Shit Hits The Fan

Ludlow watched angrily through a live-time video camera feed as two of the three Capture Crew jeeps pursued a group of three running dilophosaurus. The dilophosaurs suddenly came to a halt, and did an about face, their neck frills popping open. Frenzied hooting filled the night air. Before the crewmen could put on their anti-dilophosaur goggles, they were blinded by a rain of pungent venom. Screaming in agony, they clawed at their eyes, and chaos erupted in the jeep. The crewmen started firing their tranquilizer rifles blindly, accidentally shooting the jeep's driver in the process. The jeep careened out of control, crashing into the twisted remains of a cyclone fence. The blinded men were thrown forward into the tangled mess of wires by inertia, and fell ten feet to the muddy, swampy ground.

Ludlow screamed blue murder at Kenny Hall, Felix Zaliky's very high-strung assistant programmer, "Where the HELL is the third jeep?! We've already lost one!"

"I don't know, sir!" squeaked Kenny, frantically bashing keys.

"Use the jeep's tracking beacon!" yelled Ludlow, grabbing Kenny's shirt-collar, "The jeeps were built with the trackers, weren't they?!"

"Yes, sir!" replied a panicked Kenny, keying in new commands. The computer screen changed from displaying video camera images to show a map of the island. A red dot flashed in the island's northern quadrant, near the control center.

"Turn off their island GPS-map," said Ludlow, staring at the red dot, labeled as CCV-02.

"Remotely, sir?"

"How else, smarty pants?" Ludlow's voice dripped with sarcasm.


"Get security up here once you're done. I want those bastards caught and their asses served up to me on a silver platter, got it?"

"Silver platter! Got it, sir!" said Kenny, picking up a nearby phone, after disabling the three saboteur's vehicle's GPS-map.


Meanwhile, in the Jeep they had 'commandeered', Malcolm, Ellie and Grant were heading at full speed towards what they hoped was the island's boathouse. Suddenly, the GPS map they were using turned off. Ellie whacked it on the side, but to no effect.

"What the Hell?" she asked, puzzled, "Our GPS has gone kaput!"

"What?" yelled Grant from the front, where his car-totaling driving skills were being used.

"I said, our GPS just conked out!" she said, waving the GPS in front of his face.

"Whoa, you'd better stop that, or Alan's gonna CRAAAAASSSSSHHHHHHHH!!!" Malcolm screamed out the word 'crash' as Grant, his vision obstructed by Ellie waving the GPS in front of his face, crashed into a tree by the side of the road. They all jerked forward, slamming into the tree or each other.

"OUCH, that hurt!" yelled Malcolm, whipping out his laptop, "Hope my com isn't damaged."

"What's so special about the flaptop?" asked Grant, curious.

"It's called a laptop, not flaptop," chided Ellie, "But anyways… What's so special about the laptop, Ian? Contain your personal porn video supply?"

"It does not!" snapped Malcolm, turning on his laptop, "I just happened to hack into the Prehistoric World mainframe just now. We can now shut down every piece of shit on this island, from my lappie here."

"Cool shit," said Grant, impressed.

"Let's mess up their master computer," said Ellie, grinning naughtily.

"Mess it up how?"

"I dunno… Make the PC randomly open files or display naughty pictures or something…"

"Good idea," said Malcolm, turning to his laptop and typing in some rather… disturbing commands, "They're gonna love this…"


Kenny Hall was working frenziedly to turn on the fences (why hadn't Boss Felix turned them on at the power plant?), when the computer screen went black. He jumped out of his chair, startled.

"What on Earth?"

"You screwed up, didn't you?" snarled Ludlow in a threatening voice, as he advanced towards Kenny.

"No! No! It isn't my fault!" squealed Kenny, turning white as a sheet, just as the screen came back to life. A deep, baritone voice boomed out of the speakers, in a flirtatious manner.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the……. Ladies' Night!" the voice announced, as dozens of thumbnail-sized pornographic images filled the screen. Before Kenny could do anything, a large, flashing pop-up appeared on-screen. It had the words, 'FREE XXX MOVIES!!! CLICK HERE TO ENTER' flashing in scarlet letters on it.

Ludlow's face flushed red with rage, "WHAT IS THIS?"

"I… I… I dunno, sir!" squeaked Kenny, staring fearfully at the images. Though he had to admit, that girl DID look nice and curvy…

"FIX IT!" bellowed Ludlow, grabbing a fistful of Kenny's hair.

Kenny tapped several keys, entering a command to refresh the screen, but the porn was merely replaced by a cumulative frequency curve titled as, 'DX Dinosaur Death Graph', and Lori Ruso's shrill voice blasted out of the speakers. He punched in another command, only to have the janitor crew's toilet-cleaning schedule pop up. He tried another refresh command, but brought up a revolving, three-dimensional image of a double helix-shaped structure, a DNA strand. The DNA strand was suddenly replaced by thousands of blurred lines of numbers and alphabets-nucleotide sequences-that scrolled downwards, then returned to the top, went to the bottom, and back to the top, repeating the cycle in an endless process.

Ludlow was, by now, on the verge of choking Kenny. He pulled Kenny up from the comptroller's chair and got him in a half-Nelson , shouting, "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS CRAP? WHY ARE WE SEEING YOUR PERSONAL PORN SUPPLY AND THE GENE SEQUENCER FILES?"

"I….I….I….Don't. Know. Sir. And. It's. not. My. Porn," gasped Kenny, turning blue.

Ludlow dropped him back into the chair, and stared at all the computer screens in the room, which were all displaying the endless cycle of scrolling nucleotide sequences. He grabbed a walky-talky, and radioed his hired arms, "Shoot intruders. Shoot to kill. If not, well… that's when the shit hits the fan!"

"Hasn't….hasn't it already?" wheezed Kenny, trying to key in several shutdown commands.

Ludlow gave him punch to the face, KO-ing him. Having knocked Kenny out, he dialed up Felix's walky-talky frequency.


Felix's walky-talky crackled with static, "Felix, you read me?"


Again, "Felix, are you there?"

More silence.

"Dammit Felix, pick up!"

"I'm firing you, Felix," the person on the other end threatened.

Still silence.

The walky-talky went dead, in a pool of human blood, in the geothermal power plant. Nearby lay the mangled remains of a person, the corpse covered in deep lacerations, almost as clean-cut as incised wounds.