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Beyond Evolution - A Saurian Transcendence

by fenrirsblood

On his last trip to the mainland, Dr. Quinn Harper left an encrypted thumb drive on his research partner's desk, along with a sticky note written in code. It wouldn't take Rachel too long to figure it out; she was brilliant. She knew he was going back to the island, but she thought it was only for a bit of “extralegal" research. The note plainly said, "In three months, I won't be human anymore. Come find me and join me." He figured she'd mistranslate it or misunderstand it. Maybe she'd think it wasn't literal; after all, what sane person would? But the coordinates, instructions, and research materials on the drive would point her in the right direction... hopefully. They had feelings for each other, no doubt, a fling here and there, a couple of drunken nights of fun, but it never turned into anything too serious, nothing where he might need to pull out a diamond ring. Still, they'd been close since college, and he never wanted to exclude her from anything, especially not from a major breakthrough like this. But what he was about to attempt was sheer hubris. A mad scientist's dream that he'd be lucky to survive.

"Hey Rachel, check it out! I modeled a deinonychus brain casing with the cerebral cortex of a human. Isn't that weird? It almost works, if you look at it the right way. I might do a few more enhancements, see what else fits."

Sometimes the gentle hum of the geothermal vents lulled him to sleep, even over the obnoxious chattering of the compsognathus that poked and prodded around the compound at every hour of the day. But most nights, he hadn't slept much. Racing over dozens of variables, squirming over his future, struggling with the thought of abandoning not just his life's work but his very life as a human being. He'd wrestled and chewed and agonized over these thoughts for months, carefully weighing them, setting aside his fears one by one, until he was finally almost at peace with his decision. But tonight, at the hour of triumph, his doubts almost all came flooding back to him. Rachel's words crept into his mind at just the worst times.

"You know people died on those islands, right? Even a little girl. Why would you want to go back there? They're wild animals, Quinn, and that's a research facility in the middle of a hot zone. It's not an amusement park with hot dogs and cotton candy."

Through bleary eyes, Harper could do nothing but stare at the amber burn of a CRT terminal almost as old as he was, anxiously monitoring the incomprehensible maze of speckled columns and glowing bars that the gene sequencer treated as "output." Dusty, mold-ridden dinosaur toys and park-themed knick-knacks littered his desk. Somehow the facility's gift shop was still stocked and untouched, and with every round he made through the building scavenging for supplies like a pack rat, he made it a point to grab some new souvenir to grace the lab. It was silly, but the smiling plastic creatures reminded him daily of his goal, his very purpose of being. His entire life was spent in the service of studying these animals. He'd been obsessed with them even as a kid, and his enthusiasm was as strong as ever.

"Quinn, there's nothing left to know about dinosaurs, you know what I mean? People are tired of them. How cool is a T-rex when you've seen one a hundred times on TV? I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish... I mean, I'm just worried about you, that's all. If you go back... you'd better take a gun this time. Or two or three."

It was only the droll, unceasing tedium of his scientific work that made his convictions waver. He'd spent the better part of a year and almost his entire fortune ferrying modern equipment into the decaying, rust-ridden facility, but some of the lab's outdated tech was still unfortunately necessary. He couldn't afford to try and re-create a whole lifetime of research. Harper worked with the scraps left by giants on an island long forgotten, a lost world with a legacy of death and chaos, but also a wreckage rife with the treasures of unparalleled scientific genius.

"Look... I get it. I totally do. I wanted to change the world too. But the truth is... I don't think we're ready for the kind of thing you're talking about. Give it a hundred years maybe. I mean, you can't even wear the wrong eyeliner without people gawking, and you're talking about changing your species? Give me a break, Quinn, this is real life, not Netflix."

His thoughts had started to wander when the ancient dot-matrix printer sprung to life, vomiting out its final testimony. With eyes wide, he grabbed the yellowing paper, then whirled to double check the screen. Harper clenched his teeth to stop himself from shouting at the top of his lungs as the read-out signaled 100%. In the middle of the hot, jungle night, one outburst might attract unwanted attention... raptors. Or worse. The island's raptors had grown even more intelligent over time as their unnaturally complex synapses matured and adapted. They could open windows and manipulate door handles; they even knew how to lay elaborate traps with almost sapient viciousness. On his first trip to the island, he almost fell into a deep pit with brush and leaves covering the top. The sides of the hole were scoured and scratched, as if it had been dug by inefficient, animal-like claws... it sent a shiver down his spine.

Nothing could interrupt his work now. The doctor shot from his chair in triumph, and he poured out the rest of his coffee on the floor. It was over. Finally over. He rubbed his graying chin stubble, frantically scouring his mind for what to do next. The recombinant stem cells swirling in the array would soon begin to lose programmed RNA at an exponential rate, rendering them useless, and there wasn't enough material left in the lab for a second run, so he had to act fast. But he was prepared for this. Now was the time.

He'd tried to stay as fit as he could, isolated on the island. Fifty push-ups a day and a one-mile jog around the eerie halls of the building were all he could afford if he wanted to pay attention to his research. But sometimes he needed a little extra push. The athletic thirty-five-year-old reached into the nearest desk drawer and grabbed a couple of Dexedrine. He crushed the capsules with one hand, then hastily choked them down with a few swigs of bottled water. The models showed that the transformation could cause uncontrolled hypotension as his vascular system shifted, and he was wary about passing out. He wanted to be wide awake for the entire roller-coaster ride.

"If the company goes snooping around and finds these in your desk, you'll be fired, and nobody, and I mean nobody, will pick up your contract after that. You know that, right? Drink some coffee like a normal person Harper. Damn."

Quickly, the doctor ran to and from a half dozen different workstations, punching in commands for robotic automation, scripts that had taken him months to write and bug check. The building's air conditioning had failed years ago, and he was completely drenched with sweat; in frustration he threw off his lab coat and kicked it under a desk. He had to get undressed anyway. After checking and double checking his work, he slipped off his filthy old Vans, peeled off his socks, and then wiggled out of his khaki shorts. He was left in nothing but a plain gray t-shirt and boxers, but he didn't want to go any further, just in case there was some kind of emergency where he needed to escape the facility. Harper wrinkled his nose for a moment at his own stench; he hadn't showered in weeks. There was plenty of hot water, but the faucet heads had set off radon alarms months ago. The entire lab was crumbling into ruin, and it was barely fit for human habitation... but tonight, it didn't matter anymore.

"Whatever you choose to do, I'm behind you all the way. Just send me a post card, okay?"

Ejecting a tiny aluminum canister from the nanoparticle array with a gust of cold condensation, Harper marveled at how something so small and insignificant could bottle up so much sheer, unbridled genetic power. If the models were right, he wouldn't need to ablate his immune system; the cells were already adapted to his own epigenetics. The technology he was about to unleash on himself might as well have been magic. It could usher in a new dawn of genetic engineering for humankind, maybe even open the doors for a transhumanist movement. If the procedure was a success, he'd become the highest form of life on earth, a prehistoric monster infused with the essence of man. The literal king of beasts... and with it would come an understanding of the genetic threads of life and the mysterious interwoven destiny of all living creatures, a reality that no other human on the face of the planet could possibly comprehend. At least, that's what he hoped. Or, he could just be a hedonistic dinosaur-man lounging in the jungle, fraternizing with velociraptors and gorging himself on raw meat. A perfectly suitable alternative.

"You know that model I showed you the other day Rachel? I made a few changes, and I got Morris from production to clean up the skeletal rig. Check it out! A half-man, half-dinosaur. Remember that old cartoon, what was it, with the sharks but there was like, a dinosaur spin-off? Haha, no I'm not a furry. Look, forget about it, it's silly anyway."

The transformation chamber was actually an old containment deck with a high ceiling, which held a single skylight, allowing the stars to shine down into the room. It was one of the only things in this place that gave Harper a sense of peace every night, as long as it wasn't pouring rain. But more importantly, one of the walls was built as a massive two-way mirror with an observation room on the other side. Not only would the mirror let him explore every inch of himself after the procedure was complete, but the surveillance equipment had been isolated and was still very much intact, and he'd set the camera system to start filming the procedure automatically. If the experiment went south, there would be a record of what he'd sacrificed in the name of transcendence.

He'd managed to wheel in a creaky examination table into the room, and sitting next to it was an old respiratory system, probably once used to sedate small dinosaurs for surgery. Harper had modified the gas valve with an inlet to accept the metal vial from the sequencing array, which he quickly screwed into place before reaching over to activate the gas tank--a careful mix of nitrogen and oxygen. Aerosol distribution was the only way to ensure complete diffusion of the nanoparticles into his bloodstream. He hopped up onto the table with a metallic clang, and then leaned back carefully onto the cold stainless steel. Vital function monitoring wasn't necessary. There would be no one to help him if he flat-lined.

"Fuck, Quinn... I didn't know you'd be this good. What sorority girl taught you how to do that? I guess you've got a little animal in you after all."

Harper closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the rustling of the trees outside and the occasional pitter-patter of small creatures scouring the building for insects or scraps of food. Inhale, exhale, deep breath one, two, three... he was already starting to feel the stimulant kicking in. His heart was aflutter, his stomach twisted into a knot, and a heavy line of sweat beaded on his forehead. He wasn't the praying type, but if there was a higher power out there, one responsible for birthing these magnificent creatures onto the Earth so many eons ago, he hoped he'd be forgiven for screwing with the natural order so royally.

With a burst of courage, the doctor gathered his strength, placed the breathing mask over his nose, and opened the outtake valve. He sucked in the mixture as deeply as he could without fainting, taking in deep, burning breaths; the gentle hiss of the vacuum filled his mind, but it wasn't calming. Although the genetic cocktail wasn't supposed to have a taste, a rusty, coppery tinge crept over his tongue, and his mouth suddenly turned dry. A tingling itch crawled from the small of his back to the top of his spine. Then, unceremoniously... it started. Every semblance of calm immediately left his mind, and he ripped the mask from his face, hyperventilating with both fear and anticipation.

The computer suggested the transformation would start methodically in his torso and finish at his head, but at this point, he was terrified beyond the capacity to comprehend scientific reasoning.

Nanite-enhanced stem cells had almost a strange kind of intelligence. They were like destroying angels, executing their instructions perfectly, irrespective of their host's pain, fear, or anguish. Every human cell they found was deemed incorrect, and immediately rebuilt with the proper proportion of dromaeosaurid DNA. There was a bit of utahraptor, deinonychus, and even InGen's own flawed velociraptor modification encoded in their depths. And now, they had eagerly, desperately gone to work on his body. Like cobras waiting for the right moment to strike, they unexpectedly seized upon his cells, thrusting every inch of his soft human frame into shocking, mutational agony.

Harper screamed uncontrollably, a guttural, primitive scream from the depths of his primate brain. Like ropes being unfurled, his muscles rippled and tightened, starting with his chest and rolling across his arms, his thighs, his calves; his ligaments snapped in half and were immediately reforged. Lightning bolts of white hot pain wracked his limbs, nearly paralyzing him, but they passed nearly as quickly as they came. He watched with sick fascination as his skin seemed to boil; his hair fell away in clumps wherever it grew, and his complexion deepened from pale white to a rich earthy amber. Soft human flesh turned to savage leathery hide, spreading like wildfire across his entire body; it felt like a cattle prod running over his skin. He bit his lip, drawing blood as he felt the change spread distressingly across his groin. He knew this was only the beginning.

Thankfully, as the nanites started to alter his brain structure, they arrested the pain signaling capability of his thalamus; immediately, Harper's anguish washed away, replaced with a maddening, intense impression of absolute euphoria. He cackled at the sensation, and his eyes widened with sudden delight as he both felt and witnessed his fingernails and toenails shrivel away, replaced with onyx, curved, killing claws that snaked into place from beneath his flesh. The nanites repurposed his own extraneous bone structure to rebuild his frame into something primal, something predatory. As his smaller digits audibly cracked and merged back into his hands and feet, leaving him with four fingers and toes rather than five, it was the first sensation that almost caused him to pass out, despite the amphetamines coursing through his system.

A crunching sensation coursed through his lower back, like his spine was caught in a vice and being slowly stretched apart. Sciatic nerve shock overtook his lower body as his spinal column twisted and reformed to accommodate what could have only been a theropod tail erupting from his coccyx. His legs went completely numb, a terrifying sensation, but as his muscular, rigid dinosaur tail thrust itself through his sweat-soaked boxer shorts, the numbness passed, and he was greeted with a new and alien sensation: that of a fifth limb, one that he could somehow feel and control. Maybe it was the latent, prehistoric primate genes lingering in his subconscious, but he somehow felt like he knew how to manipulate his tail all along, that the instinct for it was just forgotten by his oblivious human evolution.

As he craned to stare at the pointed raptor tail intruding from beneath his buttocks, Harper suddenly realized that the transformation was nearing its end. Not only was he still alive, but the experiment was a success, he was... he was...

All rational thought disappeared from his mind as the metamorphosis finally overtook his skull and face, the most extreme and most dangerous phase. He coughed involuntarily, spitting streams of blood from his mouth as his human teeth cracked and re-sculpted into sharp, carnivorous forms, turning into rows of ivory fangs that protruded from his gums. At the same time, a massive hammer-blow struck his face as his jaw and palate started to shift and contort, stretching outward into an inhuman, reptilian snout. Stars burst before his eyes; the pain was almost spiritual in its intensity. As the plates of his skull began to grind into new shapes, he was starting to regret his decision to force himself to remain conscious. The nanites were programmed to make concessions for his brain casing; his skull structure remained mostly humanoid, only carefully masked by his theropod snout, and his eyes were kept perfectly forward-facing, save for the bony saurian crests that protected his orbitals.

The pressure in his face caused his vision to wash into morbid shades of purple and red; his body was preparing to shut down his non-vital functions, thrusting him into a coma. If that happened, he'd never wake up. As Harper fought with every ounce of his strength to maintain control, a new, wholly unexpected phenomenon washed over his senses.

For a brief moment, his vision dulled completely, and he found himself floating in the center of the room, looking down at his mutating body. Before he could start to understand the meaning of this phenomenon, a gust of warm wind and bright light overtook him, and Harper slammed his eyes shut against the piercing light. As the brightness faded, he slowly opened them again, and another world entirely flooded his senses. It was a vast wilderness with an orange sky, hot and humid, infested here and there with pools of green water, and littered with ferns and strange swampy trees whose leaves flattened at their peaks like mushrooms. Dozens of turtles and lizards sunned themselves on the muddy banks, and beasts on leathery wings glided from the tops of cliffs to snatch slimy fish from the pools. A quiet tranquility comforted him like a blanket, and he stared at the prehistoric landscape in awe.

It was too vivid to be a dream and too ephemeral to be a hallucination. His mind was just lucid enough to pick apart the details, even as the glow of the sun beat down upon his skin. Mysteriously he recognized this place, and even more strangely it felt familiar and welcome to him; but it wasn't any age friendly to humankind. It was an age belonging to the monsters whose blood he now shared. Was this some kind of ancestral, genetic memory? Or merely the firings of countless neurons charged by nanites that had crossed his blood-brain barrier? It didn't matter. Without warning, the vision twisted and morphed, the prehistoric landscape melting away, green grass and a fenced backyard taking its place. He knew this place too. It was the suburban house where he grew up. Nostalgia rushed over his mind; he remembered playing with dinosaur figures in the mud and getting scolded by his dad for tracking dirt into the kitchen.

Lifting his hands, he saw the toys firmly in his grasp, a triceratops and a T-rex, and he somehow felt the wet and grimy plastic; it was like he was there again, only seven years old, but why? He felt like he could simply drift away in this limbo, awash with the warmth of his own memories... but despite his subconscious protest, the delusion was forced to continue.

Ripped away from his youth, Harper found himself thrust into a dim, claustrophobic cavern, the only light being a pale yellow glow that permeated the world above him. He felt lethargic and weak, like a marionette being controlled by some invisible force; this must be what pure instinct felt like. Instead of a human hand, he lifted a clawed appendage, and he prodded the wall with his talons involuntarily, and gnawed at his prison with his teeth, tiny and sharp. Without much ceremony, the eggshell cracked, and sunlight flooded over him. New faces peered within, welcoming him into the world, but they were inhuman and lizard-like. They chirped and nuzzled him, nurturing him, picking at the shell entrapping him until he felt himself crawling outward onto the moist earth. For a brief moment, he felt their love and adoration rush over him. And then, slowly but surely, as the arresting instinct slipped away, a sensation of unrest crept into his mind, which soon turned to impending doom, and then horrible, primordial terror. The dreamlike interlude was suddenly shattered, and he was engulfed in darkness.

What if this had always been his existence? What if he had never been human at all, but instead one of the company's twisted genetic monstrosities, trapped in a lab forever, being force-fed alien memories that couldn't belong to one of his kind? A shameful, unethical experiment to magnify his intellect, to malform his instinct with DNA, to control him, to make him more like them?

Harper screamed again. This time, instead of a baleful human yelp, a piercing, gargling shriek echoed across the chamber, a sound that he recognized as his own, but which was still foreign and frightening. It was like a war-cry of triumph, the howl of a prehistoric beast suddenly released from its prison. Immediately, his consciousness came flooding back, the confidence of his identity firmly locking in place, and eyes jolted wide open. Drenched in sweat, his chest rose and fell methodically with moist, steady breath. At last, he felt at peace. The transformation was over.

Now came the moment of truth. The doctor had been reborn. All that remained was to explore his new life, a genetic super-being, a majestic, indomitable gestalt whose creation was once thought impossible.

The first things he felt were heat and sweat; the heat of his own blood coursing through his veins, tinged with adrenaline, along with the sopping wet t-shirt still clinging to his torso. He'd studied the island's raptor species extensively, and he knew their heart rates were much higher than an average human's, but he never expected to feel so alert and energetic. All of his fear and doubt suddenly broke away, replaced with waves of wonder and excitement. He was alive, and his impossible fever dream was a reality; a few stinging tears of joy crept into the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision for a moment. He imagined this is what it would feel like to ascend to paradise as an angel, as an immortal being standing above the lowest creatures of the earth. Without even moving, he felt robust strength, aggression, and pulsing, potential energy deep in his torso, desperate to be unleashed. He was a creature of primal, savage power, a hunter, a predator. All human flabbiness and lumbering clumsiness was completely gone, replaced with lean, taut muscle, spring-loaded ligaments, and tightly locked tendons.

Raptor-Quinn opened his jaws with a loud crack as his ligaments released their tension. A dragon-like beak poked into the center of his vision, but it didn't fully obscure his field of view. He was a hybrid of dinosaur and human, and nearly every concession had been given to hybridizing his form. The nanites were programmed to choose the most optimal genetic solution for each of his physical traits; it was like millions of years of evolution accelerated into the span of only a half-hour. Thus, his snout was shortened compared to his wild brothers and sisters, but his nostrils still huffed wet vapor into the sweltering midnight air.

The steel table was positioned to face the observatory's giant mirror, and in the cold fluorescent lantern light, he confronted his new and startling reality. He turned his saurian face to the left and right, slowly evaluating his prehistoric features; he ran his now-purple tongue over rows of uniform, curved, dagger-like fangs. Bloody flesh would fill his appetite from this day forward, although his hybrid stomach could handle an omnivore's versatility if it was forced to.

Even more striking was the absence of his hair, replaced by... were those feathers? Indeed, where once his blond hair had been, now sprouted a swept-back mohawk of ashen brown, hawk-like plumes, which lined the top of his head and raced down the back of his neck, quickly tapering away. He was absolutely astonished, and he reached up instinctively with a clawed hand to stroke his own feathery mane; it was surprisingly silky to the touch. Aside from his feathery headdress, Harper presumed that he was completely hairless, a consequence of using the company's modified velociraptor DNA; but his human sweat glands were still at work full tilt in the stifling laboratory.

After caressing his bird-like mane for a few moments, Harper's attention quickly turned to the fascinating texture of his skin, which seemed rougher and more leathery than human flesh at first, but which was actually sensitive and supple, at least across anything but his extremities. The raptor-man's hide was died in the colors of prehistoric canyons and primordial forests. Rust-brown like old red clay, his dinosaur skin would be the perfect camouflage against the dust of cretaceous badlands; but he was also striped with lean bands of olive green that snaked across his back and tail, allowing him to stalk prey effortlessly from any patch of underbrush.

He twisted deftly to admire his hide, but as he peered at his own body with beautiful, emerald, raptorian eyes, he became enthralled by his own expressiveness. Unlike the park's true raptors, who could only curl their lips in a snarl, the corners of his maw were only partially rigid, and he found himself still able to half-smile or half-frown in an awkward way, at least enough to give the clear impression of human-like emotion. With all of his might, he tried to purse his "lips," or what he assumed was the saurian equivalent of lips, into an "O" shape, just to see if he could still form the complex vowel-based phonetics of human speech.

He watched himself in the mirror closely, experimenting, adjusting the shape of his jaw until he hit just the right compromise of form. Luckily his palate was still high enough to cluck consonants with his tongue. The dinosaur doctor slowly lurched out the first words of his new existence. "M-m-my... n-n-n-name... is... is... Q-Q-Q-uinn," he growled. It would take practice. He expected his voice to be deep and gravelly, but it was surprisingly high-pitched, a consequence of his vocal column tightening into a more avian shape.

He laughed unexpectedly, clicking the back of his throat with a high pitched "yerp-yerp-yerp!" The animalistic sound took him aback. The park's dromaeosaurs made the same chirping giggle when they were excited. It led him to wonder briefly... could he communicate with them? The hybrid chomped his mouth shut with a satisfying clop. He wondered how strong his bite pressure had become; it must be enormous, almost crocodilian.

Now that he was starting to become satisfied that his metamorphosis was real and not the hallucination of a fevered mind, the raptor-man raised his taloned hands in front of his snout to examine them. He'd been reduced from five fingers to four, as he'd suspected, but he could still twist and turn his wrists; wild raptors had "hands" more or less, but without the flexibility of human pronation. As a hybrid, he had the best of both worlds. Lethal, crescent-shaped talons erupted from the cuticles where human nails had been.

In his studies, he'd inspected countless fossils of claws like these, but now they were his, and they were bolted firmly to his distal phalanges. With one mighty swipe of these claws he could tear open the throat of any prey, large or small. Wild raptors didn't use their talons in such a fashion, but the enhancements of his human DNA offered him abilities beyond the limitations of nature.

Harper balled his fingers into fists. The leathery pads on his palms protected his hands from injury, and he didn't feel a single twinge of pain from his own claws pressing against his flesh. A tingle of excitement fluttered in his chest. His hands were one thing, but his feet were begging to be explored; he'd tried to ignore his own taloned feet dangling off the edge of the bed as he scrutinized the rest of his body, but he couldn't contain his fascination any longer.

The raptor gasped under his breath with a nervous murmur. "Tail!" He'd totally forgotten about the lean, rigid, reptilian tail jutting from his rump. As an upright, fully erect hybrid, Harper knew that the tail growing from his coccyx was supported by a series of lengthened and strengthened ligaments totally unknown to human anatomy. He could control it somewhat with a flex of levator muscles, but for the most part his tail would only serve to streamline his body during sessions of extreme sprinting. Still, it was one of the key traits that defined his dinosaur side, and he welcomed its presence, despite how awkward its bulk felt beneath him on the metal table.

Carefully, he crossed his right leg to bring his huge foot closer, his already strained boxer shorts ripping just a tad at their seams as he did so. The mutant let out a long hiss of satisfaction and delight as he fondled his own foot with both clawed hands; like everything about him, it seemed nearly twice as big and twice as toned and muscular as its former human version. He flexed his toes, running his fingers between them. His big toes had been transformed into smaller dew claws that rested a bit higher on the interior sides of his feet, while his middle toes--the ones that gave him the greatest source of exhilaration--were now crowned with magnificent sickle-shaped raptor claws, curving perfectly in deadly splendor. His outer two toes held claws of their own, more similar to the ones on his fingers, and he wriggled them with joy. The raptor-man's feet had only grown a slight metatarsal incline, certainly not the extreme change he expected from the computational models.

With curiosity, finally Harper jumped off the table, landing on the concrete floor with a click-clack. Using a bit too much caution, not sure if he was going to fall flat on his snout, the raptor-man padded around the room, letting his toe claws fall gently with each step. Remarkably, he was still plantigrade, at least while walking casually, and his steps maintained a humanoid heel-strike motion. He rocked his feet inwards and outwards, testing his pronation and stability.

As an experiment, he bent his knees and arched his entire body forward, tucking his arms into his frame and flexing his powerful hamstrings. At this, instinctively his long velociraptor tail stiffened straight behind him, and his ankles locked into a digitigrade stance, lifting his heel off the ground, granting him a position of pure speed and agility; a jolt of adrenaline flushed into his snout, widening his eyes, and his heart prepared itself to start racing. Ahhh, that explained it... a hybrid foot model, he mused. He closed his eyes and smiled a toothy grin at the thought of how incredible it would feel to stalk barefoot through the jungle, only to launch into a thunderous, breakneck sprint in the blink of an eye.

He whirled, staring at himself in the mirror, and he was suddenly overtaken by a rush of annoyance at the uncomfortably wet scrap of cloth still hanging onto his dinosauroid chest. With a single loud riiip, he tore away his t-shirt, exposing his broad, muscular torso. Harper purred and cooed softly, running a claw from the top of his clavicle slowly down the front of his chest, eventually caressing his belly.

His musculature was ropy and tightly packed, and his entire torso tensed with sheer strength, but it was the dense, evolutionary strength of an animal, not the finely honed and chiseled physique of a human body-builder. The remnants of his human DNA were clear, as his nipples were still intact, tinged in an earthy shade of brown rust. He kept his mammalian naval as well. As a raptor, the hide on his belly had a slightly lighter hue compared to the rest of his body, but it was barely perceptible; he wasn't a lizard, after all.

As the moist air kissed his bare upper body, greater pulses of dromaeosaurid instinct started to intrude on his consciousness. Escape. Leave this place behind. Run. Fill your belly with meat. His human sentience somehow translated the thoughts into more familiar emotions; caution, exhilaration, desperation, and hunger. At that very moment, he realized his raptor instincts weren't intrusive at all, but fully, pleasantly integrated into his being, and he could control them just as easily as he could control his impulses as a human. It was a wonderful, invigorating feeling; he was a perfect union of dinosaur and man. But it only cemented his long-held suspicions as an evolutionary biologist, that the instinctual differences between human beings and their prehistoric ancestors weren't as enormous as arrogant civilization had always assumed. Humans would always be animals at heart. Just not ones quite as savage and primal as the thing he'd become.

He wasn't completely in tune with his new raptor body, but the doctor was done loitering in the transformation chamber. The CRT monitors were still glowing, the sequencers were still whirring with life, and the camera on the other side of the glass had plenty of hours left to film... but he suddenly didn't care. Raptor-Quinn was mesmerized by his own body, his strange new instincts, and the earthen, animalistic sensations that washed over him. He was tired of this prison; his work was finished, and he didn't need to be here anymore. The beast tromped across the room with fresh resolve. The steel-reinforced door was locked from the inside purposefully, but he wanted to test his strength. Grasping the handle with both taloned paws, he wrenched the door open, shattering its frame and hinges with one mighty jerk. Steel fragments clattered to the ground. He chuckled with another saurian "yip-yip!" at the satisfaction of his destruction, and then he stomped into the darkened hall towards the lobby.

The center's grand foyer still had the dust-covered skeleton of a fossilized pachycephalosaurus, standing proudly above the entryway, a common practice with the company, even for their non-public-facing facilities. The raptor-man walked past the statue cautiously, staying mindful of his tail, his claws, his fresh and alien instincts. Every sense was enhanced with predatory precision. The scent of his own pulsing musk filtered into his olfactory, and he licked his lips at the sultry aroma; and surrounding him, the buzz of strange insects and jungle creatures deep in the wilderness beyond the lab assaulted his senses. He was earless, but his hearing was far more acute than any human. Standing silently before the statue, he stopped once more to marvel at his own body; every time he was convinced that this wasn't a dream, threads of doubt crawled into his subconscious. After all, he was the first human to transcend his species. The shock of a such an act wasn't an easy thing to overcome, and he was fighting to come to terms with his new reality.

He sat on a rusted bench for a moment, staring at the fossilized display with intense fascination. Harper struggled to maneuver his tail in such a way that it didn't interfere with sitting on his rump; eventually, he managed to negotiate his tail beneath him, resting on it like a seat cushion.

As he gazed at the skeleton, an odd feeling seeped into the back of his mind, and he started to salivate and sweat simultaneously, without even knowing why. Then he realized, as his stomach trembled: it was hunger. Not just hunger, but bloodlust. His saurian brain interpreted the display as dead prey, glorious and satiating.

The hybrid let out a low, growling murrr of desire; he closed his eyes and licked his lips, letting ancient visions of raw, torn meat dance in his mind. In delicious contemplation, he wallowed in his own instinct for a few tantalizing moments before thrusting himself off the bench with determination. The raptor-man wouldn't waste another moment.

There were plenty of heavily reinforced side doors to and from the facility, but he was resolved to step into the island through the front entrance. It would be both liberating and symbolic; he was leaving his human life behind to join the jungle in ferocious revelry with his prehistoric brothers and sisters. The smashed glass had long been boarded up, but it was hardly an obstacle. Padding over to the entryway, he sized up the plywood, the orange light of dawn peering around it through cracks and rotted holes. With one swift and sudden kick, he plowed his raptor foot through the wood in a tremendous crack!, sending splinters flying outward into the clearing beyond.

A burst of jungle air, thick and muggy, flooded into the building; a scatter of colorful birds fluttered into the sky; and as the hybrid stepped gently into the moist soil of the outer world, relishing the feel of the cool earth under his bare padded feet, a mosaic of buzzing insects, swaying trees, and the deep, echoing cries of distant prehistoric beasts overwhelmed his senses. With this tapestry of sound came a dozen unfamiliar and powerful odors and aromas, ones that his pitiful human nose would have barely detected; his jaw dropped at the sheer potency of it all. From rotted logs to dinosaur dung to fetid rainwater to the spores of ancient ferns and mushrooms tainting the air, his massive olfactory was awash with incredible scents, and each one seemed to trigger a new, primitive instinct in his saurian consciousness. The beast exhaled into the misty air. It was almost too much for him to take in. For the monsters of this island, these senses took the place of lucid, calculating intellect, an evolutionary compromise to strengthen the power of their natural instincts. But for Harper, now half-raptor and half-human, he was inundated with the brunt of both worlds, and his mind scrambled to process it all.

He took a few careful steps into the clearing, leaving clawed footprints in the rain-soaked earth. The doctor was surrounded by savage, primal wilderness as far as the eye could see, and just as in the strange dream-quest of his transformation, it suddenly felt like home. He hadn't fully submitted himself to animalism just yet, but now seemed like the perfect time. With his stomach fluttering at the thought of finally leaving every scrap of the human world behind, the raptor-man hooked one of his claws into the strap of his torn and soggy boxers, still clinging to his waist even after his saurian tail had completely torn through them. With a single satisfying rip, he tore off the last of his clothing, kicking it aside into the dirt. The beast stood wild and unfettered in the open air. His tail stiffened and his heart galloped faster as the jungle heat poured over him. The freedom he felt at that moment was intoxicating. It wasn't just his nakedness, but also the ancient instincts tingling his mind, the rich tapestry of sight, smell, and sound flowing over him, and the sudden understanding of his place in the primeval spectacle of evolution. The fact that he would remain this way for the rest of his life had barely started to cross his mind.

Now that his full dromeosaurid body was exposed to the morning air, he felt it was finally time to explore the last bit of his hybrid anatomy. He realized that he could've torn away his boxers earlier, but he didn't want his final legacy of the human world to be a candid video of him fondling himself.

With both clawed hands he reached down cautiously, caressing his genitalia. He wasn't surprised to find that everything was still external, maintaining a semblance of humanoid form and function; this was the safest option according to the AI's hybrid model. The raptor-man's anatomy was hairless, and it was colored in the same mottled rust-and-amber pattern that coated his body. He carefully ran a single talon down his smooth member, causing his abdomen to clinch with a tingle of pleasure.

The nanites had regenerated his missing prepuce, transforming it into a sheath of protective, soft-but-leathery hide like the rest of him, and he couldn't help but notice that the sensitive flesh hidden behind it was almost a dark purple, the same color as his tongue. The saurian beast was endowed to match his nearly seven-foot stature, and his mind wandered back to Rachel; if only she could see him now.

Suddenly, the crackle of breaking wood and the loud rustle of foliage snapped Raptor-Quinn's mind instantly back into focus. He crouched in the dirt involuntarily, his powerful calves locking into place, ready for either fight or flight. The hybrid scanned the canopy from left to right, quietly searching for the source of the noise with inhumanly sharp vision. Ahead of the clearing was the only exit from this place, a long, muddy, overgrown road that once carried Jeeps and transport vehicles. It was mostly useless now, partially covered by jungle... but if he needed to flee, it would be his only escape route. He knew the cacophony he'd unleashed during his transformation might draw unwanted attention from the island's inhabitants... but now, he was more than ready to confront them. He sniffed loudly, nostrils flaring, taking in every molecule of scent that he could discern, and that's when he realized he wasn't alone.

Staying crouched and completely still, the saurian flitted his eyes across the treeline, only for a surge of terror to fill his chest as three reptilian beasts slowly emerged from the foliage, surrounding him in a vice-grip formation. Velociraptors. Huge ones. The oldest raptors on the island, no doubt the pack-leaders, the monsters he'd been so careful to evade for months, now staring directly at him. He didn't move a muscle; in fact he tried to make himself seem smaller, just to show them he wasn't a threat, but he kept his gaze firmly upward, refusing to submit to their domination. Luckily, the raptors didn't seem poised for attack. Instead, they carefully crept into the clearing, the ferns closing in behind them; all three dinosaurs gently bowed their heads, cocking their snouts to the side in curiosity like birds. To his astonishment, they weren't showing their teeth or brandishing their claws; his instinctive body language must have worked to calm their aggression.

The dinosaur-man's anxiety quickly melted away. Why should he be afraid of mere animals? He was practically one of their kind, in fact, he was probably stronger than any of them, at least in a stand-up fight. Harper let his muscles relax, and then he slowly rose to his feet, confronting the beasts with outward fearlessness. Their scent flooded into his nostrils, the twinge of old sweat, moist earth, and bitter, yeasty musk; the saurian instinct in the back of his snout recognized these aromas as pheromones, and potent ones at that. All of the raptors were female, and he quickly came to the realization that they were approaching him as equals. No, not just equals... their pulsing, natural scents were the odors of beasts in heat. Did they really see him as a potential mate? His heart started pounding at the thought of it. He wasn't quite ready for this... he'd only just now stepped foot into the jungle, and his human inhibitions weren't completely gone, at least not yet.

The biggest, strongest raptor, a female with gold-and-bronze stripes and pink battle scars to match, strutted towards him, showing absolutely no cowardice. She craned her head, her bright, intelligent eyes looking over every inch of his body. Somehow, it was obvious to Raptor-Quinn that she was a bit confused, probably by his anatomy; the dromaeosaurs didn't know quite what to make of him.

To them, he probably gave off an impression of the soft, pink-skinned creatures who once inhabited the island--humans--combined with the fiercest, most savage raptor they'd ever seen, a benefit of his selective species-mixing. Harper stood silently, staring down the raptoress, waiting calmly for her next move. The beast lowered her maw as she tiptoed closer to his body, carefully deliberating her steps, almost like a cat unsure if it was approaching a friend or foe.

With a loud, honking snort, the female raptor flexed her throat with a "glip-glip-glip," sucking in his scent, analyzing this strange new creature with every ounce of her intuition. The raptor-man's mutual instincts urged him to track her every motion; he realized that his pheromones must have been pulsing just as strongly as hers. The other two raptors stood by like sentinels, patiently guarding their queen.

The raptoress brought her snout just inches away from Harper's bare-skinned belly. He knew that one quick snap of her jaws could disembowel him in seconds, but that wasn't her intention. Gently, cautiously, the monster slipped her tongue over his skin, tasting him. He tried not to shudder at the warm, slimy feeling of her saliva coating his stomach... it was entirely utilitarian to her, but to the remnants of his human mind, it was a sensual, lurid sensation, and his arousal throbbed in response. After one more hesitant lick just to be sure, the raptor backed away, seemingly satisfied that he was neither prey nor enemy. Raising her head to be nearly at the same level as his own, she barked, a loud, staccato "rork! rork!" Followed by a low growl and a ululating hiss from the back of her throat.

<Nest.> <Come with.>

The raptor-man's eyes widened, and his jaw fell agape. Did he hear that correctly? Surely not. It must have been his imagination.

The alpha, dipping into a frustrated head bow, repeated her yelping bark twice more, and added a broken screech at the end this time.

<Come!> <Come to nest!>

It wasn't that he could somehow translate the raptor's vocalizations into English... he merely had a sort of primordial, innate understanding of their meaning, an instinct that spoke to his mind from deep within his saurian subconscious. And with just as much bewilderment, he inexplicably found the sounds in the back of his own throat to respond to her in kind.

"Ke-ronk! Reeeork!" The beast-man warbled back to her. He presumed that he was telling her Yes, I'll follow you, only with the imprecise vocalization of a dinosaur; there were no "words," and no strict structure to their "speech," only the impression of animalistic sound married to the careful courtship of body language. But it was surprisingly accurate, and miraculously, it seemed like she understood him. His lips curled into a satisfied, tooth-filled smile. Harper could hardly believe that he was actually communicating, successfully, with a dinosaur. It was remarkable. Unbelievable. Transcendent! He'd have to share this gift with others... he'd have to share it with Rachel... maybe with the whole of mankind...

Before his mind had much of a chance to wander, the three raptors cocked their heads and then turned away, facing the jungle. He snapped back to reality, and he immediately realized what they intended. The dinosaurs started with a slow trot, just to make sure that he could keep up, before bolting like cheetahs towards the treeline.

Every muscle in his body exploded with energy as he rocketed across the earth behind the raptor pack. As the steaming morning air rushed over his bare skin, he couldn't feel more alive. He splashed through puddles of mud and water, kicking aside rocks and twigs, and along with the dew-covered jungle grass and underbrush slapping against his skin, it wasn't long until his naked body was painted with dirt, filth, and detritus.

He actually relished the sensation; it made him feel primeval and savage. The raptor-man pumped his powerful legs, leaning forward into a streamlined, saurian stance; his hollow-boned tail shot behind him into a rigid point, providing comforting balance. The thundering "thump thump thump" of his clawed toes pelting the soil reminded him of a tribal war drum, and it reverberated with the beating of his heart. The female raptors leaped high over fallen trees, and he followed, launching himself through the air with ease to land with a seamless crash into the grassy earth beyond. On occasion, the velociraptors clawed frantically at vine-covered, water-slicked hillsides and rocky ridges, struggling to pull themselves up. With his powerful, still-humanoid arms, such obstacles were trivial for him, and his muscles rippled as he grappled his clawed fingers into the soft earth, hoisting himself over the cliffs and embankments with ease. Raptor-Quinn squeaked a saurian chirp of laughter as he watched the wild raptors awkwardly scramble, their feral grace unceremoniously broken.

He couldn't tell how far they'd traveled, several miles at least, and the bright tropical sun was starting to pierce the jungle canopy all around. They must have been deep in the most overgrown heart of the island by now, far away from any decrepit human ruins. His new raptor friends started to slow to a trot, and before he knew it, they broke through a dense patch of verdant trees into a wide, overgrown glade. He was immediately comforted by the sound of a babbling spring or waterfall, and in the rear of the glade, a deep, aquamarine pool of water glistened in the rising sunlight. Set against a moss-covered, rocky hillside, the oasis was refreshed by a gentle waterfall trickling from above. Bright green ferns shrouded the glade from prying eyes, but the jungle grass had been trampled flat, leaving a muddy field littered by hundreds of raptor tracks. This was their nest. A hidden, prehistoric cradle of life and sustenance.

The raptor trio gently padded over to the pool and dipped their thirsty snouts in all at once. Raptor-Quinn stood in awe behind them, taking in beauty of this pristine, natural haven... but a nagging hunger and thirst started to swell in his throat, and he realized that his mouth had gone dry. The alpha raptoress turned to him, water dripping from her maw. She chirped a low purr mixed with a few clicks of her tongue.

<Drink. Eat. Drink. Eat!>

The fact that Harper could understand the raptor's crude saurian "speech" would probably never cease to astonish him.

She turned her snout to a corner of the clearing and let out a low grunt. The raptor-man was startled to see the bloody, crumpled body of a dead hadrosaur partially hidden by the shade of the trees; it was a young one, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. Precise, gory claw strikes had ripped through the creature's neck, which were now drying in the sun. He let in a deep, pleasing breath, sucking in the tantalizing aroma of the kill. It reminded him of venison and aging ground beef, with the coppery tinge of fresh blood. As a human, the sight and smell of the dead dinosaur would have probably made him puke, but with his mutated and reformed instincts, it looked and smelled like a giant ribeye steak just waiting for him to dig in.

Cautiously, the dinosaur-man trotted over to the hadrosaur, kneeling next to its flank. Flies had started to congregate on the corpse, but it looked like the raptors had already taken their morning fill. This wasn't the day's only hunt. They were keen and efficient predators, and their nutritional requirements were enormous. Saliva started pooling in his mouth as he stared over the beast, looking for a fresh entryway. And then, without even thinking, the mutant plowed his snout into the kill, chomping with brutal strength at a sinewy tendon, tearing away raw meat with one twist of his head.

Harper realized what he was doing, but he was too enraptured with hunger to question it. He gulped down a fistful of flesh, and then dove in for another, and yet another, gorging himself on the bloody banquet. Gore oozed off his snout as he turned away from the hadrosaur, utterly full and content; he wiped the sides of his mouth with the back of his hand absentmindedly, and then he let out a "click-click-click" of purring satisfaction from the back of his throat. Every preference he had for human food suddenly washed away; his memories of burgers and pizza to breakfast nooks and five star restaurants all seemed quaint and unfulfilling compared to the bestial glory of freshly hunted meat.

The alpha watched him the entire time, and she seemed satisfied at having earned his trust. She stood quietly in the clearing, gauging Harper's movements, sizing him up, reconciling his strange mannerisms and anatomy with her own instincts. The other two raptors were preoccupied with finding a shady place to rest, and they paid him no mind.

After taking his fill, the raptor-man breathed a heavy sigh of relief before padding over to the watering hole. It was so clear and inviting, circled by natural rocks and decorated by reeds and ferns. His exhaustion had finally caught up with him, and he huffed and puffed as he stared longingly at the pool. He dipped one mud-caked foot into the water; it was remarkably cool, tingling his skin and sending a shiver down his leg. Slowly, he slipped into the spring, letting the bath cascade over him, watching in satisfaction as all the dirt and debris clinging to his body floated away. "Ohhhh..." he closed his eyes, letting the refreshing water seep into his aching muscles. He lowered himself to shoulder's depth in the oasis, and then sat at its soft, moss-covered bottom, letting his tail buoy him. He ruffled his feathery mane, picking out leaves and flecks of twig. It was only then that he started to take in the true magnitude of everything around him. His bare feet ached; his body was completely unaccustomed to the powerful sprinting marathon he'd taken part in... but the cradling tapestry of the jungle around him was like paradise, soothing his mind and cooling his burning instincts.

The hybrid finally had a moment to let his mind wander. What would his day-to-day life be like? Would he awaken at dawn to join the raptors in their morning hunt? What then? He supposed he would explore the entire island, cataloging its dozens of dinosaur species with his instinct, delving into prehistoric knowledge as an observer totally in tune with their world. Maybe one day he might return to the laboratory to record his experiences... or maybe he'd simply vanish into the jungle forever, content to live his life as an unfettered, unrestrained beast. Suddenly, memories of Rachel popped into the back of his head. He'd forgotten about the note he'd left her before he came to the island. What if she really did come to find him? She could help him rebuild his work, maybe even enhance and perfect the transformation process. But would she join him? Hah. She'd be horrified at the very thought. He'd probably seem like a monster to her, and rightfully so. But what if she agreed? Would her half-raptor form be as powerful and elegant as his own? He wondered if she might retain her human femininity, only enhanced by evolutionary perfection. The very thought of it kick-started his libido, and he reached into the water to paw at himself absentmindedly. The tingling pleasure of his new half-saurian member felt nearly twice as intense as it did when he was a human, and he growled unexpectedly at the sensation.

After a half-hour of bliss in the spring, Raptor-Quinn climbed out of the water, letting it cascade off his nude skin. His clawed feet sank into the soft earth, and his body glistened in the baking jungle sun; he felt cool, calm, and relaxed. The other raptors were nestled in the shade, piled together like napping dogs. They looked surprisingly cute. They were just animals after all... deadly, vicious, shockingly intelligent animals, but animals nonetheless. Or maybe they were something more?

Their strangely deliberate mannerisms and acute, mindful communication made them unique in their entire taxonomy... but of course, their existence had been carefully engineered by scientists playing God. They were far from normal.

As he padded to the center of the clearing, he contemplated trying to lie down with the raptors as one of them, showing them that he was part of their order. But the big female woke with a start, and she trotted over to him, cocking her head again with that strange warble of curiosity. The raptor-man stared her directly in the eyes. She slowly circled him, and he followed her gaze; with careful, deliberate steps, the raptoress scrutinized him, calculating his intentions, once again studying his body with an almost uncomfortable sentience. After a few moments, she stood away from him, bowing her entire body in a strange kind of curtsy, spreading her "arms" wide and clucking her tongue in a soft, barely audible chirp.

Part of his raptor brain suddenly burst into flames. He recognized this immediately. It was a dance of courtship. Sweat started to bead on his neck at the mere thought of it, but he knew that if he didn't return her dance, it would be considered a grave discourtesy. Not quite knowing how to react, the dinosaur-man decided to let instinct drive him as much as possible. He stepped backward with one foot, then took a half-kneeling stance. The saurian let his tail go limp, and then he opened his arms wide, as if he was about to give the raptoress a big hug; it felt awkward, almost embarrassing, but it made sense in a strange, animalistic way. Dipping his snout in a gentle bow, he was careful not to make any sudden movements, which could be interpreted as aggression, or even rejection.

The alpha slowly turned her girth away from him, but she craned her head to the side, continuing to follow his gaze. She lowered her bronze-striped body to the wet earth, arching her back lazily like a cat. Her legs locked into a stiff position, and she bared her teeth wickedly before thrusting her tail high into the air; an utterly submissive stance. He was taken aback. She was the alpha, the leader of their pack. Why was she was submitting herself to his dominance?

She started with a low, rumbling grown, but then barked suddenly with a loud "ker-warp, ker-warp!" Her throat vibrated with the violent yelp. The raptor-man gulped, and blood started to drain from his snout. He understood her perfectly.

<Mate. Mate with me!>

He stayed semi-crouched, completely silent, too nervous to act. His heart leaped into his throat. The female repeated her call, this time with more urgency.

<Mate! Mate now?>

He imagined himself blushing intensely, if a dinosaur could do such a thing, as his arousal started to harden and throb involuntarily. Deep breaths, Harper. Think this one through. The raptoress was intelligent, affectionate, willing... she spoke to him with deliberate, discerning vocalizations. And she was beautiful... natural... a goddess of the jungle...

No! Come on, Quinn. He forced his mind to push aside the intrusive thoughts, at least for a moment. He wasn't ready for this.

But if he capitulated to her primal demands, letting his savage urges take hold... he would no longer be alone... he'd be accepted as part of their pack forever, joining the raptors in wild revelry, reconciling his human intuition with the ferocious, bestial lust of his uncivilized instinct. He would transcend the boundaries of humanity completely, and there would be no going back.

The half-raptor made up his mind. His pulsing blood took control, and he let his burning, unrelenting thirst for her wash over him. He stood tall, breaking his dance, and he confidently strode over to the raptoress. She purred a gentle growl, releasing her barriers, letting all sense of aggression fall away; she was his, completely and utterly, if that's what he desired. With his clawed hand, he caressed her tail, feeling the thundering beat of her dinosaur heart course through her veins.

And then, closing his eyes in reverence, man and beast at last became one.