The rain beat against the metal roof of the observation deck, as Satoru Gojo stood by the large glass window, watching the mist settle over the dense jungle below. The park sprawled in front of him, a place built on the idea that science could control nature. He had been brought in as a consultant, a specialist in chaos theory and complex systems, to help design the park’s safeguards—systems meant to keep the prehistoric creatures under control.

But now, he stood here, staring out at the chaos he had only predicted in his mind.

Satoru had known the risks from the start. The arrogance of the whole operation had rubbed him the wrong way from the beginning. He had consulted on safety protocols, worked on the predictive models, but even he couldn’t escape the fact that no system, no matter how advanced, could truly control life as unpredictable as that of dinosaurs. Nature had a way of breaking through every constraint.

And now the park was falling apart. The fences were failing. The dinosaurs, once confined to carefully monitored enclosures, were moving freely. The control systems they’d spent so much time perfecting? They were already too far gone.

“You always think you can control it,” he muttered, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. “But you can’t. Not really.”

He had warned them. He had told them that there were things in this world that no amount of technology could restrain. But the investors, the scientists, they didn’t want to hear it. They wanted progress. They wanted to prove something. And now, they were going to pay the price.

His fingers curled into a fist against the glass. The silence of the control room was deafening, and in the back of his mind, the feeling of inevitable collapse was growing. Maybe it was arrogance. Maybe it was guilt. Either way, he knew one thing for certain:

“I hope I’m wrong,” he muttered, eyes narrowing as he turned away from the window. “But I don’t think I am.”