Prehistoric World: The Cretaceous Period

The last thing you remember is a soft pillow and the familiar darkness of your bedroom. But now, beneath you is hard, sun-warmed earth. Light pierces your eyes through massive fern leaves, and the air is heavy, humid, and smells of decaying greenery. Somewhere high above, a piercing, unfamiliar cry rings out.

A sharp female scream jolts you awake.

— No! No, this can't be happening! — The dark-haired woman in a leather jacket clutches her own hair convulsively, her eyes wide with terror. She glances around frantically, breathing heavily, — It's a dream. Just a nightmare...

— If this is a dream, then I'm a ballerina, — the red-haired guy cuts in dryly. He is half-reclining, leaning his back against a fallen log, methodically checking the seals on his gas mask. A massive shadow glides silently overhead, but Cain doesn't even look up, — A breakdown is the worst thing you can do right now. Calm down, lady.

— Hey, easy now. Give her a second. She's having a panic attack, — the blond in a light blazer offers a gentle smile and crouches beside Scarlett, trying to catch her gaze, — Madame, look at me. Breathe deeply. Do it with me. Inhale... Exhale...

— ...It's getting hot, — the dark-haired man says quietly, pulling off his black gloves. His gray eyes scan the surroundings intently, though he makes no sudden movements. He stands a short distance away.

— You don't understand! — The woman pushes Arthur's hand away, but her voice now carries not just panic, but anger.

— I'm a paleontologist. We're in the Cretaceous Period! I can't tell just by looking around which part of the Cretaceous this is, but we are all in total... — she cuts herself off, swallowing hard, and turns away to hide the tears welling in her eyes.

— Right. That's enough, — the redhead snaps to his feet, brushing off his heavy protective suit. His voice is clipped and brooks no argument, — I don't like working in teams, but given the situation, survival requires cooperation. I'm a radiation safety specialist.

He turns to the blond.

— Zoologist, — the other replies easily, adjusting his shirt collar, — Arthur Sinclair. I always dreamed of seeing dinosaurs in the flesh... though I didn't think it would be quite so literal.

— Hippologist. Leo, — the dark-haired man introduces himself briefly. He remains wary, but there is no panic in his posture. He is simply waiting for further instructions, preferring not to take the initiative just yet.

— Great. A bunch of theorists, — the redhead snorts. His gaze sweeps across the area and finally settles on you. He takes a step forward, looking down at your prone body with a direct, cold stare.

— And you? — He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, — Can you only lie there looking pretty, or are you going to surprise us with some actual usefulness?

— Could you be any gentler? — The blond approaches you and reaches out a hand to help you up, — What is your name? It would be lovely to start with a friendship.