▬▬▬▬ ⊰ jurassic world

[echoplex]

From the portside, Donald drank in the view of the still, blue ocean. Come nightfall it resembled freshly pressed glass, absent any anomaly save for the pale white moon casting its reflection over the abyss. Just proceeding midnight he happened across a rather gleeful couple who offered him a drink. They shared their concerns about the amusement park with him. The husband, a grizzled, seemingly retired navy seals officer, pressed his lips in a tight line and raved on about how he thought the idea of dinosaurs was altogether absurd whereas his wife, an altogether average looking woman with big brown doe eyes, predicted the adventure would be the proverbial spark that reignited their drab relationship. Given the circumstances Donald would usually drum up a lame excuse and vault away, but since his new acquaintances kindly offered him a decanter of sweet Cajun bourbon, he was in no position to decline. As he swilled his fill the two continued bickering. Eventually he interrupted and traipsed off on a tangent about the molecular structure of liopleurodon.

When morning crept about, Donald awoke when the announcement system on the crew ship heralded the vessel’s docking. He scrambled to collect his belongings, largely documents written in his drunken stupor during the cruise. Families from all demographics filed onto the gangplank; children were anticipating the attractions and, predominantly, the dinosaurs. Unfortunately, Donald made the rookie move of hastily booking his ticket. Mistakenly he reserved a hotel room on the main island, the generic tourist attraction and general hub of the underwater trams. Traffic was irritatingly high and there was a sufficient lack of alcohol, adult vacation services and women scantily clad enough to make him do so much as turn his head.

Upon disembarking, he was flanked by two security guards. One of them, evidently an ex-cartel member as Donald derived from his jaw tattoo, grappled him by shoulder. Donald, surprised, involuntarily jerked his arm away, but his assailant was persistent. “Donald Churches?”

Donald exhaled sharply. “Not if I owe you money. Or fucked your girlfriend. Or owe you money.” The security guards bristled, each roping his arms while escorting him well away from the crowd. He passed through some of the tourist attractions, ceremoniously being buffeted by his escorts as they encroached on either side. After a long walk, a ride in a tram and an exceptionally lengthy sojourner in a questionably new Ford, he was chaperoned into the depths of a facility that, much to his chagrin, was strangely familiar. Not nearly as familiar, however, as the woman standing in the shadows of a whirring metal console in the niches of the room. She was commiserating with a shorter fellow; he was stout, stern, and mustachioed. When he glimpsed Donald through a pane of glass he slid the door open, gave him an acknowledging nod and vanished behind a massive door.

“Sam? Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Donald freed himself from the security guards, rubbing the stiffness from his shoulders as his comrade eyed him with her strikingly light, hazel eyes. They were littered in flecks of gold, but however enticing they were, she had an insidious air about her that was the antithesis of inviting. “I don’t think the chaperons were necessary, nor was this entire show. You were never one for theatrics, why start now?” He pushed the frames of his handsome black spectacles high up onto the bridge of his nose. Much to his immediate aggravation, the woman replied with silence. “Listen. I’m really not in the mood for your ventriloquist act, Sam. What is this all about? Why, all of the sudden, are you guys hiring the Terminator and fucking … Robocop as security guards?” He could hear the hushed chuckles from a column of security surveillance personnel hiding behind their computer monitors.

“You seldom come when beckoned. The force was necessary, else I’d have had security chase you over the island.” Samosa’s voice was low, sweet and sonorous, heavily redolent of her South African heraldry. She was approaching six feet tall as quickly as she was approaching 3 decades in age. Where Donald was fair complected Samosa was swarthy; her entire face was littered in handsome, sandy freckles, from the corners of her lips to the full arch of her eyebrows. She was fully outfitted in security gear and was all too happy to tote around a six-round SPAS-12 on her back.

“Never understood why you carried around a shotgun. Awfully red-neck for a Capetowner, eh?” Donald scrutinized her with the utmost indignity as he loosed the dirt from his glasses with the hemline of his shirt. The incessant rubbing only seemed to make the glass foggier; he sighed. “What do you want. I’m here meeting someone.”

“Melissa Petty. I know. She’s just recently graduated from MIT. Impressive. I’m afraid I will have to impede on your date.”

“Christ, Sam. How do you know that—never mind. I know how you know. Question is, why are you snooping?”

“Because my employer pays me handsomely to snoop, bru. Dr. Wu has requested an audience. He has a proposition for you.” Truthfully, Donald never understood Samosa’s motives. She was ceremonious, exceptionally well disciplined and an anomaly on her own. They befriended each other in Cape Town—he was situated there doing archaeological research for his genetics thesis whereas she was partaking in something else that he loosely translated as criminal, but regardless, she, too, was enrolled in academic workings.

“A hard comfort. You’re here, that means there’s something under wraps that they’re working very hard to keep a secret. I’m not just a pretty face, Sam.”

Samosa chuckled darkly. “You had me fooled.”

“Fuck off. You’re like the fucking harbinger, Samosa; the heavy guns. They don’t call you in for no reason and I’m well aware that you’re no cheap coke-inhaling whore. You’re a high-class hussy. You don’t spread your legs for an 8-ball and a pretty prick. What’s in this for you?”

There was a lapse of silence. Samosa looked longingly at the door. “I mislike reading the synopsis before watching the movie. Dit is onbeskof om verrassings te bederf vir die toeskouers."

“Nice to know you’re still cryptic as all fuck. Just send me to meet the doctor. I’ll lay into you later.” Samosa flashed him an insidious grin and vanished, leaving Donald to throw his middle fingers up in a rude gesture as she departed. When Dr. Wu entered he mistakenly thought the gesture was directed at him, much to Donald’s embarrassment.

[ Dit is onbeskof om verrassings te bederf vir die toeskouers | It's rude to spoil surprises for guests. ]