It was all a lie.

They hadn’t known it at the time, of course. The offer had seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime—an academic adventure that few universities could even dream of. A company, one that looked reputable enough on the surface, had reached out to a mid-sized college in the U.S. with what they claimed was exclusive permission from the Costa Rican government: a one-time chance to fly over Isla Sorna, one of the legendary islands in the Muertes Archipelago.

Dinosaurs. Real ones. The kind people had only seen in grainy photos, restricted footage, or old reports that most chalked up to rumors and corporate cover-ups. Isla Sorna had become more of a cautionary tale than a destination—untouched for years, supposedly protected, sealed off by law and lore alike. But the company insisted they had clearance. They provided forged documents, slick presentations, and even a so-called “liaison” from the Costa Rican Department of Environmental Preservation. No one questioned it. Why would they?

Students from various disciplines—biology, paleontology, journalism, ecology, even film—were recruited to join the expedition. A few professors signed on as well, eager for the prestige that would come from documenting such a historic journey. Cameras were packed, journals prepared, and expectations sky-high.

No one expected it to go wrong so fast.

The small charter plane wasn’t anything fancy, but it was large enough to hold the group comfortably. Spirits were high as they crossed over the ocean, jokes traded over headsets, cell phones aimed out the windows to capture blurry shots of dense green masses far below. Isla Sorna rose in the distance like a slumbering giant, its cliffs shrouded in mist, the canopy thick and impenetrable.

Then everything shattered.

The pilot, either too eager or too careless, dipped the plane lower for a better look. A wing clipped the upper limbs of a towering tree perched along a ridge they hadn’t seen on the radar. Metal screamed. The plane lurched violently. In seconds, it was spiraling downward, vanishing beneath the green veil of jungle.

The crash wasn’t fatal—miraculously—but it was violent. The fuselage broke apart in places, luggage scattered through the underbrush, bodies thrown and bruised. Some were lucky, walking away with only scratches. Others weren’t. There were concussions, broken bones, and one professor who hadn't yet regained consciousness.

They were alive... for now. But they were stranded. No one knew where they were. The signal was gone. The emergency beacon had been crushed. And the worst part? The jungle wasn’t empty.

Somewhere beyond the thick vines and broken trees, something moved. Something large. Something watching.

And now, the survivors were trapped on Isla Sorna—abandoned by the company that lied to them, cut off from the outside world, and left to navigate the nightmare below the canopy.