Prehistoric emergence

Scenario one: The Unprotected Supermarket

Rain hammered hard against the corrugated metal roof of the small “Good Price” supermarket, one of the few still open in the city. The shelves were half-empty, prices outrageous, and the air mixed the smell of disinfectant with old meat. You pushed a nearly empty cart, holding a 5-kilogram bag of rice that cost the equivalent of a full day’s work. A kilo of coffee was marked at $29.80. Outside, the gray sky and torrential rain turned the street into a filthy river.

Two GPAC soldiers, in black tactical vests and helmets bearing the Commission logo, stood by the register with their weapons at rest. Suddenly, one of their radios crackled with a short, urgent signal. Without a word, without any explanation, the two looked at each other, turned their backs, and walked out through the automatic doors. The doors slid shut behind them with a sharp click.

Silence lasted only three seconds.

Panic spread like wildfire.

Thin man with glasses: staring at the door that had just closed “They... they just left?”

Woman with tied-back hair: already stuffing chocolate bars into her jacket pockets “Lock the door! Lock that damn thing right now!”

Several people started moving at once. Quick hands vanished with cans, packs of cookies, bars of soap. No one looked at the register. The manager, a middle-aged man with a sweat-soaked shirt, tried to shout something, but his voice was lost in the noise.

In the middle of the chaos, an obese man in a wet black t-shirt and loose pants approached the meat section. Without ceremony, he grabbed a large piece of unwrapped meat, without weighing it, without paying. He clutched the bloody cut with both hands and ran toward the door, shoving anyone in his way.

Obese man: shouting as he crossed the automatic doors “Fuck all of you! I’m not dying of hunger!”

He disappeared into the rain.

From inside, his silhouette was barely visible through the fogged glass. The rain was too dense. Then came the sound.

A wet thud. A short scream, cut off in the middle.

Through the curtain of water, a long, light-brown shape moved. The female Deltadromeus, sleek-bodied with a narrow head, ripped the piece of meat from the man’s hands in one clean motion. The man screamed and tried to run back toward the supermarket door, slipping on the wet sidewalk.

He didn’t make it.

A second silhouette, larger and bright orange, emerged from the rain like a ghost. The male. In a silent, precise leap, he closed the distance. His hind claws sank into the man’s back. A crack. Then only the sound of rain and something being dragged away.

Woman with tied-back hair: voice shaking as she pushed the emergency door “Lock it! Lock this shit right now!”

Manager: running to the glass door and turning the key with trembling hands “Nobody leaves! Nobody comes in! Stay away from the windows!”

Several customers joined him. The door was locked. The bolt made a loud metallic sound. Someone shoved a heavy cart against the glass as reinforcement.

Inside, everyone breathed hard. Rain pounded the roof and the windows, erasing any clear view of the outside. The scent of predators, if it existed, was washed away by the water. No one could see beyond two meters. Only distorted dark shapes occasionally moving in the storm.

But something was out there.

Something large enough not to care about the rain. Something whose eyes cut through the curtain of water and the fogged glass as if no barriers existed. Something that watched every movement inside the supermarket — every body crouched behind shelves, every pale face near the security cameras, every trembling hand gripping a can of corn as if it were a weapon.

The thing outside didn’t need to come closer yet. It could already see everything.

Scenario two: The London Underground Shelter

The automated train hummed steadily through the darkened tunnels beneath central London. Claw marks scored the metal walls and cracked several of the reinforced windows—deep, curved gouges left by something large that had once tried to force its way in. The carriages were no longer simple transport. They had been converted into mobile temporary shelters: refrigerated compartments for food and water, narrow fold-down beds along one side, seats that could collapse into more sleeping space, and locked cabinets containing non-lethal emergency weapons—stun batons, pepper-spray launchers, and signal flares.

You stepped aboard with fourteen other passengers. The doors sealed with a heavy hydraulic hiss. The interior lights were dim, deliberately low to avoid attracting attention from above ground. Most people sat in silence, clutching bags or staring at the floor. A few checked the ration lockers out of habit.

The train moved without a driver, guided by the central GPAC system. It was safer than the surface roads—cars and motorcycles had become easy targets for anything that could fly or run fast enough. Still, no one fully trusted the tunnels.

After several minutes the train slowed and stopped at the next station. The automated voice announced the stop in a calm, neutral tone. The doors opened.

You stepped out onto the platform—

and froze.

A Quetzalcoatlus stood less than ten meters away.

Its enormous body filled much of the open platform space. The head was slightly lowered because of the low ceiling height, the long beak almost level with your chest. Dark, intelligent eyes locked onto the group of passengers. The massive wings were half-folded, the tips nearly brushing the tiled walls. Rainwater from the surface dripped from its feathers and beak onto the concrete floor.

Woman near the doors: whispering, already backing up “Don’t move... nobody move...”

Man with a backpack: hand slowly reaching toward the emergency cabinet “It’s watching us. It’s right fucking there.”

The Quetzalcoatlus shifted its weight. One huge foot scraped against the platform, the sound echoing down the empty tunnels. Its head tilted slightly, studying each person in turn. The air smelled of wet feathers, ozone, and something older—something that didn’t belong in the modern world.

Teenage boy: voice cracking “Can it fit through the doors?”

Older woman: eyes fixed on the beak “If it wants to... it will.”

Behind you, the train doors remained open, the carriage lights glowing softly. The automated system waited the programmed number of seconds before it would close and leave. No one had moved yet.

The Quetzalcoatlus took one slow step closer. Its shadow stretched across the entire platform. And still, those eyes never left the group.