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[thoughtsofadaydreamer]

Cleaning house

(Punisher fan fiction)

Little Italy, NY. Circa 1977. New York. Americas Mafia homeland. Originating in the late 19th century long before any of us in this era even knew how to say the word “Mafia”. Growing fearsome and powerful in the 20s and 30s. Prohibition era was a goldmine for the Mafiosos. And into the 40s, 50s, 60s. Reaching their peak in the 70s. No one, not even the president could stop the Mafia in this time. At least that is until a tragic sunny day happened in the summer of ‘75. “They should have put another bullet in my skull.” Castle thinks to himself. Sitting patiently inside of his black van. He stares off into the distance towards the front of a convenience store. “Tricanni’s” the building reads. Frank Castle was the victim of an attempted murder on his life. Still alive to remember the day, he truly died when his wife and 2 kids werent so lucky. Slain by the mob on what was meant to be a picnic day at the park. After discovering a mob hit, the Castle family were to be killed for the witnessing. When Frank arose from death, with no help from the crooked police department, he began a one man war against the cities underworld. After 2 years, Frank is digging deeper and deeper into the mob. Chipping away for the past 2 years to get to the higher ups.

Dominic Tricanni was a Caporegime (captain) for the Gnucci (pro. NEW-CHEE) crime family. The same organization responsible for the death of Franks family. Tricanni being his last lead on the whereabouts of Ma Gnucci after she went into hiding. Ma Gnucci was the wife of Don Vittorio Gnucci. When the Don died, his widow decided to take his place of power. Something never before seen until her time. Ruling the crime family with her hand practically on everyones balls. A real mean old bitch as many of her own associates consider her. Castle originally planned on attacking each of the capo’s crews to break down the family section by section. But when Ma Gnucci decided to lay low, Castles only way of finding out her location is through the last captain still breathing. This is where Tricanni comes in. Frank waits outside for another 10 minutes. Only looking away for a millisecond to check his watch every now and again. Once the lights go out in the building, Frank gears up. He throws his leather trenchcoat over his white skull kevlar and makes his way across the street.

Tricanni’s was a typical NYC business building. Store on the bottom, apartments on top. He knew thats where the mob run establishment counted profits through the fronts. The place where you buy a loaf of bread, some milk, maybe some snacks, smokes, beer, and a package of God knows what if you ask for the right people. Understand? However much money was made through the packages, was moved upstairs. So the building had to have wiseguys with guns throughout the building. Frank taps on the glass of the door, holding his head down as the man behind the counter peeks out. Castle sticks up his middle finger yelling the words “Fuck you, you fucking guinea pricks!” The man dashes out through the door “I TOLD YOU LITTLE BASTARDS TO STOP COMI-“ the man stops and looks around an empty street. Feeling alone. Until 2 man hands grip under his chin and on top of his cranium. Twisting with a loud violent crunch. He drops dead weight into Castles arms, dragging him into the store. Dumping him off behind the counter. Castle searches his body and discovers a Colt. 1911. Checking the chamber for a round. “Full clip” he mutters to himself. Holstering the weapon down the front of his belt. His boots silently stepping through the door to the stairway. He listens. “HAHAHAHA!!!” Laughter coming from upstairs. He follows the sound of humorous covervastion until he spots 2 more waiting around the next corner. “Ay, so how was that slut you took home last night?” One asks the other. Castle eases up the stairs hugging the wall close with his back, listening. “Yo i think you were right about’er....been itchin’ all day. Fuck!” The 2 men laugh hysterically, castles lip snarls at the sound of the 2 mobsters. He listens for footsteps. Trying to pinpoint how they move.

Planning his next move, he unholsters one of his own pistols. An all black enhanced 1911 .45. Loaded with armor piercing rounds. He begins to twist a silencer on the handgun as one of the pair speaks, “you hear about Freddy?” Then the other, “All i know is hes dead, why?” The conversation continues. “I mean how he died. Cops and news reporters saying its the punisher. I believe ‘em.” Castle almost smiles as he peeks around the corner ever so slightly. “Ahhh fuck Castle. If i see ‘em ill have ‘em carrying his heart in a fuckin’ doggy bag.” Castle makes his move while their guards are down. “Nows your chance.” He mutters to them, standing below the staircase. Before the men could draw their weapons Castle unloads 2 rounds into their heads. The bodies drop with the shell casings. The wall behind them painted with blood and brain. “Whoops, too slow.” He jokes as he steps past the bodies. Meanwhile on the 3rd floor, Dominic Tricanni discusses bullshit talk while he counts his earnings. “So far its 15 G’s Dom.” One of his associates speaks up. “Not bad, not bad at all.” Tricanni replies. His face a little aged. Like an old war veteran who was the grease monkey cook of the platoon but could fight. Which he could. Tricanni used to be an amateur boxer on the streets of Jersey. Eventually being hired by Don Vittorio Gnucci himself as a source of income. Over time he became a small time enforcer on the side before choosing to work full time for the mob. Rising through the ranks and being granted his own crew in NY. A foul mouthed, tough Italiano with a love for money and a good fight. “This stays between us. Ma wants 10% of every take. Well we gonna give her what she THINKS is 10%. Tell her maybe business was slow this week. Not alot of customers. Capiche?” The others nod and reply, “Capiche”. Flicking cigarettes and downing scotch. “That bitch gets on my nerves.” Tricanni states. One cracks a joke, “Maybe shes a bitch because ever since Vito died, she hasnt been getting...properly pampered? If you know what i mean?” They chuckle as another pokes fun, “yeah Dom why dont you dust her off and take her for a spin y’know? Take one for the team huh?” Dominic laughs then responds, “I wouldnt fuck her with YOUR little pee shooter Ralphy.” They laugh, oblivious to the trouble approaching. Outside the room, Castle covers the mouth of another mobster. As his knife calmly slices across the adams apple of the man. The sound of muffled choking and blood curdling fills the vigilantes ears. Watching the door in case he is too audible. More laughter is heard as Frank drops the body. Snagging a sawed off shotgun from the dead mans grip. He holsters the shotgun to unscrew the silencer from his pistol. “Gonna have to get loud.” He thinks to himself. He currently wields both weapons, standing in front of the apartment door. He knocks on the door, waiting to hear the footsteps get closer. He hears whistling from behind the door signaling a cue for his next move. “BOOM!”

The mobster goes stumbling back, leaving a large hole in the door from the sawed off. “WHAT THE FU-! [BOOM!]” the last round from the shotgun bursts through the door. Enough to send the gangsters back falling to the floor. Castle spartan kicks the door with his large heavy combat boots. Breaking it off the hinges. Dropping the sawed off and equipping his secondary pistol. “BAM! BAM!” Headshots. 2 mobsters rise from behind the table, greeted with .45 caliber rounds to the cranium. Tricanni, still down, is painted with his mens blood. From the kitchen another spawns “HEY!!! ITS CASTLE!!!” Castle twists his head to the left. Just as the gangster pulls the trigger on his Micro smg. Machine gun fire sprays the room as Frank jump into the bedroom. Landing on his side. Bullet holes spawn as the mobster continues to unload his clip. Sending glass and drywall pieces all over the bedroom. Castle sends a few rounds through the wall in return. He notices a change in the scenario. The shots change place, now being shot from the right instead of the left. Frank follows up with gunfire of his own. Popping off the rest of the clip into the wall as a distraction before “BAM!” He lets off one last round just as the mobster was changing positions. Killing him. Tricanni sees this and attempts to run. “BAM! BAM!” Castle puts 2 in Tricannis leg. The Mob captain screams in agonizing pain as he attempts to crawl. But Frank beats him to it. And grabs him by his foot. Dragging him to the kitchen.

Tricanni sits handcuffed in a dining room chair. Dripping blood from his leg wounds. “What do you want with me Castle?” Frank stares him down, silent. Pulling up a chair seating himself directly in front of Dominic. “You want to know where Ma is!? Is that it? Well fuck you! I hate that old cunt just as much as you but ill be damned if i cooperate with you!” Frank doesnt break his cold stare. Keeping eye contact. Suddenly Tricanni feels a jolt of excruciating pain sent up his thigh and all over his leg. Frank has stuck his finger inside his bullet wound. “I think we need to try that again.” His voice gruff and dark. Like death itself if it could talk. Tricanni grits his teeth, holding back any screams as best as he can. Frank hooks his finger making Tricanni tear up and jolt around. “Where...is...Ma...Gnucci?” Tricanni breathes heavy but doesnt scream or give in. “I admire your pain tolerance. I wont take away your strength, ill give you that. But Tricanni either you give me an address or i plant a third one in your leg and play bowling. Now tell me....” he cocks his pistol and aims below the 2 bullet wounds. Suddenly, his home phone rings. Frank looks at Tricanni and stands. “No running off.” He walks over and picks up the phone as a woman speaks. Tricanni watches as Castle writes down on a napkin. He hangs up after a few minutes and washes his hands of blood. Tricanni pants as he speaks up “s-so what now?” Castle stops and looks down at Dominic “Now?” He raises his arm “(click) BAM!” Tricanni’s brains coat over the kitchen counter. “You give the devil my regards.”

As Castle walks back down into the convenience store the phone behind the counter rings. Frank ponders but then decides to answer. “Is this Tricanni’s?” Frank almost chuckles “It was...” he thinks to himself. “Yes” he answers. The man on the phone continues on. “Tell him ill be back by to pick up my package i ordered. Is tomorrow a good time?” Frank looks outside for any company. “Not a good idea. Tricanni’s is kind of going out of business after tonight and will be discontinuing any service to the public. Sorry for the inconvenience.” He hangs up and walks out into the New York streets back to his van. Checking the napkin he wrote on. “Rochester-3:00 p.m.-brick house few blocks from hospital. Tuesday.” He folds it up and starts the van. “Nothing like a little spring cleaning to make you feel like a new man.” He smirks to himself as he drives through the dark lonely streets.

[thoughtsofadaydreamer]

The man named Logan

Castle and Logan listen to the sound of fire crackling, boots stepping through the grassy camp grounds and chatter between the militia troops. Castle struggles with his ropes. Believing his could loosen the knot eventually but stops, thinking of how far he would get with how many eyes are on them. Logan chuckles lifting the corner of his mouth in a slight smirk. “Its useless bub, you probably wouldnt get 5 feet.” Castle laughs hysterical and sarcasticly “I realized that.” Castle is no stranger to Nam. Being in country for the last 2 years. He has seen his fair share of combat. Despite the amount of bunkers, villages and camps he has raided. Capture has yet to be in his resume. Until today. “I have a plan.” Logan begins ruffling the ropes, twisting and turn his wrists from behind the post. “What do you need me to do?” Castle asks curiously. Logan smiles as he prepares himself, “Sit back and enjoy the show.” He starts to pull up his arms. His face turning apple red, his veins pulsing in his neck. His teeth gritting with grunts that sound borderline animal like. Castle stares confused, then shocked as he spots the determined Logans wrists begin to tear. Blood dripping like water as his hands tear out of his skin like a snake shedding. He screams in a rageful pain, attracting the attention of the Vietcong tenants. They march over from 25 feet away straight towards the men. Castle begs to Logan “What the f-, what are you doing?” Logan breaks free of his ropes as he falls to the dirt. The soldiers shout in vietnamese as they approach with guns aimed and ready. “What the hell Logan?” Castle thinks to himself. In an instant, Logan lunges to the man tackling him to the ground. And then to the next, and the next. Castle cant believe his eyes. As Logan throws punches the guerilla troops fall to the ground dead. Stabbed and sliced. “How?” He thinks to himself. As the last guard falls he spots them, his hands. Between his skinless knuckles are a set of 3 claws on each hand. Rough and rugged, sharp with an off white yellowish color like bones. Logan approaches Castle, reaching back with an index claw. The 2nd and 3rd receeding into his arms. He cuts the sargeant free of his wrist and ankle bondages. Castle stares at the man. Unable to believe what he had witnessed. “You aint human...” Logan leans down grabbing an Ak47 off the ground, handing it to the surprised Castle. “Dont judge me.” Castle takes the weapon from Logan checking the clip “maybe we should find some bandages for your ha-“ he watches with an open jaw as the skin finishes healing over the mutants hands. Logan winks at him. He sniffs the air jolting his head the north. Sniffing continuously “we still got company, cmon.” Logan bolts off with Castle sprinting behind him. Castle takes cover firing his rifle at the VC troops as Logan flanks around. Lunging up easily 10 feet over the huts. Into the nearest unsuspecting enemy. The vietcong scatter, as they are no match for their newly freed captives. The fight continues as the 2 soldiers do what they do best with the terrified vietcong. Eventually, Logan emerges from the dirt pulling his claws out of his last victim. “Frank?” He looks around, a storage shed flashes with pistol fire. A VC soldier tumbles out with Castle following holding a smoking pistol. Delivering a few more shots into the body until “CLICK” empty. Frank looks across the camp to Logan with a smile. “Dont judge me.” Logan smirks and rallys with Frank. Scooping up a shotgun as Frank checks for ammo. The 2 soldiers carry on through the jungle. With Frank stating “remind me never to accidently shake your hand.”

-To be concluded in part 3-

[thoughtsofadaydreamer]

The Ambush

Vietnam, 1967. The Sargeant leads his men through the thick jungle of southeast Asia. The crunch of leaves and sticks under combat boots, occasional whispers and puffing of cigarettes make up the platoon. The sargeant takes point 5 feet away from his team, scoping his surroundings only moving his eyes. Amongst the quiet conversations small chuckles are heard from behind the newly appointed platoon leader. He grunts at the sound of the joking men. He makes a sudden stop, lifting his arm up with an opened hand gesture signaling the platoon to hold. The mens faces drop at the seriousness of their surperior. Standing with one foot only inches above the ground. He cocks his foot back and lifts up, reaching out in front with his boot like hes stepping over something. He finally speaks looking down at his previous position. “Tripwire” his voice rough and unfazed. He continues on a few more feet taking a knee as he waits for his men. All while taking in the jungle around him. “Just wind and birds.” He thinks to himself. He rises to his feet and continues the patrol. They reach a small opening in the trail. A gap in the treeline where the sun breaks through and only grass covers the land. No cover for 30 feet. The sargeant contemplates as he scans the perimeter. He rallys his men waving his index finger around above him. They all huddle up close to each other kneeling. Chewing gum and clearing their throats with soft coughs as the platoon leader speaks. “We go around, im not risking making any of us easy targets. We get out into the open there is a high chance we become sitting ducks.” His dog tags dangle and “clink” together as he informs the G.I.’s. “We split up each side. Herald, you take the left with Lance, Phillip and Marcus. Robert? Darren? Mike? With me.” He signals the men to maneuver and they split up covering the left and right of the opening. Swatting away bugs while breaking through the foliage, the sargeant sends the signal to get down and stay alert. All together they drop, lying prone on the thick grass. Weapons ready. The men stare off to the north of them. Ready for the unseen threat that has the platoon leader spooked. But suddenly, one of the soldiers is painted with blood from the man next to him. Followed by screaming in vietnamese in the distance. “BEHIND US! BEHIND US!” The sargeant shifts his view to his 6. Unloading fully automatic gunfire from his M16 assualt rifle. Shadow figures dash through the jungle around them. “ROBERTS DOWN!” The bloody man screams. Just seconds after, what sounded like a speeding zip followed by a crackling snap sends the man dropping to the ground. “TWELVE O’CLOCK!!!” The sargeant screams. Gun fire riddles the land from all sides. “THESE FUCKERS ARE EVERYWHERE!!!” Herald screams from the other side. One by one more bodies drop from the platoon. The sargeant unloads his 4th clip, sending a 5th into the empty assault rifle. Cocking back with authority and continuing to rip through the trees with hail of gun fire. As he looks around he happens to spot only 2 out of his platoon still standing. He sprints to group up with the others. But is greeted with light machine gun fire instead killing the last 2 remaining. He dashes back trying to find decent cover. Unloading on a group of 3 VC soldiers ahead of him. He ducks behind a tree checking his ammo as bullets chip away at his cover. Trying to hold in place. He takes the opportunity to shoot. The rifle clicks. Jammed. “Fuck...” he attempts to fix the malfunction but the enemy is drawing in closer and closer. He drops his rifle and begins to fire round after round from his 1911 .45 at the charging VC. Popping in a fresh clip he feels a hard poke in his shoulder. Sending him face first into the dirt. Stabbed from behind with a bayonet. He grunts hard in pain gridding his teeth as he roles over and headshots the attacker. He stands up weilding his knife and sidearm sticking and shooting all those who approach. Until he is struck by the butt of a weapon in the height of the chaos.

Flat on his back, dizzy, bleeding from his nostrils. He eyes the enemy surrounding him with Ak’s pointed at him at all angles. What seems to be the commanding officer of the bunch, orders that he be taken captive. Delivering another blow to sargeants temple. In a gasp, the sargeant awakens from what was only a dream. Collecting his breath and taking in the reality of his situation. He looks down and spots a rope tied down painfully tight around his ankles. He tries to move his arms but to know avail. The sargeant is tied to a post. Captured in a vietcong camp. And that the dream was a flashback to the events that had taken place 4 days ago. He sighs in disappointment as he drops his head. Eyeing the dried blood on his dog tags, stained all down the side of his tank top from his stab wound. He hears the grunting of a man next to him. Tied up the same as he. He bares a uniform with rips and bullet holes yet no sign of injury. With a mutton chop beard and thick dark brown hair slightly past his neck. The fellow G.I. speaks up “another one?” The sargeant nods, the yelling of orders in vietnamese and trucks being loaded fills the soldiers ears. The stranger speaks again “i never caught your name. You mind?” The sargeant clears his throat and spits before his reply “Castle...Frank Castle.” He sniffles and asks the soldier “Yourself?” With a strangely calm tone in his voice he says, “James Howlett. But you can call me Logan.”

-to be continued-

[thoughtsofadaydreamer]

First Encounter (JP Fan fiction)

Isla Nublar, 1992. Robert Muldoon fans himself off with his hat in the hot jungle weather. Stepping out of a trademark “Jurassic Park” jeep. Shutting the door behind him as he makes his way to a construction crew. Red hard hats baring the same Jurassic park logo as the jeep. His boots kicking small flakes of sand as he reaches the opening of the path. “How is it coming along?” The supervisor of the crew turns his head, removing his hard hat and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his forearm. “Shouldnt be much longer Mr. Muldoon, i would say maybe 10 minutes give or take.” Muldoon stares at the man with hands on his hips with a serious business expression. “Thats 10 minutes we cant spare Mr. Garrett. Now you know-“ he focuses his attention to the workers “HEY FOCUS ON THE GATE!” He tells the workers as they gaze at the men talking to each other. “As i was saying you know these animals are tranqed and the CCs we dosed them with is only meant to last an hour. 30 minutes extra than the amount of time you said it would take. Its been 45. And another dose could possibly send these bastards into a coma for God knows how long.” The 2 continue to debate. As one of the construction workers starts to lift the gate “No man im lifting the gate, make this easier on us.” He says to his crew. The other begging him to stop. “They will have our ass plus what if these animals-“ the worker cuts him off as he stands under the partially lifted exhibit gate. “These things are knocked out they aint gonna-“ in a dash similar to the speed of a lightning flash the worker is snagged by his ankle. His hold on the gate is pulled away as he hits the sand, echoing a blood curdling scream. The workmen grab their fellow colleagues arms trying to pull him back. Muldoon and Mr. Garrett sprint the struggling men. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED!?” The men bite their teeth as they fight the unseen force behind the large metal gate. Slowly sliding down on top of the stomach of the victim. What sounds similar to a dog whipping around a chew toy in his mouth, the man is snagged left and right by his ankle. His screams louder than a gunshot. “GET ME OUT OF HEEERE!!!” Muldoon pushes Mr. Garrett away “THE JEEP, GET THE SHOTGUN FROM THE JEEP!” As Mr. Garrett sprints back to Muldoons jeep the man is pulled in the exhibit. Dragged away into the dense foliage of the pen. Muldoon falls back on into the sand along with the others. One of the workers peeks under trying to see what has happened to his colleague. Within seconds after the incident, one of the animals tries to snap at the man. Eagerly fitting its snout through the slit of the gate. Snarling and screeching in full attack. Muldoon kicks the animals snout sending it back into the pen just as Mr. Garrett returns with the game wardens weapon. Muldoon jumps to his feet snatching the weapon from the supervisors hands. Climbing into the watch tower that overlooks the top of the pen. His hat falling to the ground. He breaks open a window to aim his shotgun out for a shot. Only to witness the carnivores rip apart the captured worker. One of them clenches its jaws around the mans neck, and emits a loud spine tingling crackle. Killing their newly made prey. The sound of ruffling is echoed as they rip away at the mans flesh. A sight that causes the game warden to quickly turn away. Covering his eyes with his open palm. Trying to believe what just happened in so little time. He climbs down jumping off from the last 4 steps of the ladder. “I thought the dosage had more time-“ Muldoon snaps a finger in the workmens face pointing. “THIS IS A LESSON TO YOU PEOPLE!” His veins pulsating through his neck in a rage. “NO BULLSHITTING! THIS ISNT A PETTING ZOO FOR CHRISTS SAKE!!!” He steps past the men to Mr. Garrett sweating in fear. “Time and progress is a virtue Mr. Garrett. Let this unfortunate accident be a sign. Get your job....done.” His glare could kill. He leaves the group radioing to the visitors center “Mr. Hammond there has been an incident at the raptor exhibit.” The sound of snarls from the pen fill the air.

Epilogue

Muldoon does his rounds around the park as the sun dips away. He stops at the raptor pen and takes a steady walk up to the exhibit. Eyeing the new locks along the seam of the gate. He climbs up the stairs to the catwalk and makes a stop, viewing down into the foliage. A gurgling snarl catches his ear. Jolting his head an inch to the left. He sees her. The eye of the animal. Glaring green in the fresh moonlight staring right up into the game wardens soul almost. Muldoon stares right back, frozen. The animal doesnt break contact. Suddenly eletricity sparks fly into the air. As the large body of a another springs at the man. Only to be stopped by the electric wire. Falling back onto the ground with a hard thud. Snapping and emitting sounds of irritation and pain. He looks back to his left and the animal is gone. But the snarls repeat. The smell of burnt flesh touches his nostrils. Calm and collected, though his heart races under his chest. “They should all be destroyed.” He says himself. “And yet we are supposed to get another by next year.” He marches his way back to the jeep. A new hatred has grown within Robert Muldoon. “This place will be the death of me.” He mutters as he starts up the jeep, driving up the trail, ending his shift for the day.

[thoughtsofadaydreamer]

The Discovery of a fallen friend. (The Lost World)

Roland watched as the Buck Tyrannosaurus slowly fell into sleep paralysis. After shooting 2 darts from his Lindstrat air rifle, he exhales a sigh of relief as the tyrant lizard drifts into a coma as a result of the tranq darts. “You got lucky you big bastard.” He speaks in a monotone voice. Commenting on his .600 nitro express double barrelled elephant rifle being sabotaged of its bullets. “You would have made a great trophy...” he stops to think to himself, like something is missing. “AJAY!” He speaks gasping remembering him and Ajay were seperated. Not being able to catch up in the madness. He follows the bootprints the scavengers left as they sprinted off through the jungle. Along the trail were fresh Tyrannosaur tracks. “The female couldnt have gone far.” He thinks to himself. Hoisting his rifle from around his shoulder, popping in 2 new rounds. He pulls back and clicks the rifle, ready to take a shot if need be. Suddenly he trips. Roland stumbles over a footprint. Something floating in the large puddle. “The hell?...Carter?” He recognizes the body. “Oh my God.” He sees him mangled and smooshed, realizing he had been stepped on. More than once. No use in trying to bother with the dead he moves on along the trail. He reaches a waterfall thinking he met a dead end. Until he spots something in the foilage. Something dark and thick amongst the trees. A back pack. And then another. “Had to have gone this way. Ajay?” He starts to call his name in a whisper volume. He keeps a watchful eye for any movement as he moves through the trees. “Aj-“ he is interrupted an eye catcher. A mans arm. Severed like it had been chewed off. He mouth opens slightly. Heart racing. Wondering if danger awaits him as he approaches the long grass. Wanting to call for his friend he knows it would be a huge mistake. Having hunted in the long grass back in Kenya for many years. Predators lurk in the long grass. He takes careful steps listening to the wind. And the cold spine chilling sound of silence. Nothing but the sounds of air and grass swaying fill his ears. Until, “huh?”, he feels his boot nudge something beneath his steps. He peers down and spots glasses. He picks them up and holds them under the moonlight. Cracked and smudged. “Ajay” he whispers to himself. Not far ahead he spots grass marked with blood. He tucks the friends glasses into his pocket and drops his hat. Hanging behind his neck by strings. The farther he follows the blood the more bodies he finds. More and more of the crew he found mangled. Torn apart with signs of numerous bite marks and tears. Flies flood all around him. A foul stench of decay and rotten flesh fills his nostrils. But all this becomes oblivious when he finds him. Ajay Sidhu. Lifeless, bloody, stiff, with little left of him. The hunter kneels down by his head. Staring with absolute shock and heartbreak at his friends horrid injury to his face. Roland pets his friends cold cheek as a last goodbye. Not caring about the blood covering his hand. “Goodbye old friend.” A single heavy tear drops from the kenyan hunters eye. He gathers up his rifle and retreats back to the former campsite. As he reaches the end of the long grass he hears an unworldly sound in the far distance. A snarling call, followed by a loud screeching. Like a disgruntled bird of some sorts. He turns back and looks in the direction of the animal calls and mouths “velociraptors” he contimplates a suicide move. Tracking the calls and extracting a revenge killing for his fallen friend and crew. But turns back and follows the way he came. Thinking to himself about why him and Ajay took this job in the first place. They did not come to Isla Sorna to die, they came to live.