The King of Isla Muerta

John Hammond

Minutes later, Dante was eating sushi when someone burst through the trailer doors.

He heard the wind kick up outside and presumed that a storm was blowing in, which was rather unfortunate with all of the work they had done that day.

Dante would've popped out to assist in covering up the bones, but he was certain that his uncle would tell him to get back inside.

The young lad leaped to his feet and got into a stance as a man dressed in white bumbled inside, looking around with a pleased little 'oh!' He was older and on the portly side, and he carried a cane with a small ember orb fixed on the top.

White hair peeked out from under a pale straw hat, and a matching beard was neatly groomed.

When his eyes landed on Dante and peered at him through wire-rimmed glasses, a bright, friendly smile appeared on his face.

"Why, hello!" he said, an unfamiliar lilt gracing his voice.

"Hello." Dante replied, as he calmly sat down on the countertop. He didn't recognize this man since he had never been on site before.

Dante raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side. "Who are you?"

"Oh, of course, how silly of me," the man laughed, stepping forward and extending a hand.
"John Hammond." Dante carefully slipped his hand into his grasp, his hand significantly bigger than John's.

"Dante Hasselhoff."

"Oh! You must be Dr. Grant's nephew!" His accent sounded vaguely... Scottish?

He also sounded very excitable, and Dante was not sure of what to make of this man.

All he did was nod his response and he exclaimed 'excellent!' before he made a beeline for the refrigerator. Dante glared at him suspiciously. The man's name sounded strangely familiar, he couldn't tell; Dante was mostly confused.

"Sir?" Hammond muttered to himself as he rummaged around the refrigerator.

Dante hopped off the counter and grabbed Hammond without a second thought, restraining him in a painful Chicken Wing wristlock that was used in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. "Sir, you can't be going through our stuff."

The door burst open and Dante's head whipped around to see his uncle, looking very peeved, step inside, slamming the door.

He was coated in a layer of dirt that made him look slightly grey in pallor, and made his hair literally look sandy blonde.

Dante turned around while still retraining the older man.

"I caught this man rummaging through the fridge. I don't know what he was looking for, but I wasn't gonna just let him take anything that doesn't belong to him."

"It's okay Dante. You can... let him go." Alan said, sounding like he was out of breath.

Dante released John and walked towards his uncle. Dante pointed the fore and second finger of his right hand at his own eyes before pointing them at Hammond. "I've got my eye on you, mister."

Alan rested his dusty hand on Dante's shoulder while his eyes warily focused on the man who stood before them.

"What the hell do you think you're doing in here?" Alan said.

Hammond stood up straight and turned with a champagne bottle in hand.

The cork shot out of the bottle with a loud pop that caused Alan to jump and duck out of the way while Dante managed to catch it in his left hand. "Hey, we were saving that!"

"For today!" Hammond said with a grin. "I guarantee it!" Dante fixed him with a death glare. Hammond  giggled although he did seem to show some signs of fear when he saw the look in Dante's eyes.