Chapter Text
"WHAAT?!"
Owen Grady was screaming at the man in front of him.
"I believe I made myself VERY clear Mr Grady." said Captain Leonard James Amar.
"You-...You seriously mean to tell me that...there's now a-a...team of people whose job according to the UN is to...to...hunt."
"Indeed, to hunt down, and for that matter completely destroy, absoloutly all carnivorous and omnivorous dinasours-or rather ad Dr Grant put it "genetically engeniered theme-park monsters"."
"Wait! Wait...including..."
"Yes, including the raptors you trained."
"But...why?"
Amar picked up a computer and showed him a screen which had on its a number: 16545.
"Care to take a guess what that number represents?"
"Your felony count (!)" Grady replied glaring at him.
"The number of people reported killed by raptors alone since they were let loose on the world in 2018. That's just reported, the actual number I'm sure is much higher."
Amar showed another number on the screen: 523.
"That's the number of people killed by the tyrannasoraus Rex species of dinasour since 2018.
And DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON THE PETRODACTYLS!"
Amar rolled up his sleeve and showed huge, gruesome bite marks on his right forearm.
"It was by far the biggest mistake of Jurassic...whatever, to make carnivorous and omnivorous dinasours."
"But...but...you're talking about extinction."
"Yes. And of creatures who by all accounts give their prey particularly painful deaths, and are often cannibalistic."
"Okay fine but...THEY'RE my family."
"They're mistakes.
Need I remind you Mr Grady, that the training proceedure for those raptors included the EXTREMLY unethical treatment of creatures such as piglets. How many creatures were subjected to painful, gory, terrifying deaths just to temporarily keep alive a handful of illiterate, speechless, beasts that have FAR less to live for than humans. I'm no vegetarian but I feel pity for those creatures who've suffered from those dinasours.
And you want the human race to prioritize them over humans and other creatures? Are you serious?
Why?"
After gulping down and holding his trembling fist, Owen roared "BECAUSE THEY'RE COOL!!!"
" "Because they're cool"...I am speaking to a grown adult, right?
This IS the...you...know...REAL WORLD as opposed to:
a surreal set of chronicles of events wherein underinformed people do absurdly dangerous things just for the sake of intense thrilling sensations and/or incredibly arrogant, astoundingly naive and deplorably reckless decisions on the basis of either the extremely unrestrained by caution desire for some sort of immensly valued reward brought about by increased individual control over an aspect of material or financial natures, or for the grandiosly pretentious, purpose of implicitly proclaiming to the intended recipients "look at me I'm a mircale worker" ignorantly of the probable consequnces, which are precipitated profoundly and for the tantitlizing, primal, quickly inducing synthetic simulations of sensations of epinephrine in the cerebellum's capacity for conceptual connectivity, sadistic amusement of observing fictional characters by the intended observers of such pre-mature members of the homo sapien species which are most commonly referred to as....kids?" Dr Emma Amar, the sister of the captain said all of that in a completely deadpan tone of humour.
"...Any chance of that being translated into English?" Owen asked.
"Certainly: This is not Hollywood." Amar replied.
"...Any relation to Dr Ian Malcolm?"
"Yes, about 50% in fact." Amar replied.
"Wait. So...you...you're his daughter?"
"Assuming I have been appropriately educated in the Englsih language: yes. Would you be so kind as to educate me in how to say "yes" in dinasour? Does it go something like...RAAAWWWR?
My dad spent DECADES warning the primates of planet Earth as to the dangers of playing Lazarus with pre-historic creatures...but evidently many of them have yet to evolve brains more advanced than those from pre-history."
"...Okay yeah SOME are dangerous. BUT...to kill...ALL of the carnivorous creatures...I mean...who will serve as the predator of the ecosystem to keep the herbivores from over-eating and over-populating the planet?"
"Feel free to ask the next time you see a piece of meat on your plate."
"...They should be left alone."
"They should die.
These aren't dogs or cats who can be tamed to not eat humans at all due to their appetites prefering other types of meat. These aren't creatures who are capable of just being kicked or collared. These are creatures who have millions of years of gut instinct genetically hard-wired into them to hunt, and evidently they have a VERY strong taste for human meat, and they didn't just suddenly have that taste, they've had that taste for decades at least."
"...Okay, but there's so few of them..."
"And why should we let them continue living?"
"Well they can be caged-"
"Far more expensively than just killing them, and it's far safer to kill them then to try and capture them. Many who tried to capture rather than kill them died due to their non-lethal weapons not being enough."
"...So daddy got hurt by a T-Rex when you were younger and you develop an electra complex?" Owen wouldn't stop glaring at her.
"Saviour complex to be precise."
"Well...there's no way you're hurting a single scale on any of my raptors."
"Quite. There aren't any scales left, we burnt them with naplam 1 hour ago. No charge for their cremation."
Owen fell into his seat.
"Would you like to make a toast?" As Amar spoke she went to the nearby kitchen.
Owen put his head in his hands for twenty seconds.
Ping!
The sound of a toaster being finished came into the air from the kitchen.
"Here's to the raptors. May the rest in peace....again." Amar went up to Owen holding a literal toast out to him.
Owne looked up and glared at Amar.