You are in the forested plains of Mongolia, Asia, 70 million years ago.

The humid air of the valley hung heavy with the scent of ferns and wet earth. You were crouched behind a cycad, watching a herd of small, fast Gallimimus picking through the mud along a riverbank.

Suddenly, the herd froze. A sharp, rhythmic honking—almost bird-like, yet terrifying—echoed across the river. Through the dense foliage, something emerged from the undergrowth.

Not a Tarbosaurus, but something more agile. An Alioramus.

It stood roughly five and a half feet tall at the hip and was 18 feet long, a slender, graceful killer. Its most striking features were the five peculiar bony crests running along its long, delicate snout. It moved with incredible speed, far faster than its bulkier cousin.

The Alioramus broke from the tree line, its blade-like teeth flashing in the sun. It wasn't aiming to crush bone, but to snap at the faster, softer prey. One Gallimimus panicked, giving the predator an opening. With a quick strike of its neck, the Alioramus secured its meal as you continue to watch from a safe distance, proving that in this Late Cretaceous paradise, speed could be just as deadly as raw power.