nerd (as to leave no traces) caught the already nervous technician off guard. He looked around briefly and head over to a nearby beam. . . .

" What are you doing?" the text read.

"Main lobby, check-in," Dennis typed back.

"No," the text responded. "Suite 602".

"OK," Nedry just pressed the auto button in the text and he was unsure of how to proceed. He questioned if was being stalked, he looked around nervously and his eyes caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the black ceiling-mounted security cameras, watching him with subtly of a spider. He saw his reflection on the black glossy surface of the camera. He quickly snapped out of his reverie, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

"Are you alright?" asked a greeter.

"What? Yeah-sure, I'm good." He responded briskly. "I guess I'm lost. I got a friend staying in 602." he showed them the phone "Where's the right elevator?" The attendant directed Nedry. He thanked the attendant and headed towards the elevator, and pressed the correct button, and felt the g's of the elevator as it ascended deeper into the massive hotel. He didn't know why his heart beat so loudly, deeper than the base of an R&B concert. Probably because his professional reputation was on the line. Dennis understood his actions could potentially destroy not only Hammond, but seriously undercut INGEN who'd perfected the gene refinement and duplication techniques previously thought impossible. The truth was most corporations did not have access to Astera's complex, inconceivably abundant ecosystem and flora, nor. . .

The elevator snapped faster than he could blink. He was staring into the face of the same lovely blonde who'd visited him back in Berkley. She smiled with beautiful, yet predatory eyes. "Hello Dennis. . ." she spoke with a voice soft as silk.

"Oh, Hi. . ." Dennis mumbled.

"Follow me."

Dennis obeyed and followed the woman's graceful, perfect strut down the long hallway.

"As you know, you're room has already been paid for the night." She said reading his mind. "My supervisor will be expecting you in two hours. I'll text the directions." They finally made it to the suite where she took out the card and unlocked his suite

"You know, I really wanna thank you. I mean this is really. . ." Dennis' jaw dropped. He was staring into one of the most luxurious rooms he'd only seen in either movies or reality shows. He walked through the room and stared out the suite window giving him an indulgent view of the Las Vegas strip and the great desert Mountains beyond the city limits. "Thank. . ." he turned around and the door slammed shut. . .

Dennis was dressed in clean-cut business casual, dress pants, and an expensive designer button-down Hawaiian shirt, saved for the best occasions. He found the restraint easily enough, met with a restaurant attendant who - upon hearing his name - guided him through the crowded dining area until they were at the back of the restaurant reserved for VIPS. As he was led through the entrance, he found himself staring into a wall-sized window overlooking the blazing lights of the strip.

Sitting back in an elegantly decorated table was a living breathing legend. He knew Las Vegas was filled with cons and part of him still didn't believe the representative; nevertheless, it was him, sitting at an elegantly decorated table with his gloved hands folded, his blonde hair meticulously styled back. He looked up at Dennis behind his sunglasses with the warmth of an old friend, at least he attempted to - it was as artificial as a Coco-Cola commercial, but the steak and prawns looked real enough. . .

Dennis stalked towards the table slowly as if walking through a minefield. "Oh my God," he breathed. "You!?"

The macabre figure nodded welcomingly.

"Wesker?!" Dennis shouted. "Wesker! We got Wesker here?!" he stammered, pointing his shivering finger at the man as his eyes went backward to demand everyone's recognition of this person.

"Dennis, take it easy." He admonished. "Nobody cares. Most people don't know who I am; and if they do, I'm officially dead anyway." the man in question said with his upper-crust New England dialect.

Nedry could hear some drunkard who heard his announcement, shouting something about zombies and raccoons outside the VIP room in the main dining area before being escorted away by security. . .

"Right sir..." he walked over to the table and sat down. Before him was an elaborate dinner including a beautiful salad and fried calamari legs.

"Appetizers," Wesker said. "The main course should be here any moment now. For now, let's have a little chat, Mr. Nedry. Go on. . ." Wesker indicated (silently commaded) for Dennis to start eating and, though he disliked vegetables, the salad instantly converted him. He hadn't a clue vegetables could taste this good, dressing this rich. Moments later, the same female employee waltzed in, only this time she in a more dark burgundy dress revealing an indecent amount of cleavage. Her hair and makeup were styled perfectly. Dennis, for a moment, could not close his limp jaw. The woman was gorgeous and her perfume intoxicated him, if not overpowered him. This was the kind of girl only money could create.

"Dennis?" Wesker said, amused by Dennis' bewilderment.

"Uh..." Dennis shook himself out of his trance."s-Sir, I don't know where to begin." He mumbled. "This is really, eh. . ." he resisted staring at the woman's flawless curves. "Generous, yeah..."

"Think nothing of it," Wesker said. "I treat my people well and I see potential in you, deep potential. You know I want you part of our team."

"Thank you," Dennis responded. "Too bad Hammond can't see it."

"Doesn't?" Wesker replied briskly "He won't see it. Men like you, men like me - the hidden gems in the back of the cave, buried under our work. We work our way surface and evolve. That's what men like Hammond and INGEN fear: change. Real change. . .they only pretend they want change. I was just like you, you know. Different profession yes, but still in the same frustrating circumstances. A petty street cop, unknown, just another cog in the system. . ." he stopped and took a drink of crisp Pellegrino water from a crystal glass.

"Or another desk jockey stringin' the cable," Dennis added, gesturing to himself, more confident.

"That's right." He nodded approvingly like a tutor to his pupil. "But, what did I do? I evolved. And now, here I am: the secret CEO of of Biosyn. It was arduous, but . .oh, that was quick." Dennis followed Wesker's gaze to two waiters who brought a food tray towards their table. They removed the shining stainless steel food covers, unleashed a geyser of hot steam, and sat huge plates upon the table piled with T-Bone steak - medium well - and the biggest prawns Dennis ever saw. Dennis wasn't even thinking about the hot Russian chick anymore.

"Like I said, Wesker continued "It was arduous, but the fruits were rewarding. The bounty of the hunt."

"Survival of the fittest. . ." Dennis muttered to spite someone in particular. He tried eating politely at first, but Wesker rebuked him.

"Come on, dig in, don't bother with table manners." At Wesker's permission, Dennis was eating like a feral animal. He sounded like lions eating a fresh carcass and the Russian woman just watched, embarrassed. The two men chattered randomly about meaningless subjects. When they were done, Dennis was breathing heavily as he'd just finished a round of heavy deadlifts, his hunger satiated. He looked at Wesker.

"Ok...Whadya you want me to do. . .?" Wesker's new convert asked, sliding his palms together.

"What we already agreed upon. I want you to bring me the embryos. On delivery, fifty thousand more for every viable embryo. That's one point five million, if you get at least fifteen species off the island.

Dennis raised his eyebrows. . . "Sure. But how am I supposed to transport them?

Wesker smiled and adjust his shades. He nodded to his lovely assistant, who produced a small purse from the table. She dug around in the purse for a moment and pulled out a simple blue and white can of shaving cream. Dennis was confused.

"The bottom screws open," the Russian said. She set the can on the table, turned it in a meticulous way and the can's exterior popped open revealing an insulated interior and little slots for small vials. The excited Dennis uttered a strange birdlike squeal that made the Russian flinch."It's cooled and compartmentalized inside" She continued. "They can even check it if they want. Here, press the top." She closed it back and reached for it, inspecting it in his chubby hands. He pressed the button on the top and cream gurgled out.

At this, Dennis then uttered a strange, deep hooting laugh. "Oh, You're good. . ."

"Friend," Wesker lowered his glasses. "I'm the best."

Dennis, for a moment, lost all sense of giddy camaraderie as he was staring into surprisingly dark predatory eyes. Dennis swore he saw a faint red glow in Wesker's pupils, but he reasoned it must be the lights. Either way, he knew this man was serious.

"Now," Wesker said. "How to do plan on dealing with security? Hammond's security protocols are impressive and also have the hunters to deal with..."

"Don't worry" Dennis replied, waving his hand away like he was shooing away a mosquito. "The Asterians are all brawn, no brain." Dennis tapped a finger on his head. "I got a forty-five-minute window. Forty-five, and your company catches up on ten years of research and King Hammond will be dethroned.

"Excellent," Wesker said, taking another sip. "I'm putting my trust in you Dennis." He said grimly. "Don't disappoint me."

"Sure, just don't get cheap on me . . ." Dennis countered, trying to maintain some sense of strength, not wanting to be a complete pushover, that was what pushed him to this extreme."That was hammond's mistake."

"I know, that's why you're here," Wesker said, joviality fading, his voice losing warmth. "You don't have to worry about that. Trust me. I'm nothing like Hammond."

As Dennis held the can, the key to his ascension, in his chubby fingers, he detected a threat in the man's voice, the kind of threat that implied that getting fired was the worst of his worries if he screwed this up. Well, no shit, he understood: Nedry was in too deep now, but he knew what to do. Just forty-five minutes, to leave the control room, mosey into Site F to pay Hammond's golden egg a visit, pluck out as many embryos as he could, then over to the shipyard to transfer the goods, then back into the control room with none the wiser. Hammond's stupid tour was gonna be the perfect distraction for Nedry to perform the biggest sting operation of the decade.

Welcome? When Nedry was through, Hammond will have to say Goodbye to Wyvern Park.