Relics of The Present

The labs were a dangerous place for young, well, young anything. Nothing was meant to survive in the abandoned halls, especially in the deeper levels where multi-ton acrocanthosaurus roamed. And yet they still did- hatchlings were a rare site in the Alpha Labs, often consumed by the bigger individuals in a desperate attempt to survive. Parental care in their species was rare- not out of a lack of instinct, but driven by their environment. It was rare any young survived, forced to break away from their parents in fear of becoming their next meal.

And yet, many did survive. Those whose parents found enough food to support both of them, and those who were crafty enough to survive in the shadows. There were plenty of spaces where young whelps could cram themselves into, safe away from the snapping jaws of their adult counterparts. There were many areas that were avoided even by fully grown acrocanthosaurus, viewed as bad luck or a place of doom. Of course, young, abandoned hatchlings had little knowledge of this, resulting in what could be viewed as a mockery of a nursery, safe from the chaos and bloodshed of the rest of the labs.

One of these small pockets of safety was a room almost completely blocked off by a long caved-in floor- too fragile to support the weight of anything over fifty pounds. However, small hatchlings were able to scamper over the blockage, and avoid the gaping hole in the floor. Inside was a room almost frozen in time. The whole area was lit in an eerie blue-green light, source unknown. In large tanks floated what may have once been dinosaurs- or what could have been them in the future. Slowly they bobbed, the action almost making them seem alive in some way. Bone was revealed in places, but some unknown force kept them there- frozen. Even the hatchlings disliked the room- they could sense the horrid aura from it, the taste of sterile rot never leaving. But it was safe, so they came.

Carefully, Blackout made his way into the room. A bleeding gash on the side of his tail showed the reason for his visit- something had cut him, and the scent of blood would draw carnivores in droves. This was a place he could bunk down at until it healed, and he was able to slip away. Whiteout was not far behind, identical to his brother in every day except for the lack of bloody red on his scales. The two hatchlings stuck close to each other- close, never too far. 

A third hatchling was already there- yellow feathered, covered in brown rippling markings across his face and body. The two parties tensely eyed each other for a moment, even as hatchlings having an air of caution about them- but eventually both relaxed a bit and turned away. Thor had no reason to go after them when they outnumbered him- and Blackout's wound made it too risky to engage. For now, there would be peace.

Thor sat in front of one of the tanks, unflinchingly laying against the cool glass. Strangely, it was almost warm in comparison to the rest of the labs- the hatchling didn’t want to think about it. He avoided eye contact with the floating body above him, not wanting to look into its empty face. The dinosaurs in the labs, on some level, understood that they came from similar tanks- many had woken up in cryopods, and those that had not knew of the whispered rumors and legends that were somehow passed down, even with lack of parental care. Acrocanthosaurus respected the dead, despite their harsh nature- life was something they treasured more than most, when they were stuck in a place of such death. Both were considered sacred. But this- this lack of life, but lack of death; it was strange to them. It was unnatural. And it was to be avoided.

Blackout and Whiteout sat on the other side of the same tank- while there were others in the room, this was the largest- and thus, the warmest. Blackout began to lick at his wound, ignoring the floating body above them. The two cared little for the rites of others of their kind in comparison to Thor- and were a bit less bothered by the horrid act. Whiteout lifted his head to observe the floating object, careful observing its movements. Part of him hungered at the thought of it- food, just through this glass; a temptation they could not reach. But the vile scent made his stomach roll. While it was far from the first disgusting thing the twins would have consumed, something about it turned his stomach. Instead, Whiteouts gaze found the nearby Thor- only to find the other hatchling meeting his gaze steadily. An understanding passed between them, then- there would be no violence here, despite the hunger that forever haunted them. 

Blackout finished lapping at his leg, the scent of blood much fainter now. The two twins leaned against each other, looking up into the tank. Thor joined them in their silent tribute to the live lost- or the one that never came to be. Eventually, the soft sounds of the creaking and laboratory and the distant roars lulled the three into a restless sleep- full of nightmares of bones and preserved rot; but when where they not, when it is all you know?