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|| Jurassic World: Black Pulse ||
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Chapter 02: "Calm Before The Storm,— Or Something Like That"
Location: Isla Nublar;
Year: 2013 (A few moments after the last chapter);
Leandro's Age:22;
POV:First Person.
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The automated doors hissed shut behind me, sealing in the sharp scent of sterilized ambition and polished authority that lingered in that sterile conference room.
My first encounter with the triumvirate of Jurassic World,— Claire Dearing, Dr. Henry Wu, and the ever-charismatic Simon Masrani,— was now behind me, but the aftertaste remained.
Everything full of formality, and veiled agendas,— something I knew too well, and at the same time, not.
The corridor outside was suffocatingly white,— white walls, white light, and white floors so polished they bordered on blinding.
My eyes squinted against the clinical brightness, until a silhouette began to take form ahead. Petite, feminine, and purposeful.
She stood with her arms crossed, black hair cascading down her shoulders in a sharp contrast against her fitted pale white blazer.
She was striking, definitely,— though not in the same, calculated way Claire Dearing presented herself. This one carried the kind of beauty you'd find sipping espresso on a rooftop café in Rome, legs crossed, sunglasses on, knowing exactly what kind of attention she commanded from other men.
I blinked once, then twice,— focus, Leandro.
Her gaze locked onto mine with the kind of confidence that usually preceded orders, and she stepped forward, phone in hand, like she'd been posted here just for me.
"You must have finished your first interview, Mr..." she trailed off, glancing at her screen for half a second, then back at me with a faint smirk. "Leandro." I nodded, offering her little more than that. "That would indeed be me."
She returned the nod with corporate precision and turned on her heel, motioning for me to follow with a flick of her fingers. "Zara." she said briskly. "I work with the 'Public Relations' team, and for the next few days, I'll be your guide, shadow, and designated babysitter,— if that's alright with you?" She shot me a sideways glance as we walked, her tone light, humurous, but edged with steel,— a professional who clearly dealt with bigger egos than mine on a daily basis.
I gave her a look — eyebrows raised, the universal sign for 'Seriously?',— before replying dryly, "Of course not. But I don't think I have much say in the matter. You're just doing your job, same as I will, I suppose." She gave a small shrug, pressing the elevator call button. "Doesn't change anything between your situation and mine." she said, glancing back at me. "But it felt respectful to ask."
The elevator dinged open and we stepped inside, greeted by the same overly chipper corporate jingle that played during my arrival. A manufactured melody meant to ease tourists and irritate cynics,— it landed somewhere between theme park cheer and psychological warfare.
I sighed, and apparently, my disdain was visible enough to draw a smirk from Zara.
"Not a fan?" she asked, leaning against the mirrored wall with a knowing tilt to her head.
I shrugged. "Not really. My taste leans more toward the kind of music you'd hear pulsing through Ibiza nightclubs,— the type that makes you forget your name." She shot me an unimpressed look that could've curdled milk, and I chuckled. "Can't fault a guy for trying out a new 'breaking-the-ice' joke."
"Right." she muttered dryly, arms crossed again, her expression said, stick to soldiering.
Let me die already...
When the doors parted, all we took were a few steps, and we stepped out into chaos,— the beating heart of the park.
The main street stretched ahead like a polished artery, bustling with tourists in wide-brimmed hats, sticky-fingered children, and exhausted-looking parents chasing after them with overpriced smoothies in hand.
Workers weaved through them like ghosts, blending in only by their ID tags and neutral expressions.
Then, the heat hit me like a breath I didn't ask for,— humid, heavy, and filled with the synthetic tang of sunscreen, popcorn, and the distant musk of something... primal. The air was thick with noise, laughter, shouts, camera shutters.
That irritating cheeriness theme parks are built on.
This... is so fucking strange.
Zara, however, moved like she belonged here, moving with grace,— effortless.
Dodging people without a single brush of contact, gliding between strollers and groups with the grace of someone who'd done this every day for years. I stuck close, less from trust and more from the need to survive the human tide.
She glanced over her shoulder, raising her voice just slightly. "This way,— we're heading to the employee housing on the far end of Main Street. Come on, big guy, you can fit through the gaps." She said it like she was threading a BMW through downtown traffic,— fast, sharp, unapologetic.
Her energy reminded me of someone, though I couldn't quite place who. She was the exact opposite of Claire's reined-in, inside-the-shell elegance.
Zara wasn't wearing a mask,— this was just who she was. "Yeah, yeah. I'm right behind you." I muttered, narrowly avoiding a kid that zipped past with a raptor balloon twice his size. My jaw tightened, crowds had never been my thing after all.
"Try not to step on anyone." Zara teased, eyes scanning the crowd ahead. "HR doesn't like it when we trample tourists. Even the loud ones."
"I'll do my best." I grumbled.
As we approached a large, elegant hotel tucked into the corner of the street,— all white stone and tasteful tropical plants,— Zara finally slowed.
A sleek sign above read: 'Staff Residence – Isla Nublar', and the guards flanking the doors barely gave her a second glance before stepping aside.
She turned to me as we reached the entrance. "Home sweet home,— at least for now." I took one last glance at the crowd behind me, the roar of the park fading just slightly as we passed through the hotel doors into cooler, quieter air.
The hotel lobby was quiet,— blessedly so,— the moment the glass doors slid open behind us.
A hushed lull, cooled by the subtle hum of the air conditioning, swallowed the chaos of the boardwalk like a tide pulling back. For a moment, I just stood there, letting the silence cling to my skin. Let it replace the clammy brush of too many bodies passing too close.
Zara looked back at me, brows arched in slight amusement. "Are you alright? Still breathing?" I exhaled, slow and deliberate, then stepped in fully. "Barely, but I'll live."
"Shame." she muttered under her breath with a half-smile, just loud enough for me to catch. I gave her a sideways glance, and she didn't even try to hide her smirk.
The hotel was... nicer than I expected.
Sleek, and modern. Marble floors polished enough to reflect the overhead lights, while the scent of lemon-scented cleaner lingered in the air, and somewhere deeper inside I could hear the distant hum of a vacuum.
"This way." She waved me over to the front desk, already greeted by the concierge with a clipped nod. "Mr. Leandro's suite is ready,— keycard, welcome packet, and schedule outline." The young man behind the desk passed Zara a small folder and a black keycard with a gold trim.
Classy.
Zara turned back to me, cocking her head to the side. "Suite, huh?" She handed me the key. "Not bad! Most of us mere mortals have to split doubles or dorm-style rooms,— unless you're one of the execs, or, you know... you." I slid the key into my palm with a raised brow. "Already this jealous? And we did not even have our first date yet..."
"Oh, painfully." She chuckled in dry humour.
"You walk in on your first day and land the kind of suite others have to bribe the housing manager for,— assuming they're willing to shell out a chunk of their paycheck for it."
"I didn't ask for it, though." I shrugged, stepping toward the elevator bank. "They just gave it to me, no questions asked."
"Mm-hm." she mused, falling into step beside me. "Must be nice. I didn't know we were rolling out the VIP treatment now. You got a private hot tub in there too?"
"I wouldn't know, but if I do, you're invited to test it out." She laughed at that, short and dry. "Charming."
Yeah, I am starting to understand it myself of the why they called me 'womanizer' back in Africa...
We took the elevator up,— thankfully this one didn't blare the same cheerfully suicidal jingle as the main building. Just the whisper of mechanical hum as it rose, a rare mercy.
"So." she said as we ascended, "I'll give you time to settle in. Shower, change, unpack your toys,— whatever it is you do. Then I'll swing by in about... thirty? We'll grab lunch in the mess hall, meet a few of the other department heads, get you a bit more grounded in the staff side of things."
I nodded, not particularly pleased, nor fully against the idea. "Sounds good to me."
She raised a brow, mimicking my earlier smirk. "Try not to fall asleep on the luxury mattress, alright?"
"No promises." The doors then slid open onto the top floor. Hallways dressed in soft grey, glass wall panels letting in views of the island's central plains.
Zara led the way down the corridor until she reached a door marked 10-F, and with a theatrical gesture, she stepped aside.
"Welcome to the top of the food chain." I inserted the card slowly, and the lock gave a quiet click, making the door swung inward.
The suite wasn't extravagant, not in the golden, opulent kind of way. But it was undeniably expensive.
Clean, modern lines,— a spacious living area with a wide glass panel showing off a partial view of the jungle canopy.
It was full of neutral tones and dark wooden finishes, alonside a king-sized bed at the far end with plush white sheets. There was a small workstation in the corner, with a tablet already placed on the desk. And resting beside the entryway, neatly set on the floor, was my military duffel bag,— just as I had left it with the handlers upon arrival.
Zara leaned against the doorframe but didn't step in. "Damn. Alright, maybe I am a little jealous right now."
I set the bag on the bed, letting my fingers slide across the embroidered insignia stitched into the side. The only remnants of an old life, now a passport into a new one.
"Everything you brought's in there," Zara confirmed casually. "No one went through it,— well, not after security. Standard procedure, but I made sure no one touched anything else." I shot her a glance, studying her face for any hint of irony.
There was none, just simple, honest professionalism.
"Much appreciated." I said quietly, unzipping the main compartment. My gear was all there. Condensed, well-packed. Clothes, a holster, a few personal items.
I didn't have much, I never did.
"Alright, I'll leave you to it." She pushed off the frame and started backing into the hallway. "Thirty minutes. I'll knock before barging in. Remember, try not to get too comfortable in there, okay?" She gave me a small salute, and the door whispered shut behind her.
The silence that followed was stark, and heavy.
I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and took in the island's horizon. Verdant hills rolled far into the distance, with news helicopters faintly visible gliding through the open air like kites on invisible strings.
I let my fingers rest against the cool glass.
Here we go...
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Thirty minutes passed in the blink of an eye, just enough time to scrub the mainland off my skin and stare into the mirror long enough to remind myself not to stare too long.
When Zara returned,— knocking twice and walking in on the third beat like she'd done this routine a hundred times,— she looked surprised that I was already ready.
Clean uniform, boots laced, hair damp,— I'd even made the bed already.
"Military neat." she observed. "You trying to impress the cafeteria staff or something?"
"I just don't like disorder." I replied simply, following her out with a shrug.
The walk to the mess hall of the hotel took us down several floors and through one of the employee-only wings of the hotel compound.
Gone was the glass and glamor,— here, pipes ran overhead and the walls were concrete, clean but utilitarian. It smelled faintly of bleach and whatever they were serving for lunch.
"Most of the operational crew eats here, at least, the ones from this sector of the park." Zara explained. "Scientists, handlers, security. The execs and VIPs eat upstairs, though you're technically cleared for both."
"I think I'll stick with this for now." I told her, and she smiled softly. "Good." she said, glancing sideways at me. "Too much time with the suits makes your soul rot, belive me."
The mess hall doors opened with a soft hydraulic hiss then. Noise hit first, the low thrum of voices, utensils clinking, trays sliding down metal rails. The smell of roasted meat and steamed vegetables,— better than I expected, actually.
The hall was wide and open, filled with long tables and stainless-steel countertops, while vents overhead kept the air cool, and small digital screens rotated through internal announcements: weather warnings, paddock updates, shifts.
Heads turned as we entered, not all, but enough. A few quick glances, one or two people whispered.
I caught someone nudge their friend and murmur something with the words "suite" and "special clearance" tucked between the syllables.
No one smiled.
Zara noticed, of course she did. "Don't mind them." she muttered as we approached the food line. "They're just wondering why some guy with a bag full of nothing got handed privileges most of them still dream of to this day."
"A bit excessive for that, no?"
"I know..." she said. "But you'll still be the villain in someone's story, whether you want to, or not."
We then grabbed two trays. Roast chicken, rice, sautéed greens, and a lemon wedge for lunch. Though what suprised me was that even the cutlery was metal, not plastic.
I couldn't decide if that meant luxury or just better weapon options.
Zara led me toward one of the corner tables, away from the central bustle. As we walked, I heard someone call her name. "Zara!"
A young man with close-cropped hair and a handler's badge waved her over. He was sitting with a woman in a pristine white lab coat,— sharp eyes, no smile. The name on her ID tag read: Dr. Sarah.
Probably an helper of the architect of the modern dinosaur world, Henry Wu.
Zara raised her eyebrows. "Looks like we've been summoned." She joked, approaching the table with easy confidence. "Goos afternoon, Barry. Dr. Sarah."
The handler nodded. "Got room if you two want to join us." He said, in what I noticed to be french accent.
"Leandro, meet Barry. One of our senior trainers. And that's Dr. Sarah, who works with Dr.Wu in the labs." The scientist barely looked up. "So you're the new arrival."
I nodded once. "Yes, ma'am."
"Hmm." That was all.
Zara gave me a quick grin and sat down opposite Barry, and I followed.
Barry leaned forward slightly. "You were military?"
"Special operations." I lied, since not everyone needed to know I was working as a mercenary for years, two weeks before.
He nodded like he'd guessed it already. "You have that look about you. Owen'll want to meet you, that's for sure!"
Zara reached for her drink. "He will indeed, but not yet. Let Leandro here breathe a little before throwing him into the raptor pit."
"Raptors?" I asked in confusion and curiosity, since I had not seen one dinosaur even, in this supposedly full of dinosaurs island.
"Just an expression." Barry said with a sly grin.
Huh, I will surely believe that...
Dr. Sarah, an older woman, finally looked at me, her gaze precise and clinical. "You've been given tier 2 clearance from what I heard. That's unusual for someone not in genetics, or main handler work."
"It wasn't my call." I replied calmly, elluding to the fact that I was sure I would probably be working on something far above the pay-grades of everyone seated at this table.
"Of course not." She murmured, before returning to her salad.
We ate in relative quiet, the air around the table was tight, but not unfriendly. Just... observed.
Every move I made felt watched, assessed.
The new piece on the board, still being weighed, that was me.
Though, for better or for worse, Zara eventually broke the tension. "Leandro's assigned to special logistics, and security. Hybrid support, I think. We'll know more once Hoskins finishes his little backroom dance with the board."
Dr. Sarah didn't react, but Barry did. "Hybrid?" he said quietly. "They're actually moving forward with that?"
"Depends on who you ask." Zara said between breaths. "Depends how useful Leandro turns out to be as well, I would wager." She said it casually, but I felt the undercurrent.
A kind of stupid, political game had already started, and I was the pawn no one understood yet,— as always...
The mess hall began to empty in slow waves, like a tide pulling back from shore.
Trays clattered, chairs scraped back, and conversations splintered off into low murmurs and clipped commands.
Teams left together,— handlers with handlers, scientists in sterile white clusters, the off-duty security in tighter, warier pairs.
People sorted themselves in the way only closed systems do, like blood cells finding their type.
But Zara didn't move yet, and so, neither did I. She leaned back slightly in her chair, legs crossed at the ankle, one hand on her tray, the other twirling a spoon with absent precision. Casual, yes,— but not unaware.
She wasn't exactly watching the room, but I could tell she was clocking it. Every movement, every subtle shift in body language.
She had that predator's stillness, a calm that wasn't disinterest, but control,— even if she tried to pass for a clumsy and uninteresting woman to most people that I saw her interact with today.
When Barry stood to go though, he offered her a polite nod. "Keep me posted on that matter."
"You'll be the second to know." she replied, and he smirked at her game. "And who's first?" She tilted her head toward me, just enough to be teasing, and I blinked, caught off guard. "Depends who's buying me lunch next."
Barry chuckled and walked off, and I noticed the faint tightening of Sarah's jaw as she stood, gathered her things, and left without a word.
Zara didn't flinch, she just stretched, took her tray, and gestured for me to follow. "You're a strange kind of gravity, you know." I muttered, walking beside her toward the conveyor belt for used trays.
"Explain?"
"Dr. Sarah barely spoke to me, and Barry cracked half a smile. But somehow, you were right at the center of both, whether they noticed it or not." She placed her tray down and turned to me as we exited through the side door, her expression unreadable but amused.
"I'm an assistant, Leandro. I schedule flights, and I take messages."
"And I say that's bullshit." I said softly, to which she only offered a smirk. "You've got a good eye." The air outside was thick with humidity and the scent of stone and jungle leaves, if that somehow made any sense.
Somewhere in the distance, the rhythmic chopping of rotor blades echoed against the cliffs. The path behind the mess hall was mostly deserted, just a narrow stretch of concrete lined with trimmed hedges and security cameras that never blinked.
Zara pulled a slim silver case from her pocket and clicked it open. Cigarettes,— old-school ones, not the synth vapes the younger staff sometimes carried. She offered me one with a flick of her fingers.
I hesitated, then took it with a mouthed thank-you. She lit hers first, cupping the flame with her palm, then held the lighter out, a simple brass thing with her initials engraved on the side. Z.Y.
"Y for what?" I asked after lighting mine.
"You'll have to earn that, new guy." We stood in silence for a moment, smoke curling between us, soft and fragrant. Not cheap tobacco,— something imported.
A small luxury, carried like a badge.
She exhaled slowly. "You know what people ask me most when I'm off-duty?"
"What?" I questioned in curiosity.
"'What do you actually do around here?'" She grinned at me then. "Because I don't fit the boxes. I'm not a scientist, certainly not a handler. Not fully PR, somewhat. And yet,— I'm everywhere,— and know of most things inside this park."
I looked at her softly. "So what's the truth?"
She met my gaze, calm and steady. "I'm the person who makes sure the right people never meet at the wrong time,— and the person that reports everything, to the big boss above."
Oh, is she talking about Masrani? Is she some kind of spy inside his own 'kingdom'?
"That sounds... vague." I said, and she flicked ash off the edge of the railing.
"Vagueness is currency here. The moment you start being specific, someone starts plotting how to move you, for their own rise."
"And what do they think of me as of now?" I asked, and she gave me a slow look. "They don't know what to think yet, you have been here for a few hours only. But that scares them more than if they did know." The smoke drifted upward, and the jungle away from us, but very much present, sighed with the distant cry of something too big to be real, too close to forget.
After a long beat, Zara glanced sideways.
"You don't have to trust me, Leandro, at all. But it would be wise to walk beside someone who already knows where the pitfalls are, don't you think?" She questioned me with a glint in her bright eyes, and I chuckled in curiosity and approval. "You're offering me that? Without even knowing me besides 'my shell'?"
Her voice was almost a whisper. "I'm offering now. Tomorrow's a different creature."
Another beat of silence, and then she nodded toward the path. "Come on. There's someone else who's going to want to meet you before the day's over, and before we go and get to explore a little of the park. And unlike me, he actually does bite."
That actually sounded like a fun time.
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|| Jurassic World: Black Pulse ||
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Any thoughts on this chapter? I feel like Zara here looks like Yasmina a lot. Might be wrong though, lmao.