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Da Masta:

The siege of DWF

Part I

The dark ocean turned and churned, sending sprays of water droplets all over the dock. A blast suddenly sounded out across the great watery expanse, long and low. John looked at his Rolex. Right on time; the punctuality of captain Joly was very reassuring. John smiled. The foghorn blared again, declaring the arrival of the freighter in the harbour. The huge ship loomed out of the mist, the lights shining ominously in the gloom. John put his hands behind his back and waited. He felt very cool in his Armani suit with all these bodyguards and lawyers standing around him. Like in a movie. The ship blared again, the loud noise booming around the buildings of the harbour.

Captain Frank Joly stood on the bridge of the Hercules, looking out at the harbour. He was on time again, no wonder his reputation was so good. Crewmen bustled all around him, shouting at each other, but at least they where getting the job done. It was a good job, the pay he was getting for this shipping was very high, $2,500,000. Half before, half after the cargo arrived. The ship slowed and began to turn to starboard. The powerful engine growled loudly, vibrating the whole ship. The ship turned slowly, assisted by the smaller harbour boats. He looked out onto the dock, and saw his reception. John was there, and some other people. He couldn?t see who they where from this distance, but it didn?t matter. He heard clangs and bangs as the ship moored to the dock, and he left the bridge to get to the deck. He walked quickly down the narrow staircase, then took the steps two at a time, steadying himself with the railings. By the time he was on the deck, the ship had moored, and the gangway between the ship and the dock was being erected. The anchor chain clanged against the ship?s hull and crewmen on the deck where tossing ropes to workers down below. He walked up to it, picking his way between crates and coils of rope. He waited for the job to be finished, and then went down to the party waiting below. The gangway clanged under his feet, and the sea churned around underfoot. He could see the waves crashing off the dock below him through gaps in the gangway. He smiled warmly as he approached. ?Hello John. Cargo?s in port safe and sound.? ?Well that?s good to hear;? drawled John. You are bang on time my friend, well done. So you?ll be expecting your return payment then?? ?Well I can?t work for free, can I?? said Frank. What did the asshole think, risky job like this? If the government found out he?d lose his job, his ship, and a lot of freedom. This had to be worth a hell of a lot of money. A man in a very posh looking suit with glasses handed John a suitcase. He opened it, revealing row upon row of fresh, crisp, hundred dollar bills. Frank picked up a stack, inspected it. Raw dollars. Hot damn, he thought. He put the stack back in carefully nestled between its companions. John closed the lid and handed the suitcase to Frank. ?You do remember John, my job?s finished. You handle it from here.? ?I?ve got it all under control. You got your money, I got my cargo. We?re both happy. Now let?s both get out of each other?s way and get on with our jobs,? John reassured him. Frank glanced back at the trucks and cranes lifting massive, 125 foot crates into the air. The crates where metal, reinforced titanium and iron alloy, they must have weighed at least several tons each. And they where covered in rectangular openings, like a cage, but they where too small to see what was inside from here. But Frank knew what was inside them, and it disturbed him. ?You sure you?ve got the equipment to transport them?? he asked. ?I said, don?t worry yourself. I?ve got it under control.? ?What if the government gets suspicious?? Frank persisted. John radiated confidence, but Frank was not so sure. This was very risky. ?I?ve got it under control. How many times do I need to tell you, I?ve taken care of everything.?

John looked down at the captain, who looked really nervous. What the hell was his problem? Didn?t he trust him? ?Alright. Let?s go see how the cages are getting unloaded.? He turned and headed for the nearest cage, held up by a gigantic electromagnet. Captain Joly followed him, nervously wiping his brow. His escort followed shortly behind. ?How?s going guys?? He shouted. ?Great,? a nearby workman shouted back. ?This one?s almost ready?? ?How?re the tranquillisers, still holding?? ?Holding great, the babies are sound asleep.? ?Great.? John smiled again. Stupid raptor fans. They had no idea?

Daniel Renolds glanced up tensely at the enormous cage, 70 feet above his head, and lowering. He moved back, apprehensive of the huge force above his head. He looked towards the man at the controls of the giant electromagnet, carefully pushing handles on his dashboard. ?Ok, ok, keep it going, steady, steady?? The man looked up at the cage, totally in his control. The slightest mistake and something very bad could happen? Carefully and precisely he lowered the cage towards one of three gigantic, Russian made Ruslan cargo planes, the largest planes in the world. They had cost a fortune. ?Ok, keep it going? Stop. Alright, very gently, left and down? slowly does it?? The poor guy was sweating like mad. He had probably never lifted anything so heavy, yet fragile in his life. ?Ok, just get it over with?? The electromagnet whirred and clicked, and slowly, steadily, the gigantic crate was entering the plane through the cargo hatch in the back. All the whirring and buzzing, and shouts all around him? this was one hell of a job. One hell of a job. ?Stop! Great, ok, now you can switch the power off. You done it, it?s over. It?s up to the truckers now. Congratulations!? The man switched the power off with a click and an electric hum, and exhaled a sigh of relief, wiping his brow with the back of hand. He smiled. ?Cheers mate.? ?Sure, no problem.?

Special Agent Ray Richards narrowed his eyes and surveyed the gory scene all around him. ?So, you where going along this road at eight ? thirty this morning, to see your friend Mr. Burke, when you saw that his truck was parked outside this farmhouse, is that right Mr. Oakley?? ?Yes. I saw his car, and I thought? I dunno, I thought that something was wrong. I didn?t get it.? ?So you got out of your car, and?? ?Well, I?d noticed some police cars there too, and I really thought that something must be wrong, and?? The man was breathing quickly, shallowly. He was scared like hell. ?It?s all right Mr. Oakley. We?ve got this under investigation. But in order to find out what happened we need to know as much as we can, and we need all the help we can get.? He nodded. Special Agent Richards had been called in by the chief of Raine police at half past nine, there appeared to be a very gruesome, serial murder at one of the small farmhouses on the outskirts, and the chief thought that this was a case worthy of the special forces. It certainly was, he thought, taking a look around him. By the time he had arrived on the scene, by just over half past ten, the police had had all the road for 500m in each direction blocked off, and they where running searches of the surrounding countryside with specially trained search dogs. So he and his colleague Special Agent Brown had arrived at a small farmhouse, with ten or so police officers and forensic people at the scene, including the chief, who had explained how they had left the evidence untouched until their arrival. A man, identified as the owner of the farmhouse by the man who had reported this to the police in the first place, was draped over the barbed wire fence at the back of the grounds. The body was in horrific condition; one puzzled forensic person had described it ?As though he was attacked by a diamond edged garden rake.? He certainly did look like that, Richards thought. He looked considerably worse than a shark attack victim. A savage with four rounds of ammunition left in the magazine was about 20 feet away from the body, in the bloodstained grass. A woman identified as his wife was on the floor in the dining room, and she had been slashed across the stomach with a long, thin and very sharp object, her intestines where lying in stomach juices all over the floor. Richards had only not been sick because he was so determined to keep the image of the FBI, his insides where still churning right now. He was glad that nobody knew. A police car identified as car #5 was parked by the road, the doors where closed and it looked normal. The other police car, apart from the cars belonging to the police investing the crime, which where all parked behind the black and yellow ribbon put up around the site, was indescribable. Both of it?s doors where open, and both the headlights and inside light where on. The front windscreen was shattered, and there lines and dents and gauges all over the bodywork. Some of the scars had actually gone THROUGH the chassis. One of the officers was inside the car, there was a big hole in his throat, and his heart was torn out. His blood had flooded the whole inside of the car. The other officer was just behind the car, his gun was dangling in his right hand. His head had been twisted clean off. It was nowhere in sight. The third police officer was eviscerated on the lawn about twelve feet from the front of the car. His gun was on the ground next to him. Not a single shot had been fired. The man identified as Jim Burke, a nearby farmer, was near the policeman. There where slash marks on his chest and his neck had been pierced in multiple places. A twelve-gauge shotgun lay on the grass about three feet away from him, and that also hadn?t been fired. His truck was parked near the road. Overall, the scene looked as though there had been a massacre. Richards was quite sure that there had been periods of time between each group of deaths, he didn?t think that they where all there at the same time. This was a very strange and disturbing case, he had never seen anything quite like it before. The only person to discharge any ammunition was the farmhouse owner, at the back of the grounds. One rifle round. What had killed them so swiftly and brutally? He suddenly had the disturbing thought that maybe something else killed them? something he couldn?t dare think about? Currently the police where checking up what the officers where doing here in the first place, the radioed messages between the cars and control would be very valuable in interpreting what had actually happened here. Meanwhile, while he waited for the forensic people to obtain as much useful DNA from the site as possible, and for the DNA to be analysed, and for the radio messages to be found and reproduced and analysed, there wasn?t much he could do except take a look around the site for any useful clues he might find. But first, he?d have to finish questioning this man, who was currently the most valuable resource they had. He was certainly in no hurry to get on with investigating the site; just the mere thought of those mutilated bodies made him want to retch. ?Alright. So you saw that something was wrong. What did you do?? ?Well, after I saw the bodies on the lawn, I ran back to my car?? ?And?? ?Well, I drove to the nearest payphone in the village,? ah? he was talking about Dolton. ?And I called the police and told them about what I?d seen?? ?Excuse me for interrupting, but about what time did you actually reach the payphone?? ?At about? eight forty five?? ?Eight forty five? is anyone writing this down?!? A sergeant nearby nodded, waving a notebook at him. ?Right? and when was the last time you heard from this Jim?? ?Uh? eight thirty yesterday, he was down the pub.? So? eight thirty yesterday, a man is drinking with his friend down the pub. Eight thirty next morning, his friend is driving down a quiet country road, and he sees the man dead. By eight forty ? five, he is calling the police down at the village payphone. By five past nine, the police are on the scene. By half past nine, the police decide to alert the Special Forces. By half past ten, he was already there. ?When you saw those bodies on the lawn,? Mr. Oakley?s face looked like he was going to be sick again, ?How long do you think they had been there? Or did you hear anything whilst driving along the road? Or did you see anything?? ?No? I didn?t see or hear anything strange until I saw? that? and? well, they looked like they?d been there for some time? a few hours.? He suddenly bent over and put his head between his knees, breathing shallowly. So? he would have heard the rifle report, the whole thing must have happened quite early in the morning? ?It?s alright Mr. Oakley. We?re looking into this. I think you can go now, we won?t need anything more from you. If you could just give us your address and phone number in case we do?? The man gasped his address and phone number, and went off to his car. Special Agent Richards turned around. He had an unpleasant task to do.

Part 2 coming soon...

This is the prologue to my first DWF episode. And BTW, I?d just like to tell everyone that I?m not morbid, I just like to use lots of descripitve language in my stories.

His headlights cut a cone of light over the dark road and the surrounding hedges as sergeant Moors' police car bounced over the narrow country road. His radio crackled and he picked it up. "...everything all right sergeant?" "All looks well;" he said, scanning the road ahead and the hedges on either side. "Nothing peculiar." "OK then." The radio went dead. He put it back down in it's rack and resumed his examination of the hedges and the road around him. There where no other cars or people, he was alone. He was sent here in the extreme early hours of the morning because supposedly there had been a dog attack or something. A very hysterical woman had called, and had sobbed something about razor sharp claws and her husband being dead. But then she was in a state of shock. As he rounded a corner he noticed a small farmhouse, with the lights brightly on. The front door was open. He decided to check it out. He took his radio. ?I?ve just stopped by a small cottage by the road, permission to check it out?? ?Permission granted sergeant.? He clipped the radio to his belt and got out of his car, unholstering his gun. He turned on his flashlight, shining it around. As he approached the house he switched it off as the lights shining through the curtained up windows. Putting back the flashlight, his sleeve went back slightly, and he noticed his watch. Five past one. Barbaric time of the morning to send a police sergeant. But then the police is always meant to be there for you. He felt tough and cool as he walked up to the wide open door and glanced inside. He glimpsed a corridor and a kitchen. He rapped on the door, and stood back. Then he realised he was still holding his gun, so he put it back in it?s holster. If he ever needed it, it wasn?t now. He rapped again. Looking around, he saw the second police car, standing further away by the road, both the doors where open and the light inside the car was on. He turned his back on the house and walked towards the car, curiously. He took out his gun and his flashlight again, and as the powerfull, narrow beam moved over the front windscreen, sergeant Moors felt a chill go down his spine. The horror of what he saw paralysed him. The front windscreen was broken, and blood was smeared extensively over the whole car, it dripped from the broken edges of glass, and over the right door, and it was on the hood. It was all over the place. Inside there was a dark form. He didn?t want to come any closer, He couldn?t, but his legs just moved and his heart beat frantically as he moved closer and closer to the wreckage of the cop car. He could now see through the smashed windscreen, and what he saw inside was the final straw for him. He screamed, he emptied his lungs into the cold night air as a high ? pitched continuous flow of sound.

As she sat in her swivel chair in the control room, Stephanie Markham tried again with car #5. ?Sergeant Moors, come in please. If you can hear me then please come in sergeant Moors. Can you hear me sergeant?? For the past five minutes she had been trying to reach the sergeant, but to no avail. There was panic in the control room, two police cars and their drivers had seemingly just disappeared. What was going on?

The high pitched scream still rang in Jim Burke?s ears as he put his shotgun into the front of his truck. He had been woken up at just over five past one by a chilling, long scream that seemed to come from the Benson?s cottage. Jesus, it was horrible. He closed the door and went round the other side, where he got in. He was going to check this out, even if the good for nothing coppers didn?t. He slammed the door, and started the engine. His truck was a rusty old thing but it still worked perfectly over all these years. His was a truck to be proud of. As he slipped it in gear and rumbled onto the narrow road, he wondered for a brief, wild moment if they had been attacked by the creatures. He had seen one of them once. They came at night, and took sheep and even cows. He was awoken one night by frantic mooing in the cow pens, so he took his shotgun and put on his coat and wellies to investigate. He trudged up the path leading through his grounds, and the noise was deafening. Somethinghad spooked them. Maybe a coyote? Well, They where no problem for the cows or sheep, since there where no lambs or foals right now. But he still went on. Sometimes he still wondered why. Maybe he had felt something, maybe his senses had picked something up that he couldn?t quite register. But he had gone, and as he approached the pens, he saw all the panicked cows, mooing and stamping. In one place it almost a stampede. Their eyes glowed green in the faint moonlight, and they looked at him, and he saw the fear in their eyes. He didn?t want to go in amongst a panicked herd of cows, so he scanned the edges of the herd, looking for the source of the trouble. He looked long and hard, but he hadn?t seen anything strange. So he?d decided to give up and go home, whem he saw a dark shape, weaving in among the cows, darting around them, and it?s speed and agility was amazing. Even in the dark, he could see it?s features. He remembered it very clearly to this day. It had moved with seemingly no effort, it never paused, like it was flowing through water. It had a long, very straight tail, which it held out straight behind it. It?s arms where long, and tipped with three massive, curving talons, the inside one being the largest, for it was about 40cm long, and the straightest. It?s head was quite short, and the eyes gleamed brightly in their sockets. It?s legs wheren?t especially gracile, but they where heavily muscled. It had no long claws or anything on it?s legs, but he clearly remembered the way it ran. It didn?t run on two or four legs, it kind ran on both, like a gorilla. It had it?s weight on it?s hind legs, but it helped propel itself by it?s arms, and the long claws kicked up the ground as it ran. He wanted to shoot it, but he was afraid of hitting a cow. He was suddenly very cold, and wanted to go inside. He?d lost the creature, but he knew roughly where it was, since that was where the cows where the most agitated. But he decided to give it up, so he went back home and got into bed. He had had a terrible, sleepless night, the cows mooed all night and sometimes the franticness in the voices passed onto Jim, and he shivered in bed, glad that he was inside.

The following morning nine cows where found dead in his field, completely evicerated.

He snapped back into reality as he recognised the place where he was. He was very near the Benson?s farmhouse now, and as he rounded another bend in the road, he saw it. There was a police car nearby, good, at least the police where doing something. For a brief moment he wondered if he was needed here, but he decided to check it out anyway. He took his shotgun and got out of the truck. A quick glance around told him that something wasn?t right. There appeared to be two police cars here, the one nearby was OK but the second car, parked in a particularly dark spot, looked kind of wrong. The light inside it told him that the doors where open, but there didn?t seem to be anyone nearby. The farmhouse lights where on, and the door was wide open, but again, there was no ? one in sight. What was going on? He cocked his pump action shotgun and walked up to the house. All was quiet. Not even the crickets where chirping. The wind whistled eeriely in the trees, and Jim felt very alone here. He rapped on the door, and even the knocking on the door sounded eerie. Cold sweat formed on his brow. He decided to check out the police cars. He went towards the strange one. Walking towards it, it seemed stranger and stranger. Where had all the people gone? About twelve feet from the car he stumbled on something. He looked down, and saw the staring face of a dead policeman, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. Jim felt like screaming himself, he managed a groan, and sank down on his knees. He felt very sick. When he saw what had happened to the rest of the cop?s body, he felt even sicker. He vomited all over the grass, his stomach tied in an impossible knot. The cop looked like he?d been through a combine harvester. Jim suddenly felt like he really, really, didn?t want to be here. Unsteadily, he got to his feet. Jesus, he was out of here. It wasn?t his job to take care of this. He turned to get to his truck. And he wished he hadn?t. He saw it, the creature. Again. Ugly as hell, the shrot pug head lined with triangular razor teeth, the large, gleaming yellow forward facing eyes staring straight at him. Eye contact with this horror was the most unpleasant thing Jim would ever experience. His shotgun forgotten in his hands, he screamed. The scream was cut short as it leapt onto his chest and drove it?s long hand claws straight through his throat. His world ended abruptly.

Bird cries filled the humid morning air as a light mist clung over the treetops. The feeling was magical. A rainbow arced gently over the canopy, as there had been rain the other day. The pterosaurs where awaking now, stretching their wings and screaming.

And the torvosaur snorted in his sleep, disturbing the pterosaurs sleeping on his head. He grunted. An eye snapped open. From his lying position, he surveyed the scene. He was at the edge of a large muddy clearing, which was normally very dusty but due to the premature rains was now a bog. The female torvosaur was still asleep beside him, good. He had been following her every move for the last 24 hours, in case another male took interest, and as she would only be in heat for a short period of time, he had to be there all the time. Sides heaving, he pushed himself up. He looked around again. Apart from the pterosaurs, and the group of dryosaurs regarding him carefully from the other end, they where alone. Cicadas droned. Flies buzzed around his nostrils. He was waiting for her to wake up.

It was like a game of follow-the-leader, wherever she went, he went also. Whenever she drank, he drank too. He had to keep a constant eye on her. She snorted a few times, and opened her eyes. She was bigger than him, a full 12 meters, the total maximum for her species. Slowly, she heaved herself up, and looked around. The smell of the rains was fresh in the air. The jurassic was a wet time, the sea levels where a good 30 feet higher, and there was rarely a shortage of water. But when there was, there was suffering a plenty.

The marshosaur yelped in surprise as he discovered that both he and his stegosaur carcass where lying in a foot of water. He jumped up, sending a spray of water in all directions. He could have drowned, or the carcass could have been washed away. He was lucky. The female torvosaur hadn?t tried to steal his kill, she passed about two miles north east of him. His carcass. He growled irritably, as he noticed several crocodiles twisting hunks of flesh off his stegosaur. He splashed up, roaring, but the crocodiles hardly payed any attention, only growled at him to get away. He circled around, roaring and lunging, but he knew it was no use. After a few more minutes of trying to scare the crocodiles off and get his carcass back, he gave up. He was full anyway.

The beauty of the new day was lost on the camptosaur, as he awoke to what was to him just another day of leaf eating. Most of his group where already up, munching at the foliage and barking at one another. Camptosaurs lived in loose groups of about 30 or so, consisting of both males and females, with no strict pecking order. There where no set rules, they only lived close together for protection. Sixty eyes are better than two. He grunted plaintively, and set off into a nearby grove of trees. It was a palm grove, their feathery fronds swaying in the light wind. He smelt smoke, but he didn?t worry. During stroms and rains trees where often hit by lighting, and forest fires where not very frequent, and despite some of the group members being a bit edgy and nervous, there had been no forest fires in this camptosaur?s lifetime, and he wasn?t especially worried. Suddenly, something caught his eye. A predator? He grunted, tensely, shifting his weight. No, it was the glint of the sun off something shiny, shimmering in the morning heat. Something silver. Despite his senses warning him of danger, he went closer to investigate. He sniffed the air, and smelt the faint odour of smoke on the air again. It smelt strange, not the choking, enveloping woodsmoke, but a light, whispy kind of smoke, like that of the faintly smouldering remains of a bonfire. He approached, cautiously. His dull eyes where wide and alert now. He entered the cool shade of the grove, and was greeted with soft pterosaur cries, echoing all around him. He smelt it again, stronger this time. Smoke, something had burned recently. Then he caught it again, that shining, glinting object, sticking up above the fronds. He stopped, looked around. Then he saw a group of pterosaurs sitting on top of a duller, burnt part of something large. He glimsed a much larger, duller object up ahead. He approached, carefully treading. The sheer vastness of the object just hit him, and he stopped. For a brief moment, he felt something like wonder, or awe. He went closer and closer, and then he saw more of the object. A big, hulking, boulder like thing, which tapered at the end, like a tail, and had four pointy, shiny, long thin blades spreading out in all directions above it. The smoke mingled with the pterosaur cries in the air, and made the camptosaur even more nervous. The object was about 60 feet long, inlcuding the ?tail,? and probably used to be white, but now it was battered and dented and dirty, with green smears all over it?s side. At the front end it was charred black and brown, and looked like it was hollow. The four blades on top where bent and one was mangled, but they where still long and shiny. It looked strange, and it spooked the camptosaur. He snorted loudly, and sniffed the air again. The smell of smoke was now strong in his nostrils, although he could not see any. He sniffed again, and this time, along with the smoke, he smelt a new smell. Sweet, yet oddly disturbing. He knew that smell, and it panicked him. He smelt blood.

from da masta, age ?, ?, ?, ?; Jan 19, 2001

The othneila where at the stream, drinking, and it was a peaceful scene. The stream gurgled quietly, and damselflies and dragonflis, irridescent specks of red and blue where darting around grabbing midges. The morning light glistened off the water, and the air was rich with the smell of the rainforest all around. Wet leaves dripped, glistening ferns lined the edges of the stream, with the tall, bare trunks af larger trees rising up into the canopy.

A single othy raised it?s head, suddenly still. The rest of the group noticed, and also froze. The group went abruptly silent. Cicadas droned. Midges buzzed. And then, with an earsplitting chittering the group explosively bounded off, and disappeared in the tangle of trees, their cries getting quiter as they bounced further and further away.

The ground was shaking. Slightly, in fact, so slightly, that if a human was there, he would be able to convince himself that it was all his imagination. But it wasn?t. Because, in a short while, it got louder. And closer. Slowly, little tremors in the earth, one in every four seconds, making the water in the othy?s footprints dance.

And then, quite suddenly, a huge head broke out of the foliage about 18 feet high off the ground, and the torvosaur entered the clearing by the bank. He looked around, smelling the air, he could still smell the othys, but couldn?t quite figure where they?d gone. Not that it mattered to him, he had eaten recently. He had been lucky, the allosaurs had been too preoccupied with the apatosaur herd to smell the dead camptosaur, and in the ensuing melee one of the allosaurs was killed by a well aimed blow from the tail of a mother apatosaur, thus giving the torvosaur another free meal. He lapped the water noisily.

Water droplets trickled down the marshosarus? pebbled, dappled back as it stood still in the clump of ferns, eyes fixed on the stegosaur by the riverbank. He paid no attention, his gaze was on the stegosaur he had been stalking the last half an hour. The stego was scooping water up with it?s short, deep beak, grunting and rumbling in between. It was completely unaware. The marshosaur krept forward, head low among the ferns, talons flexed, muscles rippling under it?s skin, tense in concentration. It lunged, mouth open and roaring, at the stricken stegosaur. Before it could react, the marshosaur had ran up to it?s front, and grabbed it?s neck. The dermal oscicles embedded in the stegosaurs? skin prevented the teeth from penetrating to the blood vessels within, but the sheer force of the bite had choked the air out of the stegosaur, which was now rasping and wheezing, trying to shake it?s attacker off, but it was useless. The marshosaur just wouldn?t let go.The stegosaur sank down, desperately trying to keep standing, because it knew that it fell, all was lost. But it was hopeless. The marshosaur drove the stego?s neck down and down, until it buckled and collapsed, like a giant sack of potatoes. The marshosaur clamped it?s jaws down for the final time, and the stego?s body relaxed. It let go, and walked up to the stego?s belly. Abruptly, an earsplitting roar resounded through the forest, flushing pterosaurs out of trees and making the droplets on the wet leaves dance. The marshosaur?s head snapped up in irritation, and it let rip it?s own piercing cry, but the mighty roar both outblasted and outlasted the marshosaur, whose manner had changed entirely. Now he was edgy, and nervous, as if he was scared. And the point is, he WAS.

By the stream, the torvosaur?s head snapped up, abruptly, the water running down his mandible in rivulets. He knew that roar. He had heard it before, but not often. He knew he must act quickly, before it was too late. Although the roar was so loud it appeared to come from everywhere, the torvosaur could smell that the source was about 6 miles north ? northwest. It was a very faint smell, which he had not recognised before he heard the roar, but now he knew everything, clear as day. He immediately left the stream and started on his course, for he knew that she only be in heat for a few days. For she was a female torvosaur.

from da masta, age 13, ?, ?, ?; Jan 12, 2001

The tiny creatures bounded forward on muscular long legs, focusing all their strength on the powerfull, explosive leaps that sent them six feet in air. They shrieked in alarm, leaping over fallen tree trunks and clumps of ferns. Suddenly the looming hulk of a Torvosaur crashed through a wall of bennettitaleans, and snatched a tiny othy straight out of the air, shook it in it's mouth, put it down and looked warily around. The last thing it wanted was another Torvosaur snatching its prize. But the forest was quiet except the rather loud noise of running away, so it was apparently safe. The huge Torvosaur slowly picked up the limp form on the ground and walked off.

That was the sixteenth loss the othy group had had this year, and constant hunting from large carnivores and other othy groups nextdoor where taking their toll on the group. When they had ran quite a lot further away than was really necessary, the othys resumed eating. They where losing group members all the time now. They spread out, searching the underbrush for seed pods.

The Torvosaur was eating now, keeping half an eye out for the coelurosaurs that had gathered in a neat fifty foot radius around it. It could do with another meal. With a sickening crunch it ripped one of the othys legs off and swallowed it whole. Flies buzzed around and settled on the carcass whenever the Torvosaur raised its huge head to swallow, and zoomed off with an angry buzz whenever it lowered its head again. The coelurosaurs watched hopefully.

They where a unpleasant bunch, running around causing havoc, stealing eggs they couldn't even open, snatching bites from larger carnosaurs' kills, waiting at holes in the ground for the mammals to come out. As a rule, coelurosaurs had a short and fat life. The Torvosaur abruptly the lunged, scattering the little predators. They darted into the udergrowth with annoyed chirps.

Ah, the othys where running again, startled by a fleeing coelurosaur.

Othys where not very bright animals, the slightest disturbance could send them leaping off through the forest. When they'd ran about another five hundred meters they stopped and started foraging again. Moving around in the tall ferns, probing with their beaks for those seed pods. Seed pods had a difficult time. Just about any small herbivores ate the things. Packed full of nutrition. Good fuel for all that running.

Our Torvosaur slept soundly, its side rising and dropping, rising and dropping. Flies sat on its eyelids cleaning their little legs. The air was filled with pterosaur cries. A fly landed on the edge of the large carnivore's mouth. It moved around, pausing to give its wings a clean. A pterosaur darted in and seized it, and flew off again in one fluid motion. The Torvosaur snorted in its sleep.

Those coelurosaurs who hadn't run away far where now squabbling over the remains. Fighting, snatching chunks of flesh from each other. Two where pulling on a piece of tail now, and ripped it in half. A few Ornitholestes where here too, flashing their feathery crests to each other, and dipping their heads down to pluck flesh from inside the ribcage, which was now fully visible. Soon only the skeleton would be left. The scene was chaotic, small carnivores dashing around the place fighting.

The othys where minding their own business again when the neighbours came round. The gang stood just outside the invisible border line, wanting a fight but not daring to step over it. The local othys lined up on the other side, chirping threateninlgly. They bobbed their heads up and down, jumping exitedly. Soon other othys where now rushing in from all around, attracted by the cries and eager to help their group. The forest was now full with the cries of at least sixty compys, getting exited too. Soon enough the neighbours decided they didn't really want a fight, and turned tail and ran. Our group, disappointed, chased them through the forest a short while, but soon gave up when they remembered that they might as well go back to the seed pods.

An apatosaur herd was moving through the plains, two miles away. After stripping the earlier place, they where searching for a new place to wreck. They could sense a nice green spot up ahead, and nothing was going to stop them. The seventy foot long apatosaurs walked quite fast for such big animals. Most of them was neck and tail. The juveniles where in the centre, the older animals in a rough semicircle around them. Pterosaurs swooped in from behind the herd, plucking the stunned insects that had been walked on by the herd from the plants that replaced grass in the mesozoic era. Sounds weird doesn't it. There you go. I don't know what was there instead of grass in the mesozoic era.

The Torvosaur woke up after having less than twenty minutes sleep. The apatosaur herd was making a lot of noise bellowing and stripping the trees of everything green. It got up, pushing itself up with its little arms, and roared in frustration. The apatosaurs where too big to hunt and they had woken him up. He stomped off in the general direction of the forest, the apatosaurs trumpeting in his direction as if they where trying to rub it in.

Othys scattered in all directions as the Torvosaur stomped past them. He didn't bother chasing them, there was no point. He trudged across the flattened ferns, trying to get away from the noisy herd. His stomach rumbled. The othy hadn't been enough, it was only five feet long. Then his olfactory bulbs detected something. Sniff. A dead dinosaur. Flies. Sniff. Coelurids biting each others fingers off. This was a large kill, too. He had to get there before the scavengers ate too much. He broke into a run.

At the kill the coelurosaurs felt the ground shaking and they all rushed at the carcass, trying to get a last minute bite before they where driven off. The torvosaur thundered into the clearing, straight at the kill. The scavengers fled into the surrounding ferns again, shrieking in annoyance. Soon they reappeared, and gathered into the fifty foot radius around the dead camptosaur. The Torvosaur was ripping off massive chunks of ragged flesh, and the scavengers increased the volume, hopping around, appauled at how much food that they could be eating was being bolted down the throat of the huge carnosaur. The carnosaur seemed to be paying zero attention to them, but they where not fooled. They knew better than to venture near the mighty jaws of the torvosaur.

The dead camptosaur was relatively fresh, provided food for days and it had taken virtually no effort to get it. This was a dream come true. The torvosaur was happily bolting down kilos at a time, pinning the rest of the body down with its foot and tugging at the selected part of the camptosaur with its jaws to rip it off. Most large carnivorous dinosaurs did not have especially strong jaws, most of the muscle power was in the neck. The muscles rippled under the skin of the torvosaurs' neck as it filled its belly. With the smell of the kill blotting out the other smells, not so much in the air as in the torvosaurs mind, it did not smell the allosaurs making their way down the plains.

By Da Masta

Da Masta says: 'If dis story is 'OK' or 'Neat' or you like it, then look out for future editions of this series. If I can be bothered to write any more that is.
from da masta, age 13, ?, ?, ?; October 21, 2001

OK, when I look up ALL the dino contestant's weights, and I sort them into:


Categories, It'll be dino blood flying around our area!

It's under construction now, get a sneak look with Iron mike and the Professor!

[a large, round, concrete circle on the floor, surrounded by a circular wall thing, covered with scaffolding and with lots of workers busy]
[sound of welding, drilling, and sawing, and big machines chugging]
Da masta: OK, then guys, how's construction going?
Builder: It's going great Da masta, as you can see, it'll be a slightly raised, reinforced titanium floor, covered with a thick bouncy plastic, we've got the concrete layer being done now. Soon we'll be onto the titanium.
Da masta:OK, Bob, how're the wrestlers?
Builder: Well, Da masta, they're ready to go, and quite impatient. We've got all the workers working night and day in shifts. I think it'll be ready by the weekend.
Da masta:OK. Where're our presenters?
Builder: Down in the locker room.
Da masta: You've almost finished the building. I'm impressed. Why are they in the locker room?
Builder: Thanks Da masta. But I think you'll have to come back later to see them. It's an, ah, sensitive time.
Da masta:Oh... what happened?
Builder:[quickly] Oh, nothing. Just a little problem. Can't wait for the arena to be ready, you see.

A shit, there's two weird guys behind me , telling me this is rubbish.
from da masta again!, age ?, ?, ?, ?; November 5, 2001

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