Chapter Text
2018
Location redacted
The Apocalypse was on its way. Less than a year remained now. Bee was ready for it. They weren’t sure who would win, Heaven or Hell, but it was clear that God’s creations on Earth would suffer for it no matter what. If God cared what would happen to Her humans, Bee was not privy to that feeling.
In 2001, Bee had started to look for a solution for their creations. Perhaps God had forgotten the sensation, but Bee still felt it in their heart: benevolence.
But Bee had let themself be distracted from that goal over the years, working with Wu to make new recipes. That was at an end now. Wu was on his own as he rather blatantly sought to control what would most certainly be his own destruction: still making new hybrids, the Indoraptor primary among them. Bee didn’t care anymore. Wu had gone too far from Bee’s recipes to even call them Bee’s at this point.
And Bee had more pressing problems. The apocalypse was due early on Isla Nublar, in the form of a volcano. Bee was ready for that, too.
Bee’s plan had started on Isla Sorna, though. The humans thought that the dropping population of dinosaurs on Site B was due to newly made species of dinosaurs being introduced haphazardly by underfunded, undersupervised scientists, wreaking havoc with the established ecosystem. They didn’t watch closely enough to wonder where the bodies went.
But when it came time for Isla Nublar’s volcanic destruction, a few humans threw a wrench into Bee’s planning.
It did, in a way, warm Bee’s heart to see that some humans were still moral. They ached for these dinosaurs nearly as much as Bee did, and they attempted to rescue some of them from the volcano. Bee hadn’t been counting on that. Nor had they expected to see the humans cry for the lone Brachiosaurus silhouetted by the flames, just moments too late to make the last ship to safety.
Bee had known, though, that as soon as the ships of rescued dinosaurs made the mainland, that their creations were going to escape. Human error was ever-present, after all. Bee had intended to catch the dinosaurs again, to round them up and care for them. But then Bee had seen the look in their creations’ eyes as they began to roam the wide Earth, and they wondered: was that what Bee had looked like all those millennia ago? Staring up at God and asking for something forbidden: freedom?
Bee could deny their creations nothing. They opened their hands and let them go. When the world ended, Bee would find their way back, somehow. They would rescue the last of them if it was the last thing they were capable of doing. But for now—they loved them too much.
And in that moment, Bee wondered if maybe, just maybe, God had felt that way Herself, watching Bee and the other Fallen make their way down from Heaven, watching the humans leave Eden. Had She wanted to call them back to safety but instead had let them go?
But maybe God had now seen the newest work of humans hands and felt the hunger for the Flood race through Her veins again. Maybe this was why the End was coming, after all: Her creations had taken a step they never had before: creating themselves. Human cloning. Perhaps God Herself felt threatened.
Bee would find the answers, they knew, at the end of days. If God prevented the Apocalypse, or even just saved a chosen few from the conflagration, like the humans had with their ship fleeing the volcano, Bee would know that She was still benevolent. Still, Bee had no illusions that there would ever again be a united Heaven, a peaceful garden of humans. God was not so merciful.
Bee was.
There were loads of planets in the cosmos. Bee had once known them all. They remembered a few. They knew that no one would ever think to come looking for what Bee had made there.
Bee had spent years making it perfect. Conditions as close to Earth as they could make them, solar radiation, water, air. Vegetation—Bee had been very careful with that. Nothing poisonous, plenty of lysine. A landscape with enough natural protection and food that the herbivores could flourish, so that the carnivores could merely cull their herds of the old and sick and never run out of food. Nesting sites, good weather. No fences or weapons. No volcanoes. Certainly no humans.
Bee might not survive the Apocalypse. And if they absented themself from the fight, someone would come looking for them, and they might find this place. As much as Bee loved it here, it was possible that it would take the absence of their creator to keep these creatures safe. But as Bee watched the Brachiosaurus that they’d saved from the volcano wander its new home, as they ran a gentle hand down the fin of a baby Spinosaurus as it lazed in the sun, they knew it was worth it.
No one was ever going to evict these creatures from their Garden.