On his way back to his territory, Carlo encountered the Ceratosaurus duo once again. This ti, they simply exchanged a low, distant huff in greeting without much further interaction.
Though, for so reason, Ceratosaurus One seed quite afraid of him.
Locating the familiar crooked tree, still stained with traces of dried blood, Carlo stashed the haul of at from Miss Diplodocus upon the branches.
He once again realized the logistical downside of hunting a Diplodocus. When he had butchered the Triceratops, the at ca off in manageable, tidy chunks. But the Diplodocus? It ca in massive, unwieldy slabs. Carlo worried that the sheer weight of the at might cause it to slide right off his "pantry."
Speaking of the hunt, how was Mom's wound faring?
Before Carlo could go check on her, Caroline arrived. She first inspected the at on the tree, then let out a soft huff, questioning him.
You didn't run into any danger today, did you?
Carlo answered honestly: No.
Still seemingly unconvinced, Caroline began to lecture Carlo about the dangerous dinosaurs that might be lurking out there.
They are insidious and cunning, her tone seed to warn. They use their seemingly small bodies to deceive you. Once you provoke them, they will hunt you relentlessly to the ends of the earth. They will follow you back to your territory just to pick a fight.
Carlo felt a twinge of guilt, representing that he hadn't t any such "bad guys" yet and promising to be more careful in the future. Caroline was satisfied. She gave him one last instruction and turned to leave.
As she turned, Carlo took the opportunity to inspect the wound on her thigh.
Unsurprisingly, it had left a scar. However, the skin had closed completely; the risk of infection was gone. Her gait was steady, no longer marred by a limp.
In his heart, Carlo renewed his gratitude toward the Ceratosauruses. He decided that the next ti they t, he would give them another nuzzle of thanks. He even made a silent vow: if he ever found himself starving in the future, he'd make sure they got a share of whatever he had.
Wait... that logic felt a bit backwards?
…
"Aow—!"
Everyone, eyes on ! I have an announcent!
Standing in their brand-new paddock, the four Raptors were assembled in a clearing. Blue, the leader, stood at the front while the other three stood in a row, watching her.
"Aow!" This is our new ho!
"Aow!" x3 Ohhhhh!
"Aow!" The humans won't co inside the cage to play anymore.
"Aow…" x3 Oh…
"Aow!" We can catch small animals now!
"Aow!" x3 Ohhhhh!
"Aow." But we can't actually catch them.
"Aow…" x3 Oh…
"Aow!" But our food has been upgraded!
"Aow!!" x3 Ohhhhhhh!
Watching his raptors communicate amongst themselves, completely ignoring their "Alpha," Owen's expression turned sowhat abstract. He felt a bit isolated.
Of course, he couldn't just hop down there and teach them face-to-face anymore. They had grown to a size where they posed a lethal threat to a human.
Click-clack.
Owen pressed a small training clicker, creating a sharp, chanical snapping sound.
"Eyes on ! Eyes on !"
The four Raptors shifted their gaze simultaneously, looking up at Owen on the steel cross-bridge.
"Good... now, heads up!"
Owen first waved his right hand in front of him to anchor their attention, then raised it high. Below, the Raptors successfully mimicked the movent, tilting their heads upward in unison.
He offered a confident smile. He was certain he could have these Raptors perfectly disciplined before the boss ca for a visit. But soon, the Raptors lost interest. They looked at one another, chattering and hooting, failing to understand what the human was trying to achieve.
Owen clicked the device again, but they ignored him.
"Barry, pass the bucket."
He turned to Barry, who was leaning against the railing enjoying the show. Barry laughed, walked onto the bridge, and handed over the bucket, patting Owen on the shoulder.
"Good luck, man."
Owen watched him leave and refocused on the Raptors. He planned to use food to train these distractible creatures. The principle was essentially Pavlovian—classical conditioning to create a reflex.
Just like how that black Raptor trained Grant, Owen thought. Maybe he should ask the dinosaur for tips.
…
The Prival Ecological Zone welcod a visitor today. Well... two, to be precise.
A classic Jurassic World series helicopter, in its blue and white livery, hovered fifty ters above the ground. Wherever it went, the roar of the rotors followed, terrifying several herbivores below.
"Are you sure we're okay at this altitude?"
"Don't worry. No dinosaur can attack a helicopter fifty ters up... except the Pteranodons."
Simon Masrani sat in the co-pilot seat. Beside him, in the pilot's seat, was his flight instructor. This was the instructor's first ti in the park's interior; seeing these living prehistoric giants was impressive, but not entirely shocking. After all, like any other animal, they ran from the noise of the engine.
"We seem to be startling them."
"It's alright. They're my dinosaurs."
Masrani watched a Brachiosaurus wade into a pond and saw ceratopsians rubbing their horns against trees. Rembering sothing, he gestured to the pilot. "Let's check out that artificial lake over there."
The instructor looked toward the forest lake Masrani indicated. To be safe, he climbed a little higher before heading toward the destination.
Whirr-whirr-whirr.
As the sound of the rotors grew louder, Carlo lifted his head toward the "iron bird" in the sky. He recognized that thing, vividly. He rembered that, eventually, one of those was supposed to crash into a birdcage and explode.
Carlo tilted his head, watching the helicopter as it began to descend to get a better look at him. Suddenly, a wave of anxiety hit him.
What's the tiline now?
Thinking of that frantic, man-made dinosaur, he couldn't help but worry. His current size wasn't quite large enough. If he really crossed paths with the Indominus rex, even with his superior base stats, he might not win a straight fight.
"Look, that one is my favorite," Masrani said, pointing at Carlo. "It's a sha I've been so busy lately; I haven't kept up with his latest progress."
The instructor didn't reply. He stared at Carlo, a hint of astonishnt in his eyes. This creature isn't running?
"By the way, when can I get my pilot's license?"
The instructor snapped out of his daze. "Hard to say. Maybe four to six months…"
Before he could finish, a loud CLANG echoed against the helicopter's hull.
Was that a bird?
CLANG!
Another hit.
The instructor stared down at Carlo and realized the dinosaur was picking up small stones from the ground with his mouth and flicking them upward!
"Holy shit!"
His hair stood on end. He quickly yanked the controls to pull the helicopter higher.
On the ground, Carlo let out a smug, toothy grin. So what if you can fly? I'll still drive you out.
As for the Indominus rex? Whatever. Worst case scenario, he'd just team up with the Carnotaurus and the Ceratosauruses and jump the damn thing.
———————
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