Chapter 5 - …On the Other Side

"Betray a friend and you'll often find you have ruined yourself." - Aesop

oOo

The sun had already set over the city of Cupertino when Dennis Nedry quickly went inside a sports bar. He didn't dare look over his shoulder. For the past fifteen minutes, he sensed he was being followed. His gut told him he knew who was tracking him, but he refused to believe it. At the same time, he wasn't really surprised at who might be pursuing him, because he had purposely returned to this specific area. They used to hang around this locality when they were a team…but those days were long gone… He refused to think of it as "the good ol' days", considering all the awful stuff he did back then. Still, it was best to not draw attention to himself, so he let the waitress escort him to a table in the back of the bar. There was an exit in the back. It was perfect for what he needed—an escape plan in case hell broke loose.

Nedry had been on the run ever since leaving Isla Nublar. It was only five weeks, but the time had stretched on making it feel like five years. Robert Muldoon had suggested he stay at the park or turn himself over to the authorities. Neither option appealed to Nedry. He didn't stay on the island because it would put Muldoon and everyone else at risk for aiding and abetting a fugitive—but he also didn't want to turn himself in. He had outright refused when Muldoon suggested it.

While sitting in the back of the bar, Nedry reflected on how he had made his way to Cambridge, Massachusetts when he first returned to the United States. Cambridge was home away from home for Nedry since he had received his education at M.I.T.—Massachusetts Institute of Technology. His office was also located in the city: Integrated Computer Systems, Inc. He imagined that his office had already been cleared and some new computer programmer was sitting where he once did.

He had contacted his friend, Barney Fellows, who worked in Symbolics, not too far from the M.I.T. campus, asking to meet him at Café Luna. Nedry remembered talking with Fellows when he first started working for InGen. Back then, Nedry didn't understand why InGen was asking for three billion fields of data records and an immense amount of computer memory. It didn't help that they were being secretive. Fellows had guessed correctly that InGen must be doing something with DNA and Nedry couldn't reveal more information because he had signed a nondisclosure agreement. That was back then…before he betrayed InGen to Biosyn…

oOo

Fellows met him in front of Café Luna. They went inside and sat down at the far end of the establishment, away from everyone. Fellows offered to buy him coffee and Nedry politely declined. The conversation was awkward from the start.

"You look great, like a different man," Fellows said, gesturing at Nedry and noting his slimmed down appearance. "What's your secret?"

Nedry forced himself to smile. Fellows remembered when he was fat; these days he was stocky from exercising during the two years he was incarcerated. "Nothing to it, Barney. Just diet and exercise."

"You must have spare time in your schedule. Our work keeps us busy, there's hardly any personal time—not as much as I would like anyway."

"I had a lot of time on my hands." Only ten to fifteen years, Nedry thought. He made sure not to voice that aloud.

"I see. What've you been up to?"

Nedry knew he had to say something that sounded reasonable. "Just getting my life together and moving forward."

"What happened with InGen?"

"I completed my work with them."

Nedry tapped his foot nervously. He didn't want to get into what he had done against the company, spying for Biosyn, his prison stint, and everything that happened after that. He was hoping to ask Fellows if he knew of any IT (Information Technology) companies hiring part-time systems analysts and computer programmers, if he had any connections. Even an entry-level position would be great. He could start to rebuild his life…one step at a time…

"So, I've heard," Fellows said and drunk his coffee. "I don't know what you think you're doing here."

"Just looking for new projects if you know of any?"

"No one wants to hire you. You'll be lucky if you even get a position in IT support."

Nedry had flinched, completely stunned. His reaction was completely unlike him, but Fellows' cold response threw him off. He opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, when Fellows jumped ahead, cutting him off before he could begin.

"Bad news travels fast, Dennis. Industrial espionage? Hacking into computer systems that you designed. Grand larceny?" Fellows shook his head, indicating his disgust. "I hear you even put your own boss in the hospital. What the hell's happened to you?!"

Unsure of what to say, Nedry glanced around the café. There was mostly college students and a smattering of businessmen. Sitting, drinking coffee, talking, typing on their laptops—the usual. Hopefully, no one was listening to their conversation.

He also hoped that no one recognized him. Nedry had always joked about Dodgson's lousy disguises, but now he was the one trying to blend in. He looked down at his hands, noting the black fingerless gloves he always wore. He only had four outfits that he rotated. It was the same clothing he had brought in Costa Rica after Ian Malcolm had helped to get him released from jail. Being on the run, he hadn't thought to buy more clothing because he wanted to be seen in as few places as possible. He would have to pick up a hoodie though since it was colder in Massachusetts.

Whatever funds he had left went towards cheap motels, scant meals, and a second-hand used Honda Accord that he planned to get the most mileage out of. Once his funds decreased further, he'd end up sleeping in the car. He would be homeless and struggling to stay warm, clean, healthy, and safe… He didn't have his money-filled backpack as he had turned it over to Muldoon. Muldoon had demanded it from him before he left the island, calling it "blood money", since Dodgson had paid him that money every time he had caused trouble at Jurassic Park. Nedry had explained that he wanted to use the money to start his life over. Muldoon's response was unsympathetic: Start from scratch. "Starting from scratch" was proving to be extremely difficult—and all because of the fallout from the crimes he had committed. Nedry came to realize that keeping the backpack wouldn't have mattered—all the money in the world couldn't undo his poor choices.

"I can explain—"

Fellows held up his hand, stopping him. "Don't waste your time—and don't waste my time. We weren't trained to do what you did against John Hammond, and you know it." He now pointed accusingly at Nedry. "I don't even want to be seen with you."

Numb with shame, Nedry stared at Fellows, unable to respond. Fellows glared back at him and crumpled the coffee cup in his hand. Nedry averted his eyes now and searched for the exit sign, wanting to race out of there. He had always prized himself for being quick-witted, but this time no words came to mind. No sarcastic retorts and no obnoxious comebacks. Nothing. He couldn't even deny what Fellows was saying. And yet, it stabbed him at his core. Fellows wanted nothing to do with him because of his recent history. He thought he had gotten used to the isolation resulting from his past duplicitous behavior, but his reaction told him otherwise. He couldn't respond quickly because he felt ashamed of who he had become. As if Fellows could read his mind…

"Good luck finding work as a convicted felon. You ruined your reputation and disgraced yourself."

Nedry's chest tightened with anger. He was more than his criminal record. He wanted to speak about what had happened, explain that he knew he had made lousy decisions that had hurt others—and that he regretted all of it. The words wouldn't come to him and he sat trapped by his own silence. He didn't want Fellows to believe that he was indifferent to what he had done, but he also knew that expressing remorse wouldn't have softened his friend's stance.

"If you call me again, I'm calling the police. You know what, I should call them right now. Let them throw you in a jail cell, so that you can rot."

Before he could even formulate a response, Fellows gave his parting shot.

"Don't ever show your face here again."

Nedry decided he had heard enough. He stood up and left without saying another word to Barney Fellows. The entire time he felt like he was wading through quicksand—he couldn't leave the café fast enough. Fellows' piercing glare burned into his back. He was finally able to let out his breath when he got outside. It had been caught in his throat the entire time. Thankfully, he didn't park too far away. In no time at all, he was driving past the "Leaving Cambridge" sign…

oOo

These days—especially after that hostile encounter with Barney Fellows—Nedry started to wonder if prison was better than always being on the run. He couldn't believe that thought crossed his mind. He hated everything about incarceration, but that dark thought crept in his mind when he least expected it. Maybe being locked up was better than sleeping in his used car that was on its last legs or staying in roach infested motels and leaving before anyone recognized him. After a close run-in with the police at a roadside motel—where they arrested drug dealers in the next room—Nedry decided to sleep in his car as he made the long trek to California. Staying in motels increased his paranoia that the police could sneak up on him at any moment, kick down the door, and capture him. At least in the car, he could drive away if he sensed a threat.

His career was done. He had always known it was true, but now the reality was undeniable. His dreams of starting over went down the drain when he realized it would be extremely difficult to find gainful employment. He was afraid he would never be hired because of his criminal record. Employers completing background checks would find out everything. He didn't even have his certification since the judge from his trial had revoked it. It occurred to him that he should just take another job in an entirely different field, but his pride got in the way. He didn't want to start over again—he wanted to go back to what he had always loved—computer programming. The path to re-establishing his career was barricaded and he saw no way around it.

He couldn't risk being seen as himself, so he ended up paying over a hundred dollars to create a fake ID—which he knew was another crime. Elliot Knight. Elliot Knight and not Dennis Nedry had purchased the used car. It was also a half-hearted attempt to rebuild his shattered self-worth which he tried not to think about.

Although it worked for now, being homeless and hypervigilant was starting to wear on his nerves. Eventually, his running would end, and he would face prison again. It was only a matter of time. The thought he wanted to exterminate kept coming back, haunting him: it's better to be locked up. The more he ruminated about it, the more it made sense. Prison would be better than this crazy life on the run, especially since everything was working against him: his money and options were dwindling, restarting his career was impossible, and anticipating and fearing capture was emotionally draining. This distorted version of freedom was the opposite of what he envisioned when he had left Isla Nublar.

For now, he would remain in the sports bar—for however long he could. It might be five minutes or an hour. He noted the middle-aged bartender serving a cocktail drink to a businessman, a young black couple playing pool, and a drunk blonde lady singing karaoke. This was a good place to blend in for the time being. There're better places to be than this dump, but loose ends need to be tied, he thought as the same waitress approached him. He wasn't even hungry, but he ordered a Coke and French fries anyway.

He needed to plan his next move. Shortly after leaving Cambridge, Nedry had started thinking of a plan that would wipe out Biosyn's existence… Although he hadn't seen the outcome of the corrupted laptop that he gave to Dodgson, he didn't think it was enough. No, he had to do something more permanent. Dodgson and his group had made every single day a horrific nightmare for InGen when they took over Isla Nublar. They might do it again if the opportunity presented itself and Dodgson would want to seek revenge after being kicked off the island in such a humiliating manner. For both reasons, Nedry believed Dodgson should be stopped before he had a chance to do anything. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Then there was the matter of justice.

Justice in the court system would take too long. It was better to enact a swifter and harsher form of justice. Nedry had tossed around ideas that sounded bizarre even to him. A bomb? Molotov cocktail? If they survived such an extreme attempt to finish them off—which he preferred because he didn't want to cross that line—Nedry was sure that the experience would be imprinted on them so much that they would never give InGen a second thought again. In Nedry's view, this would be a proactive and reasonable move. It may land him in prison with more time, but at least, Dodgson and his gang would never go after InGen again.

His thoughts were interrupted when someone knocked loudly on his table. Looking up, he tried not to react when he recognized the man and the three people accompanying him.

"You've got some damn nerve bringing your sorry-ass back here." Raúl Lopez. "Did you really think you'd sneak back and that no one would recognize you?"

The waitress set down the Coke and French fries that Nedry had ordered. "Thanks for the warm welcome. Will you be paying for my hotel stay?"

"You're not staying in the luxury suite at the Marriott tonight. More like sleeping in a jail cell or lying dead in a ditch, depends on what we decide to do with you," Lopez sneered.

Before Nedry could respond, Lopez grabbed a chair and sat across from him, while Henry Wu and Sonya Durant also snatched nearby chairs and joined in. Roland Tembo sat right next to him as though guarding him from leaving. The irony to Nedry was that they all appeared as though they were trying not to be noticed either. All four were wearing hoodies, jeans—casual clothing that concealed their identities. Nothing that screamed out paleontologist, mercenary, geneticist… They were on the run from the law, just like him. Or more so, they were in hiding. Who knows what happened to Dodgson's group after I planted that virus in my laptop?

"Who cares," Nedry muttered aloud. A second later he realized what he had said aloud. He shrugged and drank his Coke.

"You should care." Wu's tone was bitter.

"Only if you pay me. Still sleeping with the enemy, Henry-Hank? We talked about this back at the park. Why do you still insist on lying to yourself?"

Wu looked away, refusing to respond to Nedry's jab. Nedry immediately picked up on Wu's reaction. It was subtle, and yet, very telling. What's that about, Henry? You know you messed up big time!

In the background, the karaoke singer blared out Michael Jackson's "Dirty Diana".

"Dodgson's got your tongue, huh? No worries, have a bite to eat and then we can discuss everything. Minus the three stooges." Nedry pointed at Lopez, Tembo, and Sonya.

"We're not going anywhere," Lopez said. "Lew's looking forward to seeing you."

"Is he holed up in his office? Still sobbing 'cause he couldn't give Jurassic Park to his pals at Biosyn? Poor baby."

"He wants to meet with you since you're in town—and you can't turn him down. If you don't agree to come to the new office…" Lopez's tone took on a menacing note, "you're gonna wish you were locked up in your cage."

"I don't give a flying lizard what Lew wants 'cause I'm not meeting with him." Nedry's cold reply masked his fear of Lopez's veiled threat. "And I don't care about your stupid 'new office'. I bet it's a broken-down rat-infested RV trailer. Or underground in the sewers."

"That's what you think, Dennis," Tembo growled.

"That's what I know," Nedry shot back. He grinned when he saw Tembo's neck brace. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Roland. Look at your neck brace—man, Robert beat the hell out of you!"

"Robert Muldoon will get what's coming to him in due time."

"And Robert Muldoon will beat you to hell and back again—I'd pay to see him kick your ass a second time! While you're waiting, let Sonya decorate little red hearts on your dog collar."

Tembo scoffed, not the slightest bit impacted by Nedry's taunts.

"Using what?" Sonya's tone was poisonous.

"Your luscious lipstick, I'm sure Roland will appreciate your artistic efforts. Right now, sharing is caring. Take one and pass it around."

Nedry started to pass the plate of fries to Sonya when she knocked it out of his hands. Fries flew everywhere and the plate crashed to the floor. Leave it to Sonya Durant to cause a ruckus. Nedry sighed in annoyance and reached down to pick up a portion of the broken plate. When he placed it on the table, his eyes landed on the television screen that hung over the bar.

The image staring back at him was none other than himself.

Nedry instantly recognized his first mugshot. He was younger and heavier back then; his face was chubby, boyish. He was holding a placard that bore his name, birthdate, and booking ID. The image was replaced by a more recent booking photo that he remembered taking when he first started serving his prison sentence. He recognized the navy-blue jumpsuit, the initials on the second placard: CDOC – California Department of Corrections, and his department identification number – 0807-55. As with the first placard, the second one had his full name and birthdate. His cold eyes and arrogant smirk showed his contempt. It felt surreal to stare back at his former self and Nedry realized it wasn't too long ago that he was a bitter inmate locked up for his crimes against InGen. A faceless voice spoke on the television:

"Breaking news: Escaped convict, Dennis Nedry, has been spotted in California. U.S. Marshals have been collaborating with the local police department to track him down as he has been on the run for over a year. Authorities have stated that if anyone sees him, to not approach him directly. He is considered armed and dangerous, as he committed not only white-collar crimes, but now violent crimes have been added to his ever-growing rap sheet…"

Nedry wasn't the only one who saw his image. The bartender was staring at him and so was the waitress. The way they looked at him, studying him… He knew what that meant—he had to get out of there—now. Nedry rose from the table, his eyes still glued to the television screen as his heart slammed hard against his chest. He didn't know what bothered him more: seeing his mugshot or hearing how he was described. Escaped convict. Armed and dangerous. They made him sound like he'd walk into a sports bar and shoot up the place, killing all the customers and workers without a single shred of remorse. None of this was good and now Tembo and Lopez were looking from him to the television screen and back again at him. Learning that U.S. Marshals were closing in on him was entertainment to them. Lopez pointed at him while laughing hysterically. Nedry forced himself to ignore him—he needed to find the back exit he had seen earlier. Lopez was an annoying distraction.

"What're you waiting for?!" Sonya yelled at the bartender as she stood up and pointed at Nedry. "Call the cops!"

Lopez wasted no time joining in. "Barricade the front entrance—he'll run if he knows you're gonna call them!"

Nedry didn't want to wait around to find out if the bartender would follow Lopez's suggestion to prevent him from escaping. Time crawled by and he felt he was trapped in quicksand. Everyone from his former team was taking turns demeaning him—not that he was surprised. Then Tembo closed in for the kill. Nedry thought his voice sounded like Muldoon's: they both commanded attention. Right now, he used it to oust Nedry.

"He's sitting right here under your nose! Dennis Nedry—convicted felon, prison escapee, and fugitive from the law!" Dark satisfaction revealed itself in Tembo's malicious grin. He knew exactly what he was doing. "His mugshot graces every police department because he's the little hacker who claims he's never been caught. Let's change that, shall we?"

"You loathsome son of a bitch," Nedry swore.

Tembo's dark grin widened. "Correction—I'm a free son of a bitch—something you won't be for much longer."

"Look at you! So famous," Wu said, his voice dripping with hatred. "All over the news." He glared at Nedry, who stared back at him, confounded by what he was implying.

Nedry wasn't oblivious at how Wu quickly changed his tune. When Nedry had first confronted him about lying to himself, Wu wouldn't even look at him. Now he was unbearable and Nedry was nauseated by his arrogance. Henry's ridiculous—he has no idea what it's like to be hunted down by U.S. Marshals and the police.

"Infamous." The word dragged through his clenched teeth. He couldn't believe he had to correct Wu. "Look it up in the dictionary. There's an enormous difference between being 'famous' and 'infamous', Henry."

"Is there really?"

"For someone as brilliant as you, you can be incredibly stupid."

"I'm not the one who showed up in sunny California, knowing damn well I could get caught." Wu burst out laughing. His manner remained cold and condescending. "For someone as brilliant as you, you can be incredibly stupid."

"Parroting me now? Isn't it bad enough you followed in my footsteps?"

"Except I wasn't dumb enough to get caught and thrown in prison. I'll never be the one wearing handcuffs." Wu held out his wrists.

"Wait and see, one day you'll sport your own silver bracelets."

"Our dreamer geneticist will never be as sloppy as you," Lopez said, interrupting them. "Look at him and look at you." He pointed at Wu and then at Nedry. "Henry's in the prime of his career—he's solid gold. He recreated dinosaurs and you stole embryos for—"

"For the same man whose ass you can't stop kissing, or have you forgotten your sycophantic tendencies?"

"You're a lying scumbag, a convicted felon with a record," Lopez talked over Nedry as though he hadn't said anything. "No one wants to hire you unless it's to pick up trash on the highway."

"Even better, look at your mugshot—it's all over the news!" Wu pointed at the television. "Dennis the Menace is famous—oops, I meant infamous!"

"You know what else he's really infamous for?"

"What's that?"

"Dropping the soap!" Lopez snatched the cup of Coke and dropped it on the floor. The soda splashed on the floor and the glass shattered. "Pretend it's soap—pick it up, Dennis!"

Wu laughed harder than before as he held his stomach.

Nedry maintained a stony expression. He wouldn't waste time explaining that "dropping the soap" was a popular myth. Lopez wanted to believe it led to rape and that gave Nedry another reason to despise him. Aside from showcasing his ignorance, Lopez obviously thought a severe trauma like rape was laughable. Nedry knew sexual assault and rape happened in prison, even if he didn't experience it himself. The worst thing that could happen when you dropped the soap was touching the shower floor—it was disgusting. Grime, bacteria, fungus, semen, urine—it was why inmates were provided shower shoes. There was no reason to bother separating fact from fiction for them since they'd rather be amused by their sick ideas of Nedry's prison experience.

What stood out to Nedry was Wu's callous reaction. He had hoped Wu would be better than his cohorts, and he was disappointed at how Wu still enmeshed himself with them when it benefited him most. He was still trying to prove his loyalty to Biosyn (and especially Lewis Dodgson), by making cruel comments about Nedry's status as a convicted felon. When Wu wasn't pretending to enjoy going along with Biosyn's antics, he was clearly unhappy—and yet, he still tried too hard to blend in. It didn't matter—he couldn't waste any more time feeling bad for Wu—especially after their tense exchange. Every second that passed was another second that brought him closer to being captured.

That thought pushed him forward and in an act of desperation, Nedry overturned the table, hoping that the brief distraction would buy him time. In the background, he heard their voices overlapping, still yelling at him, demanding someone stop him before he got away. The situation was nightmarish, and he wished that's all it was: a nightmare that he'd wake up from. He couldn't stand it anymore and he rushed through the back exit, the door slamming behind him. The night's coldness shocked him, given that he was in California. Chilly air stung his face, but at least he was out of there. The familiar wailing of police sirens sounded in the distance—he had to get his bearings fast, but he couldn't look too obvious that he was running away. His heart slammed against his chest and yet there was a strange peace about everything.

He hurried down the alleyway between the sports bar and a pawn shop. Scanning the area, he thought there would be a parking lot, but only saw a large dumpster. For an instant, he thought of hiding in it, but then realized they would search for him there. Better to put distance between himself and the sports bar. He froze when he saw the red and blue lights flashing on the building. Soon after, there was screeching as one police cruiser pulled up—then car doors slammed as several more arrived at the scene.

Nedry tried to remain calm as he adjusted the hoodie over his baseball cap that he had worn for the past week. The entire time, his heart hammered against his ribs, and he forced himself to breathe. If he didn't, his fear would stifle him. Think this through, Dennis, he thought. He searched in his pockets to count whatever cash he had left. Before leaving Isla Nublar, he had stashed some money away in a black trench coat that he wore at the time. That coat was long gone and whatever money he had left was hidden in the pockets of his hoodie. Two hundred dollars can get me out of here. He tried to ignore that nagging sensation of doubt that churned his stomach. He was almost down to no money and he had to get far away from here—fast. The reality of what lay ahead flashed through his mind and he was flooded with regrets now.

It was only now that he wished he had changed his appearance. Dye his hair, grow a beard or a goatee—something to make him not him, but someone else. If only he could turn back time and live an anonymous life. Change one digit in his Social Security number. Get a new name like "Gene Takavic" and work as a Cinnabon manager in a local mall. He would choose Omaha, Nebraska, because who would look for him there? It would be far removed from his career as a systems analyst, but at least he would be off the radar. Instead, he had foolishly let his pride get in the way, as well as his desire for revenge against Biosyn. Driving all the way back to California was his worst decision in his long, sad history of bad decisions.

The loud bang of a door and commotion as the police rushed into the sports bar forced him to act. He peeked around and saw another police officer run inside—it was best if they believed he was still there. He was outside and could get away if he reached his car in time. It was parked around the block since he couldn't find a closer space. Resisting the urge to run—because it would attract attention—he settled for walking at a brisk pace. He passed by a pawn shop adjacent to the sports bar, and then a locksmith store. People walked up and down the block, making it easy for him to blend in. Good. So far no one had noticed him, and he hadn't brought attention to himself. He was almost there. Now if he could just make it to the end of the block and turn the corner—

"Dennis Nedry—hands on your head!"

He almost stumbled when he heard his name. It was a deep voice, authoritarian—but it wasn't Tembo. He wanted to keep walking and pretend that he hadn't heard anything, but that would be too risky, especially given his status as a fugitive. The same man issued the command again—he was louder this time—and close by. Nedry quickly placed his hands on his head. The next words confirmed it was over.

"We could do this the hard way, or the easy way. I'd rather do this the easy way."

A flurry of footsteps pattered behind him. People were running in his direction. Then that awful ch-chkt sound—he knew what that meant. Whoever pursued him had cocked their gun. They were ready to fire at a second's notice—fire at him. He'd rather do this the easy way too—he didn't dare risk getting shot. The same faceless voice shouted directions at him.

"Walk backwards—stop! Don't turn around."

Nedry walked back several steps and stopped. As he kept his focus on the street in front of him, he wondered why this was happening right after running into the Biosyn team. The timing couldn't be worse. The man's yelling tore through his thoughts:

"Get on the ground—on your knees! Hands in the air!"

Nedry complied and stared at the ground as his heart plummeted to his stomach. He didn't register that he had been given two different commands of what to do with his hands. If he was feeling like himself, he would've spouted off a sarcastic retort: make up your mind—do you want my hands in the air or on my head?! But he was far away mentally, and his fear kept him frozen in place. In no time at all, several cops surrounded him, aiming their guns at him. He thought he counted three cops in front of him, and two more in his peripheral vision. One cop yanked down his hoodie and pulled off his baseball cap, tossing it to the ground.

"It's him, he's our guy."

Everything happened slowly. One cold steel cuff was slapped on his right wrist and his right arm twisted behind his back. Seconds later, his left arm was pinned behind him followed by the discomfort of steel biting his left wrist. He heard the metallic click as the cuffs locked in place. At the same time, Barney Fellows' last words reverberated in his mind: If you call me again, I'm calling the police. You know what, I should call them right now. Let them throw you in a jail cell, so that you can rot. Don't ever show your face here again. Well, now he would never show his face in Cambridge—or anywhere else. Especially now that he was captured, and incarceration was in his immediate future.

They pulled him up so that he was standing. He tried to maintain his balance. One police officer asked him if he had anything on him—any weapons. Nedry shook his head. The cop did a quick pat-down, frisking everywhere, and then he did a second more thorough search as though looking for something he believed to be there.

"I'm gonna ask you again: you have nothing on you?" The cop speaking was the same one who had shouted orders at Nedry, forcing him to surrender. He sounded calm but firm.

"Only a couple hundred bucks. That's it."

The cop nodded in response and grasped Nedry's upper right arm. The entire time, Nedry cooperated. Resisting would only make matters worse—he knew that from experience. He didn't get a good look at the cop who apprehended him, only a quick glance at the badge and name tag: C. Anderson. At least, Anderson wasn't bullying him. He remembered how Antonio Contreras had treated him and Muldoon when they returned to the island. This cop was different; he simply did his job without abusing his authority. Nedry assumed he was the man who had given the commands.

A second cop grabbed his upper left arm to ensure he wouldn't even think of running away or resisting. He listened as their walkie-talkies droned in the background and then they started walking, ensuring he went at their pace. It reminded him of when the U.S. Marshals transported him to prison. The sense of powerlessness was overwhelming now just as it was back then. When he looked up, he saw a small crowd had gathered in the area. Five police cruisers with their lights flashing were scattered around. Nedry cursed under his breath: his capture had caused a scene. This was the exact scenario he wanted to avoid, but there was nothing he could do about it. Instead of hanging his head in embarrassment, he kept his hands balled into tight fists—the only way he could express his anger in that moment.

Nedry was led over to the police cruiser parked in front of the sports bar. He saw them blended in with the crowd of spectators—and they stared right back at him. I hope you stupid jerks are entertained! he wanted to shout. Tembo applauded and mouthed, well-played, Dennis! Lopez grinned widely and yelled out "read him his rights!" referring to the Miranda warning—the right to remain silent and the right to an attorney. Sonya blew him a kiss. Wu looked disappointed; a faint frown was painted on his face. Nedry thought that was strange given how Wu always taunted him for getting arrested, and especially for his status as a convicted felon. He had just done so in the sports bar. Just as quickly, they left the crowd. They couldn't linger around, but all the same, he knew they would tell Lewis Dodgson what had happened.

It was finally over.

So much had changed since that night when Dodgson had sent Lopez and Sonya dressed as transport officers to break him out of prison. His mind replayed everything that had happened since that night until now. Every action he had taken, every decision he had made, and every conversation he had. Every time he had caused constant hell for the InGen staff, and all the cruel abuse he had endured from the Biosyn team when he decided he wouldn't follow Dodgson's orders any longer. He had undergone many changes during that time. From vengeful to making amends. From bad to worse in the beginning, and eventually evolving into a better version of himself. His metamorphosis started after he had hurt many people, and by then, he didn't recognize himself. Nedry didn't want to be that despicable man anymore, and he had trod carefully on the path to redemption.

Being a changed man who accepted responsibility for his actions wasn't enough in the eyes of the law to allow him to be a free man. At least, not for right now. He was free of his former self that had cost him his freedom in the first place…but the freedom he thought he had once he left Isla Nublar was nonexistent. As he was situated in the backseat of the police cruiser and the police officer named "Anderson" fastened the seatbelt over him, Nedry realized the irony: for all his talks about freedom with Muldoon (and how he valued it above everything else), he was glad he didn't have to run from the law anymore.