Looking at the television screen, Alan Grant let out a shocked gasp. The bastards. They never learnt. Hadn't they been warned? Not just him, but Malcolm? History had repeated itself, and not in a good way. In Gen had tried to gamble with the gods and lost. Trembling slightly, Grant moved towards the phone. People needed to be contacted, contingencies put in place. Contingencies that had been worked out by every survivor in case of an incident.

He was an old man now, made older than he should be by his experiences. But one more time, he'd rise up to the challenge. Those people who had faced such terrible odds and come through, they would rely on him for months and perhaps years after. It was rare that Eric Kirby did not call every couple of months, riven through by nightmares and fears too close to the surface. Tim Murphy handled his trauma, often dropping by his digs to chat and reassure himself, that he wasn't alone, that there was something shared. Lex, from the nervous child, had grown into a firebrand with the aim of improving the containment systems at Jurassic World. She'd consulted with him on the animal's behavior in order to tailor each set up to the animal's pattern and needs. But this...creature...made by man and not natural, whose behaviors were artificial, unstudied and unknown, there was no containment possible. Lex would know that, but feel guilty anyway. They all had their traumas, and he'd been the shoulder to lean on. He'd be there once again.

No money on heaven and on earth. He'd said that before and he said it again. This time he'd stuck to his vow. But he would return, for compassion, for healing.

It was time he went back to Jurassic Park.