You are in the forests of western North America, 66 million years ago.

The air grew inexplicably still, the jungle birds silenced instantly. Then, the smell hit—a putrid, rotting stench of blood and stagnant swamp water. The ground trembled before you heard it, a slow, rhythmic thud that vibrated in your chest.

Through the thick ferns, a mountain of dark muscle and scar-tissued skin emerged. It wasn't just big; it was death, embodied in scales and slime-crusted flesh. A massive, four-foot-long skull turned, and those yellow, pupil-slotted eyes locked onto you. It didn’t roar immediately; it merely hissed, a low, guttural sound that promised a slow, agonizing end…