Reign of Chaos: Book 1: InGen

A Jurassic Park Fanfiction by Sassy Lil Scorpio

Disclaimer: All names mentioned in this fanfiction are the creative property of Michael Crichton and Steven Spielberg. No monetary gain is being made from this work. The following characters appeared in Topps Comics: George Lawala in RAPTOR 1 and 2, and RAPTOR ATTACK issue 4. Sonya Durant and Raúl Lopez are in the RETURN TO JURASSIC PARK series, issues 2-4.

Summary: Time has passed since the successful inspection of Jurassic Park. Now an InGen employee is incarcerated for crimes against the company and John Hammond wants to clone a 16th species. A second InGen traitor begins to make his move and Lewis Dodgson assembles a team to invade Isla Nublar. Dodgson's #1 goal: destroy InGen...no matter what the cost and regardless of who gets hurt. AU.

Rating: T or PG-13 for language and action sequences.

Author's Notes: This fanfiction is an in-depth trilogy that takes place in an alternate universe. It is a huge what-if? What if had Dennis Nedry succeeded in dropping off the embryos at the east dock? What if the tour had finished the next day and Alan Grant and Ellie Sattler, along with Donald Gennaro, approved of Jurassic Park? What if Ian Malcolm was wrong about chaos theory that weekend—but it came about later on a grander scale? What might've happened after the inspection, if things had went according to John Hammond's ambitious plans? The Reign of Chaos trilogy answers these questions.

Few original characters are in the story. I don't mind if you use them, if you love or despise them. If you use them, just please let me know. The only reason is if someone wrote about them, I'd like to read it. These characters show up rarely, so it's not a big deal. As for other characters, you'll recognize them by name, but they will not be portrayed as they were in canon. For example: Amanda (Kirby) and Billy (Brennan) will be in the story, but only in name and appearance. Their characters will be totally different from what you've seen in The Lost World and Jurassic Park 3. Characters such as those (Amanda, Billy, Nick Van Owen, Richard Levine, etc) make a very brief appearance and do not impact the story. I felt a brief note was necessary to avoid possible confusion. Also, on occasion I'll use a song lyric or a direct quote from Michael Crichton's novel. In both cases, I'll be certain to give credit.

Many awesome friends and fellow writers assisted in the writing of this story. Because the list is long and I want my thank-you's to be in-depth, I will wait until the end of the trilogy to give my "curtain call." Those of you reading this, you know who you are. I am thankful and grateful for all your love, support, and encouragement. Thank you a million times, I'm truly blessed to have you in my life. Please be patient...I promise to give detailed thank-you's in the end. I didn't forget about any of you! There are others who may never read this, but I still want to acknowledge how much I appreciate what they have done to help make this fanfiction possible.

Dedication: I wanted to dedicate this entire trilogy to many people. When it came to choosing one person, one man stood out to me. I wish he was still alive to see how many fans, including myself, enjoyed his exceptional acting. Jurassic Park is the only movie I've seen him in, and he played his role wonderfully. I dedicate this story to Bob Peck, who portrayed the character, Robert Muldoon. There is no other actor who can act the role of the tough game warden the way he did. Rest in peace. You'll always be Robert Muldoon.

InGen: We Make Your Future

Prologue

Six a.m.

Time to wake up. Stretch. Yawn.

He didn't want to wake up. He wasn't afraid or worried of what the day had in store for him. He just wanted to sleep in. The cop on the outside of the cell knew he was being defiant. He unlocked the cell's barred door, clanging it loudly. He carried an orange prison jumpsuit as though it were a parcel to be delivered.

"Rise and shine!"

The man lifted his head when he heard the cop's voice. The cop leaned over him, a dark menacing glint sparked in his eyes. He was the same cop who had arrested him a month ago.

"Today's your lucky day. Get up, take a shower, and get dressed. We have a long trip ahead of us."

Yawning, the man rose slowly and stretched his arms. The cop threw the jumpsuit in his face.

"You have thirty minutes to get ready. When I come back, you better be suited up. I don't have all morning to wait on you."

Indifferent, the man shrugged.

The cop growled under his breath in Spanish as he left the cell and locked it behind him. He had to retrieve the prisoner's file and take it to court for the trial that would take place later today.

The man inside the cell glared at the cop as he watched him walk down the hallway.

"Asshole," he muttered.

oOo

The man stared at the fruit cup and pint of milk. Someone had placed it in his cell and it definitely wasn't the cop. It was a meager breakfast, but it would do for now. He wolfed down the fruit and left the milk alone. It was probably sour.

Afterwards, he dressed in the orange prison jumpsuit. The orange was a loud tangy color. He figured he had to wear it so everyone in the courtroom would know he was the defendant, the accused. No one else would wear something so hideous to a criminal trial. He zipped up the front and left a little space showing the white undershirt. He cleaned his glasses with the napkin that had accompanied the breakfast and then put them back on.

Perspiration beaded his forehead. It wasn't nervous sweat, but extreme heat that suffocated him. The cell was like a baking oven and the jumpsuit was itchy as though mosquitoes had bred inside it. That was the least of his concerns. For now, he'd watch the sunrays hit the bricks of the cell and wait to be escorted out by the cop.

While he waited, he thought about where his trial would take place in. The CEO of the company he worked for prior to his arrest had insisted on having the trial in the United States, preferably in California. That way he could be judged by a jury of his own peers. In Costa Rica, he didn't have the right to have a trial by a jury of his peers. The arresting officer had explained to his employer that judgment is made by a panel of three judges. Or one judge if the crime carried a maximum penalty of three years or less. The cop had also told the man's employer about the right to a speedy trial in Costa Rica, the right to an attorney, the right for the accused to know what charges are being leveled against him, and the right to be released on bail, if it was authorized.

Even though the crime had occurred on Isla Nublar, an island off the coast and owned by Costa Rica, the cop acquiesced with the employer's request for the trial to be held in the United States. He would transport the prisoner and two additional Costa Rican police officers would come as reinforcements in case anything happened. As for the rest of his rights…the man had refused an attorney. His employer didn't understand why, but the cop had been glad about the man's decision. The cop knew the trial would be guilty until proven innocent, especially for this case. A transportation and court date was set. Coincidence ruled and they were to occur the same day.

Then there was that matter of the charges against the man…none had been made in Costa Rica. The man knew what he had done; it was a matter of the truth coming to light in an American courtroom. The cop hadn't filed any formal charges against the man, since he did not have the power to. That was handled by the Department of Justice in the Costa Rican legal system and they had decided to leave that up to the American Court system. The cop had documented what had occurred on the day the man was arrested. From there, he had faxed this information to a police precinct located in Palo Alto in California, and they in turn, had faxed over their information, including possible charges that could be leveled against the man. He carried this information in a file and planned on bringing it to the trial.

The cop had also told the man's employer he could pay bail if he wanted—this would release the man until his court date. The employer had refused to obtain a release on bail for the man. This made the man bitter; he was already furious about having to sit in a damp cell and watch the sunlight through the bars for weeks. Now his boss wanted to be cheap and not bail him out. His boss was always a cheap son of a bitch as far as he was concerned.

He looked up in time to see the cop return with two more officers. Hopefully the two other cops were nicer than the one in charge. They unlocked the entrance and entered the cell.

The first cop sneered at him. "For once you followed directions." He took out a pair of handcuffs and ordered the man to hold out his wrists.

That bothered the man. He felt he was treated as if he were a potential danger and a physical threat. If he were in the States, he would've been classified as a "white-collar criminal"—most of whom were considered physically harmless. They were lawbreakers in a league of their own. White collar criminals had earned their name because their crimes had to do with their professions. Their offenses included a wide range: credit card and insurance fraud, embezzlement, tax evasion, money laundering, larceny, counterfeiting, industrial espionage, computer crime, forgery, and pyramid scams.

None of this mattered to the cop who had arrested him. He treated all criminals like dirt—from a kid stealing a mango to a teenager who forged signatures on checks to an adult guilty of murder in the first degree. It didn't matter what the crime was, the age of the offender, or their background. If the criminal was unlucky to be apprehended by this particular cop, then they were in for it.

"You got wax in your ears? Hold out your wrists!"

The man, who usually would have countered the cop with his own witty remarks, remained silent as held out his wrists.

"Good," the cop said. "I'm being nice, you know? Your hands are cuffed in front of you, instead of behind your back. That calls for a little bit of gratitude on your part."

"Gracias," the man grumbled.

He glared at the cop, who happily snapped the cuffs. Thinking the cop was finished, he put his hands down.

"Keep 'em out, I'm not finished with you." The cop produced a black box used to lock around the chain separating the cuffs. "I know what criminal scumbags do when they're cuffed in front—even nerdy hackers like you." He attached the black box and then held out his hand, waiting expectantly. One officer gave him shackles. "And I'm not giving you a chance to run away."

The cop loved to make his victims squirm, but he also wasn't taking chances. This was a risky transport from Costa Rica to the United States. He couldn't make this particular man squirm, but he could definitely piss him off.

"You're being charged with computer crimes and isn't it fitting that you use your hands for most of your work? Typing on a keyboard without a care in the world."

The man didn't say anything and rolled his eyes at the cop's comments. The cop saw this.

"Roll your eyes all you want, let's see if you're still doing that after you're convicted."

"I will," the man's sharp tone sliced the air.

"You're a cocky son of a bitch."

The man grinned as if flattered. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me since I've been here."

"Get up!" The cop grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the bench. "I better not hear one more word from you until we get to California."

The cop motioned for the two officers to escort the man out. They obeyed diligently as they left the cell and headed for the detention center's exit. The man walked between the officers. They held his arms on either side as if he'd try to escape at any moment. The man didn't like any of this, he hated being locked up, cuffed, and treated as if he were a dumb common criminal. He couldn't wait for the day to be over.

At the same time, he was looking forward to this day because he'd get to see his colleagues and his employer at the trial. He'd get to glare and grin at them during their testimonies. He knew they would testify against him—but he didn't care. He figured the prosecutor was cooking up a good case. It didn't scare him. None of it did. His employer had told him he might lose his license and certification if convicted. I bet the old man's laughing now, the man thought. It's all good. I'll have the last laugh. They think they've got me figured out. They're all wrong. Dead wrong.

They followed the first cop without saying a word. Soon they were outside and boarding a helicopter. It would take a few hours to get to California from Costa Rica which is why the cop had interrupted the man's sleep at an early time.

The man sat between the two officers and across from the first cop. The helicopter lifted into the air and swiftly flew towards its destination. The man fidgeted, trying to get comfortable. It wasn't easy since the restraints had been applied too tight, and the surrounding officers didn't budge to give him extra space. The man swung his legs to annoy the cop in charge.

"Sit still. You're acting like a kid going to a birthday party," the cop said.

"It's my special day," the man replied.

The cop took out his nightstick and pointed it at the man. "Not another word from you. Comprende?"

The man smirked as if he had won a million dollars and didn't plan on sharing it.

oOo

Someone had leaked the information to the press.

John Hammond knew this as soon as he and his party arrived at the courthouse. The flight in his private company jet had been tense the entire time in anticipation of the upcoming trial. Now they were in front of the courthouse and flash photographers and journalists swarmed around like starved vultures. They wouldn't get out of his way no matter which direction he turned.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He found himself getting flustered and impatient. He didn't want his company to get a bad rap and he knew the media would run away with this story even if they only knew half of it.

"Mr. John Hammond, you're the CEO of International Genetics—how are you feeling at the moment?" A journalist fired at him. She held her pen over her memo pad, ready to jot down quotes. More faceless journalists threw questions at him.

"If your employee is convicted, do you plan to fire the rest of your staff?"

"What is the future for International Genetics after today?"

"What do you think will be the outcome of the trial?"

Hammond felt anger pushing him to respond. "We're not answering questions right now," he responded gruffly.

Hammond saw part of his group waiting for him on the court steps. His lawyer, Donald Gennaro, and associates: Alan Grant, Ellie Sattler, and Ian Malcolm gestured him to follow. They were connected to him on a professional and personal level. They had come to give him support and he was grateful for their loyalty. He waved them away and they continued up the steps and entered the courthouse. A reporter rushed after them, followed by a photographer.

He turned back and looked over his employees, who waited with him. Journalists buzzed around and cameras flashed and popped as photographers took pictures without their consent. Hammond breathed a sigh of relief as Ray Arnold, his chief engineer, put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"It's going to be fine, John."

"Thank you, Ray."

"It'll be over before you know it."

"I hope so. I thought I made arrangements with the courthouse for them to not allow any journalists or photographers inside during the trial. I want this to remain a private matter."

"That's a good idea."

Hammond nodded to the rest of his staff. Henry Wu, his chief geneticist, offered an encouraging smile. Robert Muldoon, his park warden remained stone-faced. Hammond knew the outcome of the trial rested on all three of these employees. They had witnessed their co-worker's arrest. It had been a long and stressful month after that event, and now judgment day had finally arrived. Hammond thought of his other two employees. Gerry Harding, the veterinarian, had stayed on the island. He had offered to watch Hammond's grandkids. The other employee was—

Suddenly, the hungry media crowd rushed to the opposite side. Hammond was relieved, but only momentarily. He groaned when he saw why they had left.

Two police officers quickly followed a tall stern-looking one who led them to the rear entrance of the courthouse. Shuffling between the two officers was Hammond's fifth employee. The bright orange jumpsuit he wore made him easy to spot amongst the mob of inquiring reporters and photographers. They surrounded him and the police officers, demanding to get a quote, a picture—anything that would sell their newspapers.

To Hammond's dismay, his employee flashed a broad grin at the photographers. He spoke to the journalists, when asked if he was afraid of the possible conviction that lay ahead.

"I have no worries." He smiled in Hammond's direction.

Hammond shook his head. Does he have no shame? No conscience? Most times, the accused would hide their face in embarrassment—especially if they were being publicly escorted to their trial. Instead, he carried on, proud that his day had arrived—and he wanted Hammond to see that.

A photographer called out to the defendant. In response, he turned and offered a bright smile. He even tried to strike a pose even though the two officers on his right and left side limited his movement.

"Why does he insist on humiliating me?" Hammond whimpered.

"Because he's a good-for-nothing traitorous scumbag," said Muldoon.

Hammond and his staff slowly made their way up the court steps. They turned back once and watched as the media sensationalized the defendant. The reporters, oblivious to them, scribbled notes.

"You're innocent until proven guilty. Before your trial starts, can I get a statement?" Hammond heard a journalist shout.

"He's guilty until proven innocent—he was caught red-handed," the first leading cop told the crowd in a loud voice.

"Red as a fire truck, huh?" The same journalist asked back.

"Yes, that's right." The cop answered as he tried to make his way through the crowd. Court officers ran to their aid and brushed off the media so that they could safely enter the building. The reporters and photographers opened up the circle and the police ushered the accused into the courthouse. The journalists tried to follow them inside, but were told they were not allowed to attend the trial because it was private.

Hammond relaxed when he saw Gennaro rush out to meet them. He ushered them inside and explained he demanded the court officers to keep the media out of the courtroom during the trial. They would face fines if they didn't obey.

"Thank you, Donald." Hammond said.

He entered the courtroom with Muldoon, Arnold, and Wu. He nodded to his party that were already there waiting for him. They smiled at him to give him the encouragement he needed to make it through the day. His staff followed him to the front row to ensure they would give him their full support. Hammond placed his cane beside him and sighed.

"Are you alright?" Arnold asked.

Hammond nodded. "I can't wait for this whole ordeal to be over."

"It will be, just take it a day at a time."

"You're right…all we can do now is wait until the trial begins."

oOo

The leading cop spoke quickly with the American court officers that had brought them inside the building. They explained to him the trial's procedures. He eyed the man who had gladly taken pictures for the mob outside.

"You're a real class-act, you know that?"

"I'm the show-stopper."

"Shut it," the cop pointed at him. "Not another syllable. Wipe that smug grin off your face and have some respect—you arrogant bastard."

A blonde court officer informed them they were ready to start.

"That's our cue, gentlemen," the cop said. "Let's go."

The leading cop followed the American down a long empty hallway. The two officers and defendant trailed behind. Their loud footsteps resounded in the hall. They were the only ones walking down this path. It was the prisoner's road. Soon they arrived at the door leading into the courtroom.

"He can't go in like that," the court officer pointed at the defendant. "The jury must see him without the restraints."

"Why?" The cop asked.

"Because it gives the impression that he's already guilty."

"He is guilty. I arrested him on the spot."

The court officer didn't back down. "They have to come off."

The cop stared at her, annoyed, and then turned to the man. He was jubilant at seeing the cop's anger and amused at the minor disagreement centered on him. If anything, it delayed the trial that was minutes away from starting. The cop quickly removed the restraints before the court officer could remind him of the court proceedings.

"If it was my choice," he growled as he unlocked the shackles, "I'd leave them on so that everyone in the courtroom would know you're guilty as charged. So you can sit there embarrassed. It'd teach you some humility."

"Sure it would," the man said, wringing his wrists.

"Be thankful that your boss chose to hold your trial in your country. If it were up to me, I'd waste no time in leaving you in a damp cell to rot for the rest of your life."

"Keep dreaming."

"Are you ready?" the court officer asked stiffly.

"We're ready," the cop answered. He looked behind him to see if the defendant was ready. Or afraid. "Your moment has arrived. I removed the cuffs, but it doesn't matter 'cause you'll walk out wearing them."

"You're giving me a headache. Why don't you shut up and get fucked?"

"You're lucky she's present." The cop pointed at the blonde court officer. "Otherwise, you'd get a black eye. You're getting the book thrown in your face today. Watch."

The defendant scowled.

The court officer opened the door and entered first.

"After you," the leading cop said as he gestured for his two officers to go in first with the mouthy defendant.

With his head held high, the defendant marched into the courtroom, proud and confident, and unconcerned with the trial that would take place for the next few hours…