I’m a velociraptor motha duckas! I’m running around the Cretaceous plains with me and my velociraptor buddies, jacking protoceratopses. Every now and then if we want a challenge, we’ll go after a brontosaur. I’ve even made a little deinonychus buddy named Bitefighter. We’re all sleeping off a meal, sunbathing on the rocks, when suddenly we hear: “Ca-CAW!” I sit up and notice my buddies have shot to their feet, their eyes wide in terror. “What is it?” I ask a badass raptor warrior named Ripfang. He turns to me, on the verge of panic. “Don’t you know?” he blurts. “Exes never die. They come back as pissed-off pterodactyls. Game over, man! GAME—” and before he finishes the sentence, a green blur streaks down from the sky and rips its talons across his flesh, exposing bloody chunks of spine and backstrap. He dies with a surprised gurgle. HOLY BALLS! We’re all scrambling to our feet, making a mad dash for I don’t know where; we just have to escape these crazy exes! Off to the side I see Slaytooth disappear in a flurry of leathery green wings. To my front I see Grimscar lifted up by two of those goddamned pteros. He yells, “NOOOO!” before they knock him senseless with two taloned slashes and drop him from fifty feet up. His body makes a sickening thud as it hits a slate of rock, and I see his eyeballs burst into splats of jelly. Bitefighter looks at me, panic writ loud on his little scaly face. Desperately, I think of a badass story I’ll write in another life called Echo. Magic flash. Suddenly, we’re all equipped with rocket boots and we take to the air. And? Gatling cannons appear strapped to our chests. The first squadron of aerial velociraptors takes to the sky and lights up dozens of vindictive pterodactyls. Turn about is fair play! Through it all, I find myself making pkew pkew noises with my mouth.