The afternoon of the late Miss Diplodocus.
"The world is a marvelous place. Just when we think certain events belong strictly in the realm of fiction, someone truly experiences them, and successfully rises after the blow."
Ian Malcolm stood at the lectern, pinned by a single spotlight. The audience below was a sea of tourists, staff members, and even scientists in stark white lab coats.
"Of course, I'm not talking about myself. Any hardship can knock me down." He pointed to himself, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. "During that disaster, I simply broke a leg, lay around for a few hours, and took a brief, involuntary tour of the Tyrannosaurus-chasing-a-jeep attraction."
A ripple of polite laughter spread through the crowd.
"In contrast, Dr. Sattler rebooted the park's power grid, and Dr. Grant led two children through dinosaur territory to safety. They are the true heroes."
The audience fell silent. Some were likely questioning whether they could have done better; others were mourning the lives lost during the Jurassic Park incident.
"Well, regardless, my point is this: we often believe we are living in the modern age. In truth, we have always lived within history. And as for which era of history we inhabit… the decision rests in our hands. In your hands."
He bunched his fingers together, pointing both hands at himself before sweeping them across the entire audience. Then, shifting the mood with a smile, he walked toward the edge of the stage, leaning his hands on the table and chuckling softly.
"Alright, let's move on to the Q&A."
Hands shot up across the room.
"You. The little one over there. Your question, please."
He gestured toward a small silhouette in the shadows. He had noticed the child, who looked about seven years old, quite early on. In his experience, children that age rarely sat through an entire lecture in silence.
"Were you really bitten by a T-Rex?"
The youthful voice asked a question that caught Malcolm off guard but was, in hindsight, entirely expected. He couldn't help but laugh.
"Truthfully, kid, I'd love to show you the scars. But there are too many people here, and I'm a bit shy. Please, take a seat."
He waved his right hand again, signaling the boy to sit.
"That gentleman there. Your question, go ahead."
The man who stood was middle-aged, wearing a security uniform. Curiously, despite his muscular build, he carried a faint air of academia.
"Dr. Malcolm, I've read several of your books regarding the potential issues with dinosaur resurrection. A significant portion of them mention the term 'Chaos'." He paused before continuing. "I am not a mathematician, nor a scholar. I would like to ask: what exactly is this 'Chaos'?"
Malcolm took a few seconds to organize his thoughts.
"To put it simply, in Chaos Theory, 'Chaos' refers to a series of unpredictable events. The 'Butterfly Effect' is perhaps the most widely recognized phenomenon of Chaos."
"If we are searching for something, it might appear before us the next moment, or it might never appear at all. We can never accurately grasp the trajectory or the ultimate outcome of an event. That is 'Chaos'."
…
Compsognathus, nature's best cleanup crew were currently enjoying a rare feast.
Thump. Thump.
"ROAR!"
With a few heavy steps, Carlo arrived to drive the little scavengers away. He looked down at Miss Diplodocus, who was missing a large chunk of flesh, and felt a twinge of pity.
Normally, a carnivore doesn't consume more meat in one sitting than the size of its own head. Carlo was an even greater anomaly; he felt full after just a few bites. Furthermore, for reasons unknown, his Hunger bar was depleting much slower than it had when he was a hatchling.
Hunting a Diplodocus didn't seem like the most efficient choice in hindsight. While it could satisfy his food requirements for days, the massive carcass was more likely to become a buffet for other dinosaurs.
After standing in thought for a long time, Carlo decided to let it go. It hadn't been easy for Miss Diplodocus to grow this large; he would let her body nourish other life forms as well. However, as the one who brought her down, he was still going to harvest some parts for storage.
Alright! To be lazy and walk less in the coming days, I have to work hard now!
He poked his head into Miss Diplodocus's carcass, attempting to dismember the prey from the inside out, but he quickly realized he couldn't see a thing.
Ugh... do I have to start from the dorsal spine? So much work...
A Diplodocus wasn't like a Triceratops; its skin was thicker and its skeleton sturdier. Breaking it down was no simple task.
It was a matter of evolutionary mechanics.
The Tyrannosaurus rex evolved a powerful, bone-crushing bite force specifically to hunt ceratopsians and hadrosaurs. But the Giganotosaurus? To deal with titanosaur-sized sauropods, they sacrificed some bite force in exchange for a wider, serrated muzzle, perfect for slicing through thick hide and letting the prey bleed out.
While a Diplodocus isn't a titanosaur, the principles remained similar.
Carlo clamped onto the skin to the right of Miss Diplodocus's spine and began to thrash, tearing through hide and muscle to expose the bone. (Note: Miss Diplodocus had died in a prone position, but Carlo's family had flipped her onto her left side while feeding earlier).
A moment later, Carlo stopped.
He sensed something in the air. He lifted his head, peering toward the nearby woods.
About five minutes later, two Ceratosauruses slowly emerged from the trees. They saw the massive carcass of the Diplodocus, and they saw Carlo, who was pretending to eat.
The two didn't move forward recklessly. Most carnivores are extremely territorial over their kills; even members of the same species don't always like to share, let alone different species altogether. Unfortunately, Ceratosaurus Two was currently injured; they needed to avoid conflict if possible.
Carlo feigned as if he had only just noticed them, looking up. The three dinosaurs locked eyes, held in a stalemate.
Then, Carlo tilted his head back, briefly exposing his throat before leveling his gaze again. Though he liked these two, he was wary that a starving predator might act out.
Fortunately, the two Ceratosauruses remained rational. They mirrored the gesture, tilting their heads to show their throats in a sign of non-aggression.
Carlo gave a happy grin, or as close to one as he could manage. These two were interesting; he certainly didn't mind sharing a bit of the spoils, provided they kept a good attitude.
Carlo stood by the carcass and stepped aside, yielding space for the two Ceratosauruses.
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