Chương 3: Indominus Rex (3)

She often felt as though her mind were shrouded in fog. It was a fog she couldn't dispel, one she could only wait to see evaporate on its own. It clouded her awareness, sealed away her understanding, and blurred what little she already knew. It allowed her to grasp the general shape of things while concealing their precise meanings and keeping their origins beyond her reach. Only growth and sleep could make the fog recede.

Every time it withdrew, her understanding of herself and the world around her advanced another step. By now, for example, she had developed a concept of time. She first became aware of "time" while waiting to be fed. She remembered the pattern clearly. Whenever the artificial sun brightened, prey would enter through the chute—usually something with four legs. Once the light dimmed, prey would arrive through the water, most often something with no legs.

After seeing this happen several times, she recognized a pattern: four-legged food appeared during the day, legless food appeared after dark, and two-legged food—humans—appeared at all hours. This taught her the difference between day and night, but she still knew nothing of time passing. Only after noticing that a numbered sheet of paper in the laboratory was torn away with every cycle of light and darkness did she learn what a "day," a "week," and a "month" were.

Then she woke from a nap one day and found that something in her mind had clicked into place. She suddenly remembered that the pad of paper with its pages torn away was called a calendar. She understood that the round disk with one long hand and one short hand was a clock. Somehow, she also knew how to read it. The realization struck her: she must have learned these things during some forgotten period of her existence. She must once have used them regularly. How else could the knowledge come so naturally to her?

These things belonged to humans. They were human tools and human knowledge. Did that mean she had once been "human"? Was that why everything associated with humanity felt so familiar? The fog thinned a little, but nothing waited behind it except thicker fog. Thinking consumed a great deal of energy. Her morning meal had already been digested, so to spare herself the discomfort of an empty stomach, she minimized her movement and spent most of her time lying down.

She often used these quiet hours to watch the world outside. She listened deliberately to the humans, memorized the words they used, and gradually learned their language. At first, she understood nothing. But after enough time immersed in their speech—combined with her mind's infant-like ability to absorb language—she reached a state of partial comprehension. Technical terminology remained beyond her, but she had mastered many of the words humans used in everyday conversation.

She knew the name of the coffee they drank every day. She learned the names they used for one another and the words for the foods most frequently delivered to her. A few terms caught her attention more than the others:"The other one."

"The first one."

"Genes."

"First-generation Scorpios rex." She didn't yet understand what those terms meant, but she recognized the fear they inspired in the humans. Fear was familiar to her. It was the only emotion that made humans set aside their arrogance. When frightened, their eyes resembled those of the prey she had killed, finally making them seem a little more "endearing." But what were they afraid of? Driven by that question, she paid even closer attention to their conversations and body language.

After four or five days, she came to understand what they meant by "the other one" and "the first one." Whenever the humans used those terms, they looked toward the laboratory next door. Henry Wu spent an unusual amount of time in that adjoining room. Every so often, the roar of a beast or the scream of a human came from within. Whenever Henry Wu left that room and appeared before her, she knew her care regimen was about to change again. It would become more professional and more precisely targeted.

It would also become harsher and more savage. She had never understood why he was so "professional." Now she did. Another… dinosaur like her was being kept next door. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. But that raised a question. If the other dinosaur was the first one, did that make her the second? The second what? And what was a first-generation Scorpios rex? What… was she? Seven days passed, with two meals each day.

Then her final meal arrived—not a living animal, but a tray of prepared beef. It smelled unpleasant. She had no desire to eat it, but refusing meant going hungry until morning. For the sake of her unfortunate stomach, she finally lowered her head and reluctantly deigned to take a bite. The moment the drugs in the meat took effect, she lost consciousness. When awareness returned, she discovered that she had been removed from her territory.

She lay on a spotless white metal table, her jaws sealed shut, her claws restrained, and her tail secured. She couldn't move at all. She struggled twice for form's sake, then immediately stopped wasting her strength.

"Twenty-eight days old. Four weeks. Body length: 23. 62 inches. Weight: 39. 64 pounds. Twenty-one teeth. Healthy development. Normal bone density." A researcher attached sensor pads to her body while watching the readings on a computer.

"Compared with the other specimen at the same developmental stage, this one is showing extremely high levels of brain activity. Heart rate normal. Emotional state…remarkably stable? Wait. It's awake."

"Awake? Already? Was the dose too low?"

"The dosage isn't the problem," the researcher replied.

"Its brain is awake, but its body is still unconscious. With the other specimen, it was the opposite—the body woke while the brain remained sedated. That's why it wrecked the laboratory." Their experience with the first specimen had convinced them that handling the second would be easy. What they hadn't anticipated was that even with an increased dose of anesthetic, her mind would awaken before her body. Was it an accident? A coincidence? Or had her genes undergone some unknown mutation?

Seeking both an explanation and a way to eliminate the potential risk, the researcher brought the matter to Dr. Wu. Unfortunately, the honest man had asked the wrong person. How could an ordinary mind hope to compete with a scientific monster wearing human skin?

"It's a picky eater?" Henry asked.

"Yes, Doctor," the researcher replied.

"It eats only the meat, brain, heart, and liver of its prey. It leaves everything else untouched." Unlike the other specimen—or any carnivorous dinosaur they knew of—she didn't indiscriminately swallow every part of her prey. She was such an oddity that she plucked the feathers from birds before eating them and even scraped the scales from fish with her claws.

"We all believe it possesses a certain degree of intelligence," the researcher continued.

"Its 'awakening' may be connected to the primate genes incorporated into its genome. But whatever the variable may be, this has already gone far enough."

"Doctor, its temperament is more stable than the other specimen's, but its intelligence is frightening." Henry smiled.

"Animals that are selective about their food are indeed more intelligent. They can identify toxins, avoid risks, and maintain a high survival rate. But animals that aren't selective tend to have stronger constitutions. They can break down toxins, develop antibodies, and achieve an even higher survival rate." His tone remained perfectly casual, as though everything unreasonable were the most reasonable thing in the world.

"Intelligence does not guarantee that an animal will reach adulthood, but a strong constitution ensures that it will be the last one standing. Instead of worrying about the intelligence of an infant dinosaur, you should worry about the appetite of an adult one. After all, no matter how intelligent a hatchling may be, it cannot count. But no matter how stupid an adult dinosaur may be, it can still eat people." The matter was dropped. After that day, she never saw that researcher again.

The laboratory remained subdued for several days. No one dared question Dr. Wu's authority or voice another objection. Some even sat together mocking the reckless young fool who had left, finding it absurd that a scientist could be frightened by a dinosaur's "intelligence."

"It's only an animal."

"Even if it has primate genes, that doesn't make it a primate."

"And what are primates, anyway? Chimpanzees? New World monkeys? They could never become human." They were convinced that no creature could challenge humanity's position at the top of the food chain. In the fifth week, Dr. Wu issued new orders, completely overhauling the second hatchling's care regimen. When the plan was distributed, its conditions were so severe that the researchers stared at it in disbelief. They suspected Dr.

Wu was trying to dispose of the company's second asset while remaining technically compliant with procedure. Nothing else could explain such a punishing diet and training program. But no one dared object. Dr. Wu noticed their hesitation and, seemingly in a good mood, offered an explanation.

"Dinosaurs created from hybrid genomes are undeniably valuable, but we know far too little about them. Now that we've confirmed the first specimen is likely to survive, it is time for the second to serve its purpose." They understood. The second hybrid had been created solely as insurance for the first. If the first died before reaching maturity, the backup would allow them to answer to their superiors. But the first hybrid was now eight weeks old.

Thanks to its exceptional constitution, it had survived the critical period when genetic disorders were most likely to emerge and prove fatal. Its chances of reaching adulthood were now virtually guaranteed. The laboratory had fulfilled its obligation. The second specimen no longer served much purpose. They could use her for a wide range of tests, gather data on hybrid dinosaurs, and then apply their findings to improve the way they raised the first specimen.

"We understand, Doctor." Their efficiency was extraordinary. Within three hours, they had located the first wild animal that met the standards of the new feeding plan. They also abandoned the regular feeding schedule, replacing it with meals of unpredictable timing and quantity. They opened the chute and released a wild reticulated python into the enclosure. It was roughly thirty-five inches long and had not eaten in nearly a week. It was hungry and aggressive, capable of swallowing prey several times its own size.

More importantly, its powerful coils and bite would make the "asset's" hunt considerably more difficult. Following the scent of "food," the python swiftly slithered into the enclosure. At the time, she was napping in the shadows. Before her mind had even registered the intrusion, her body had already entered a combat state. Her instincts jolted her awake. The moment she opened her eyes, she saw the python staring back at her with cold, unwavering focus. Her mind went blank.

She thought she must have been afraid of such a twisted-looking creature. Otherwise, the instant their eyes met, she wouldn't have lost control and unleashed a roar unlike anything she had ever produced before. There was fury at the invasion of her territory. There was terror at the threat to her life. But above all, there was one overwhelming thought: I must kill the thing that frightens me. She believed she had almost completely lost her mind. She couldn't remember how she attacked or fought.

She knew only that when her awareness returned, her claws had torn her prey apart and ripped open its belly. Its head had been crushed beneath her foot. Its organs had been trampled into pulp. And she was chewing on its spine. She stopped. Her entire body went rigid. But the shock soon passed. She lowered her head and resumed eating, casting aside human likes and dislikes until only the habits of a beast remained.