I just need someone to give me their opinion on this

WARNING! GRID POWER FAILURE

ALL SAFEGUARD SUBSYSTEMS SHUTTING DOWN

INITIATING SITE B EVACUATION PROTOCOLS

PLEASE MOVE IN AN ORDERLY AND PROFESSIONAL MANNER TO THE EVACUATION HELIPAD...

Inside the primary InGen lab complex, chaos reined as scientists and security scrambled back and forth like headless chickens, trying to escape the coming carnage by stampeding each other into the elevator. Meanwhile, Sarah Harding, assistant genetic researcher tried to calmly lock down her station with little success. Her fingers fumbled across the keys, and she had to backspace every other keystroke.

It took a full three minutes, but Sarah finally managed to shut down the system, rendering all of the team’s research data useless, locked behind dozens upon dozens of security protocols and counter-viruses. Breathing an pseudo-sigh of relief, Sarah removed the backup disk from the drive and slid it into her pocket. She was almost relieved, until a heavy hand fell on her shoulder, making the scientist scream out.

"Dr. Harding, you need to come with me!" Miles Jackson said. A competent security officer, Miles was one of the few InGen personnel who did his job because he needed to, not to get a bigger paycheck.

Miles forcibly dragged the 31-year-old scientist through the crowd of scientists and security, shoving most aside with brute strength. They finally reached the elevator, a massive flat platform that served to mass-transport people and material from the surface to the geothermal research complex, buried 200 feet below the surface of the island.

"Get in," Miles yelled. He had to holler over the din of crying, screaming, praying people. Sarah felt like a sardine as she was sandwiched between another security guard, and Dr. Drew Walton, geneticist. Over the noise, she could barely make out a deep-throated call resonating through the complex.

"Keep them safe, Dale," Miles said to the fat guard before stepping off the over-packed elevator. No more people could possibly fit on the lift, and Miles’ sense of duty prevented him from leaving the unarmed scientists and lab personnel behind. "Good luck, Dr. Harding."

The elevator door slowly descended, giving Sarah enough time to see Miles draw his pistol and fire at some unseen aggressor. Animal howls of pain, howls that didn’t belong in this era, answered. Miles’ gun boomed a number of times before Sarah heard it clatter to the ground and multiple voices chorus their dying screams only seconds later.

The ride up was uneventful, with the 25+ people oddly silent. Fear and sweat permeated the air, making it difficult to breathe. The proximity of the InGen team made it difficult to look around, but Sarah only spied two guards in the crowed, and previous experience made her gut clench at the thought of that.

Mostly on the ride up, Sarah thought about Miles, and, from her viewpoint, his senseless death. Miles had been a vet of the Gulf and numerous less known conflicts, and his father Vietnam. His survival skills and combat experience would have been invaluable, yet he stayed behind to protect a group of civilians who died roughly 30 seconds after he stepped off. Maybe it was cold, heartless feeling, but Sarah believed in the ‘many over the few’ philosophy, and practiced it often.

The elevator grinded to a halt at the top of the shaft, interrupting Sarah’s thought. As the shutter door cranked open, the surviving scientists and security stepped off, expecting to be greeted by the 20-odd man InGen security team that guarded the already impressive defenses of a 16-foot electric fence and gate that lead to the complex, only one of two ways.

Instead, crushed fencing, battered doors, broken windows, and blood surrounded them, completed by seven men and one woman dressed in an odd assortment of hunting and military gear who were pointing very large guns in the survivor’s faces. One, a tall man with a rugged beard and dirty blonde hair, had a submachine gun pointed directly between Sarah’s eyes.

"Guten tag, Fraulein," the tall man said with a slight German accent. "Perhaps you can give me a tour of your fine facility?"

"And just who the hell are you?" Sarah asked.

"Unimportant. And I have little patience for foolhardy civilians. Please stand aside before I kill you."

The man’s cold, uncaring attitude caught Sarah off guard and she unconsciously stepped aside.

"Who here has extensive knowledge of this facility, and clearance to access the main computer?" the leader asked.

"W-w-we’re not going back," Brandon Walburger, one of the lab techs, said.

"It seems we have a leader in the group. Come with me."

"N-no," Brandon stuttered.

"Then the woman dies, mein Freund," he said coldly, leveling the SMG at Sarah.

Brandon gulped and reluctantly stepped back into the elevator. The armed thugs followed him sweeping the InGen team aside, except for one, the female, who had been ordered "Watch them closely, Kirsten."

The door lowered, and the group heard the elevator begin it’s hellish descent. Seconds ticked off like ours, as the thugs chatted idly talking amongst themselves, which was heard from a small radio on the female thug’s shoulder.

Sarah heard the leader say get ready, just as the shutter door creaked open. Instantly, shrieking cries and gunfire blasted out of the radio’s tiny speaker. The gunfire grew less and less diminished, the thugs losing their war to the unholy creations from the labs.

Slightly more than 40 seconds had transpired before the noise ceased, six minutes since Sarah had come within a hair’s breath of an SMG. The elevator started to rise, and the InGen team panicked, trying to run past Kirsten, who was screaming orders and yelling "Halt!"

Unsuccessful, Kirsten fired her weapon into the air, the gunfire surprisingly loud even against the terrified scientists, lab techs, and security.

"I. Said. HALT!" Kirsten yelled. Her berret had fallen off, revealing short blonde hair, wild from the humidity. The cargo elevator dinged behind her, causing Kirsten to whirl around, SMG pointing towards whatever might spill out. Kirsten’s eyes were wide with fear. Her grip on her weapon tightened as the shutter slid up.

To everyone’s astonishment, the German leader of the group, bloody and torn up, stood there in ripped clothes, clutching his abdomen.

"You," he hissed through his teeth, "have some explaining to do, Fraulein."

**************************************

SEARCH PERIMETERS? the computer asked.

Stark typed in 3-A clearance and hit enter. The powerful pirate system churned through the list of InGen scientist and corporate high-ups until it came to the one he wanted: John Hammond.

Using samples he had gathered through some rather unscrupulous methods, Stark passed a handwriting analysis, fingerprint ID, and a retinal scan. A map screen came up and the man was prompted to select a grid co-ordinate. Stark double clicked on a grid just south-west of Costa Rica.

A list of five islands came up under the title "The Five Deaths". Stark moved the pointer over ‘Isla Sorna’ and double clicked. A small briefing came up, along with a thorough map of the island.

CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING IT PAST NETWORK SECURITY. YOU’VE PROVEN YOURSELF THE RIGHT PERSON FOR THE JOB.

Stark snickered. Of course he was. His sources detailed that BioSyn, InGen’s rival had sent a large force of mercenaries, somewhere over 100 men and women who were nowhere near his equal to retrieve the samples, and had already suffered casualties. InGen was sending him. Just him.

TAKE NOTE OF THESE DINOSAUR HABITAT AREAS–REMEMBER THIS IS NOT JURASSIC PARK. THERE ARE NO FENCES HERE. BE ON CAREFUL LOOKOUT FOR BARYONYX, BRACHIOSAURUS, DIMETRODON. WE’VE ALSO HAD REPORTS OF HEADBUTTERS–BUT MOST OF ALL, STAY ALERT FOR DEINONYCHUS AND VELOCIRAPTOR. YOU’RE HEADING RIGHT INTO THEIR NESTING AREA. YOU’LL BE TAKING AN OVERLAND PATH TOWARDS THE INGEN LAB--IT’S THE MOST DIRECT ROUTE TO THE GEOTHERMAL ACCESS TUNNEL. COUNTLESS YEARS AND BILLIONS OF DOLLARS HAVE BEEN SPENT ON THIS GENETIC DATA. IT’S OURS. NOW IT’S YOUR JOB TO GO GET IT BACK.

No mention of rescue of the missing scientists, some of the best in their fields......good. Stark was not good with rescuing. Killing, fine. But keeping things alive was not his specialty.

BE CAREFUL, OR YOU’LL END UP LIKE THIS GUY THE NEXT TIME WE SEE YOU.....

A small video screen came up, a live feed that had been recorded for posterity, apparently. A man, by the sound of his voice, was racing through a forest, seemingly trying to outrun something. A tiny map on the screen, next to a time recorder, showed he had 40 meters to go, and had been running for eleven minutes and thirty-three seconds. Two red blips followed him, which Stark saw on the map.

Whatever was chasing the nameless man, it was fast; the blips had halved the distance between him and them in roughly 15 seconds. To Stark’s slight surprise, more red blips joined the chase, and after awhile, caught up to the man. Before the man’s dying scream, Stark heard an unearthly blood cry and a savage ‘crack’, possibly a broken neck. The mission clock read 12:55:02.....one minute and twenty-two seconds from first contact till death. Stark’s lip curled. He could have done it in half the time, without three other men.

Having watched the pointless video with little else than a slight curiosity, Stark sent a curt email to InGen, telling them to expect him in exactly two days, and to have the money ready. He also told them that he would have caught the man in less than a minute.

Don’t cross me or you’ll end up worse than that guy the next time I see you, Stark typed. No one got the last word in on Dieter Stark.

The computer beeped, informing him he had mail. Curious, Stark opened the email and read it carefully. It was from one Ian Malcolm.

TO: Mr. Dieter Stark, stevenhudson1998@hotmail.com

FROM: Ian Malcolm, chaostheory_malcolm@aol.com

RE: Sarah Harding

Mr. Stark, I have learned that you are planning to head to Isla Sorna to do InGen’s dirty work. While I can go on about the dangers, I think it would do little to persuade a man of your caliber. That’s why I’m contacting you. A close associate of mine, Dr. Sarah Harding was on Isla Sorna, and I’m willing to pay you any amount of money to bring her back. PLEASE consider my offer. Dr. Harding is extremely important to me.

Stark responded even more curtly with Malcolm than with InGen. He didn’t like people who found out about him without him knowing about it.

$300,000 US. 15 July, 1997. Outside InGen HQ, San Francisco, CA.

With that out of the way, Stark contemplated what he was going to do. Dr. Harding, along with the rest of their staff, had been written off by InGen when their helipad and on the island had ceased to make reports.

$300,000 was a lot of money, though, and for the right price, an amoral man like Stark could be persuaded to do a lot of things. Coupled with InGen’s advance and the rest of the money, he would have.... substantial...funds. This could be the finest paycheck that Stark was ever going to receive.

With the $100,000 advance from InGen, he could safely afford to purchase everything he needed for this particular job: 30 clips of M-14 7.62 match-grade ammunition, a surplus M-79 ‘blooper’ grenade launcher, M-67 fragmentation grenades, M-79 grenades, flares, and a large quantity of Sarin nerve gas.

********************************

Stark arrived at the InGen helipad at exactly 7:42 A.M., and was surprised by the small number of men and women waiting with an assortment of gear beside the Sikorsky Black Hawk that waited to transport him to Isla Sorna. Stark saw Martin J. Sutton, his InGen ‘mission advisor’ for this job.

"Just who the hell are these?" Stark snarled at Sutton. His patience with InGen was already thin, and he didn’t like the looks of this motley crew.

"The rest of the rescue team," Sutton squeaked cheerfully. A born bureaucrat, Sutton was a short middle-aged balding man, whose excessive happiness got on Stark’s nerves.

"I thought we agreed I work alone, little man," Stark growled as he picked Sutton up by his collar. Sutton gulped.

"Yes, well, um. Yes. Well Mr. Stark, how do you purpose to reactivate the downed computer system?"

"I’ll figure it out."

"Of course you will. But think of these charming people as–"

"Don’t even say back-up."

"Of course. Nonetheless, InGen wants them there."

"I warned you about crossing me," Stark began, but Sutton cut him off.

"I hardly think this qualifies as a cross, Mr. Stark. And you really don’t have a choice. It’s in your contract. Had you–"

This time Stark interrupted. "I read every inch of that. And while I recall seeing it, I also made mention that it be removed or I wouldn’t go."

"I’m so sorry Mr. Stark. We didn’t receive that message."

"Uh-huh."

Harry Bennett saw that the newcomer was having a bit of a falling out with Sutton, who addressed the man as ‘Mr. Stark’. Mr. Stark, it seemed was rather upset about some detail of the mission, and attempting to rework the contract just before the start of the job. Sloppy. Stark must have been a first-timer. Bennett had never even heard of him.

Satisfied that everyone was here, Bennett began to order everyone into the chopper, but Stark had come up from behind and voiced over Bennett.

"Listen up. I don’t want you here. I don’t need your incompetence, to be frank. Not one person here will make it back from that island, and to top it off, you’ll only serve to slow me down. Take your money and leave now."

Bennett was shocked by Stark’s little speech. He regained his composure and was ready to let Stark catch an earful.

"Listen here, Mr. Stark. I’m in charge of this operation, and no half-assed first timer is gonna take my command away."

"Bennett, Harry K. Born 17 September, 1965. Dishonorably discharged, U.S. Navy Seals, 1991. Began freelance work, 1993. Small-time mercenary, hired for trivial tasks and petty retrieval operations."

"You’re not even close to being my equal, Bennett. And how good you are is measured by how little Joe Everyman knows about you."

Bennett was stunned, as was the rest of the team. Here was this man, who noone had ever heard of, just jumping in and taking command of his mission, and treating some of the most lethal men and women in the world like they were five year olds.

"Everybody, on," Stark said, climbing on board the Black Hawk. He had only two cases of equipment, whereas everyone else was bringing their on packs, plus additional gear.

 

Wordlessly, the mercenaries boarded the helicopter and left for Isla Sorna.







"So," Desmov, one of the mercs said, "Whacha got in them cases, Mr. Stark?"



"Hell."



"Man of few words," Cho whispered to Shea. Alexis Cho and Mark Shea were computer experts from California, and Indiana, respectively. They were essential to the mission, as they were the only one who could boot the computers back up.



"Right then," Bennett said, rolling his eyes. He had overcome his initial shock, replacing it with a bitter dislike of Stark. "Our DZ will be this cavern, here. It’ll be a slough, but it leads to the cliffs, the quickest way to InGen’s back door. From there, we’ll proceed through the cliffs, and this valley, here. Once we reach the geothermal access tunnel, we branch off into two teams. I’ll lead Team A, that’ll be Shea, Ramirez, Davis, Desmov, Wallis, Hart, and Norr. McDevitt will lead Team B, that’s the rest of you, and restore main power, while Team A recovers the data. After that’s accomplished, we leave via the cargo elevator. Any questions?"



Stark raised his hand, even though he proceeded to voice his complaints.



"Mr. Bennett, that route through the caverns is unnecessarily dangerous. My sources tell me that the carnivore Baryonyx resides in wet, dark, cool places like the caverns you are describing. They would most likely be attracted by the chopper’s rotor and tear the ropers apart before they unslung their weapons."



"What’s the matter, Stark? Scared of the dark? I thought you were the ultimate badass?"



"And I thought you were incompetent and conceited, but now I see that you are also incredibly stupid. I have spoken, and will attempt to change your mind no further."



Cho could see Bennett clench his teeth and the veins in his neck start to bulge. He looked dangerously close to fighting with Stark, but the pilot announced their arrival over the roar of the blades.



"I’m getting some pretty fierce thermals, Bennett. I won’t be able to hover here for long. I’ll have to leave to refuel, so you’ll be on your own for a few hours," the pilot said.



"Copy. Ramirez, Jayhawk, up!" Bennett yelled. He tried to tell himself that Stark was just bullshitting, trying to make Bennett look bad, but it never hurt to be careful. They were roping into a cavern from a hole in the ceiling, and there wouldn’t be any time to pull themselves back up, and little room to maneuver.



The two men traded looks, but grabbed the fast ropes and slid down. Ramirez hit first, and unslung his rifle, and M-14, almost identical to Stark’s. He tried to listen for a contact over the chopper, but it was coming in from the radio headset he was wearing, and from directly above him. It looked like there were shapes in front.....but no. Ramirez dismissed it as nervousness from Stark’s little speeches, and the overall spookiness of an island chock-full of man-made monsters.



Jayhawk almost made it down when he was jerked, screaming, off into the gloom. Ramirez could just make out a long, reptilian snout, long teeth, and terrible, hooked claws.



"Sir! Sir! Jayhawk’s down! Something came out and took him!"



"Calm down Ramirez! What happened to Jayhawk?" Bennett struggled to communicate over the chopper’s noisy rotors.



"I think Stark was right about the Barry onyx, or whatever," Ramirez near screamed into the radio. His palms were sweating profusely, and he was glad he had fingerless gloves on.



Just past Ramirez’s narrow field of vision, he saw more shapes moving in the darkness, stirred by the commotion. Ramirez opened fire, the rifle’s heavy recoil slamming it back against his shoulder.



A few of the rounds found something, and the baryonyx bellowed in pain. It entered the little light that the opening provided, and Ramirez dumped the rest of the magazine into its head. With a pitiful moan, it died.



He fumbled for another magazine, dropping the empty on the ground with a clatter. But then another dinosaur poked it’s head out, right next to Ramirez’s own. Another joined it. And another. He didn’t even had time to scream as they ripped him apart.



Back inside the chopper, Stark sat near the open doorway, lip curled back in disgust. He told them this was a bad place to drop. Bennett discarded Stark’s correct opinion, and opted to go ahead anyway. Now the team was short two men, and the rest were beginning to think that maybe they should have heeded Stark’s advice about leaving.



"Jesus. They hardly got off a shot," Van Pelt said.



"I’ll take care of this," Stark said, and began opening one of the bags.



"What are you gonna do? Aggravate them to death?" Bennett sneered.



"No. I was thinking more along the lines of a flare and a few grenades," Stark answered, cracking a flare and dropping it down the hole. As it fell, those members of the merc crew that could see peeked out the edge of the chopper, and watched in amazement as Stark’s plan worked. The baryonyx moved in closer, sniffing it, trying to decide what it was. Stark dropped a grenade, then followed with two more. The grenades landed with surprising accuracy, close to the flare. He reached into the other bag and withdrew an M-14 with a curious grenade-launcher looking device bolted on to the grip. It was specially made, just for Stark’s grip and reach. He shouldered and fired the rifle, striking one of the grenades, which set off the other two. The baryonyx faces were blown into smithereens by the explosive and the shrapnel they produced.



"After you, Mr. Bennett," Stark said, doing a little bow and motioning towards the ropes.



Bennett grabbed on of the ropes, hating Stark more and more as the mission proceeded. He slid down, and both to his relief and anger, it seemed as though Stark had killed everything.



"It’s......clear," he hissed, and the rest of the men, 14 in all, roped in, two at a time.



Stark arrived, but without his bags, in odd contrast to everyone else with their heavy packs. It seemed that he had either looped everything to his tan vest, or stuffed it in the various pockets of his surplus pants. The strange M-14 was not the only visible weapon Stark had; in addition, he had a .45 caliber pistol, at least five grenades, a two foot machete, and a hunting knife.



"Jesus, Stark," Davis said. He himself had only a H&K UMP40 for defense. "Are we going into a warzone?"



"No," Stark answered bluntly. "We’re already here."



***************



Sarah had heard the helicopter, and another wave of despair hit her like a slap in the face. More BioSyn mercenaries, probably. Sarah sat in her tiny cave, nearly breaking out into tears. She was hidden in the wreckage of the mercenary’s camp. A pair of rampaging T-rex had stormed through the camp, slaughtering the mercenaries, until it was only her, Dr. Walton, Kirsten, Heinrich (the blonde leader from the original seven), and three lab techs who where subsequently killed by raptors before they could get up in the trees with the others.



Their situation was not good. Kirsten was the only one of their small group that was still armed, and she was fiercely loyal to Heinrich. Both of them were mentally deteriorating in Sarah’s opinion. Kirsten had taken to pacing their tiny cave, muttering things in German, all while cradling her MP-5.



No, things were not working out for Sarah Harding, and if she knew what was to follow the sounds of the helicopter, she might have tried to hide better.

 

well, you wrote it fairly well, but, aren't you just copying another author's idea?