dinohigh, no humans allowed!

The air was thick with the thumping bass of music and the electric pulse of fluorescent lights. In the darkened party room, streaks of purple, blue, and green flashed rhythmically, illuminating a forest of moving shapes. Luminous mushrooms embedded in the walls cast an eerie glow, just enough to see the silhouettes of partygoers swaying to the beat. The room smelled of sweat, expensive cologne, and the faint metallic tang of spilled drinks.

In the middle of it all, Sangria adjusted the strap of his mask and moved through the crowd with a practiced ease. The mask was sleek, stylized to resemble a theropod—sharp teeth and a fierce brow, the kind of thing designed to draw attention while blending in. Tonight, he needed to blend in. This wasn't his crowd. It wasn't his party. But it was exactly where he needed to be.

The gathering was an exclusive event for upcoming Saurastar candidates—the elite scholarship program for the brightest and most privileged young dinosaurs. Talented, yes. But more importantly, they were rich. Daughters and sons of military generals, corporate tycoons, and political powerhouses packed the room. Sangria had no business being there, but that hadn't stopped him before.

He slipped through a group of laughing teens and found his spot—a table tucked just far enough from the dance floor to be out of the way, but close enough to remain approachable. He'd planned this. Most of the tables were already full. This one, marked with a discreet gold plaque, was reserved for "VIPs." He waited patiently until the group of raptors lounging nearby noticed him.

"Hey," one of them called out, her sharp, amber eyes narrowing. She was slender and graceful, with sleek crimson feathers and an expression that screamed "predator." "You lost or something?"

The others at the table turned to look. Four of them in total, all carnivores, all dripping with wealth and arrogance. They were bigger than raptors, maybe carcharodontids? Sangria wasn't sure; he'd never been great with species. They all looked like sharp teeth and sharper tempers to him.

Sangria shook his head and smiled, an easy, confident smile that disarmed most people. "Not at all. I saw an open seat and figured it'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

"This table's reserved," another said, leaning back and crossing her arms. She had the build of a Giganotosaurus, tall and imposing even while seated. Her scales shimmered in the dim light, a deep emerald that seemed almost liquid.

Sangria ignored the thinly veiled challenge and gestured to the half-empty snack bowls in front of them. "I noticed you're running low on snacks, though. And lucky for you, I come bearing gifts." From beneath his jacket, he revealed several bags of chips, the crinkling sound drawing the group's attention. He set them on the table with a flourish. "Call it a peace offering."

One of the boys snorted, his sharp-toothed grin betraying amusement. "What, you raided the vending machine?"

"Of course," Sangria replied smoothly. "Nothing but the finest junk food for the finest company. Unless you'd prefer to snack on your egos?"

The group laughed, a low ripple of amusement that dissolved some of the tension. The Giganotosaurus girl, Sayley, raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. "Alright, you've got our attention. Sit, vending machine guy."

Sangria took the seat with a grateful nod, his posture relaxed but deliberate. He wasn't here to intimidate. He was here to listen, to learn, and to infiltrate.

The conversation started cautiously. The group eyed him like a curiosity, poking and prodding to figure out who he was and why he was there. "So," Sayley began, swirling her drink lazily. "What's your deal? You don't exactly scream 'old money.'"

"Ah, but appearances can be deceiving," Sangria replied, flashing a playful grin. "Maybe I'm just a humble heir to a vending machine empire."

Another round of laughter. One of the boys, a burly Carnotaurus with a cocky grin, leaned forward. "Alright, vending guy, spill. What's your name?"

"Sangria," he said smoothly. "And you are?"

"Carnel," the boy said, clearly enjoying the spotlight. "And this is Sayley, Ter, and Emmie." He gestured to the others, who nodded in acknowledgment.

"Sayley," Sangria repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. He glanced at her, feigning a look of recognition. "Wait, aren't you on the cover of Saurastar Weekly? The feature about promising young leaders or something?"

Sayley's smirk widened, and a hint of color rose to her cheeks. "Guilty as charged. Someone's been keeping up with their reading."

"Hard to miss," Sangria said, leaning back in his chair. "They really captured your... presence."

Emmie, a petite Allosaurus with bright pink highlights painted across her scales, giggled. "Presence? That's a fancy way of saying she's intimidating as hell."

"Or impressive," Sangria countered, shooting Sayley a pointed look. "Depends on how you see it."

Sayley's blush deepened, and she waved him off with a laugh. "Alright, alright, stop before my ego explodes."

The conversation flowed more naturally after that. Sangria let them do most of the talking, occasionally steering the topics with a well-timed question or comment. They talked about their families, their studies, their vacations to exclusive resorts. Sayley's father came up more than once, a military general whose name carried weight and fear in equal measure.

"He's out in the field right now," Sayley said, her tone casual but proud. "Managing the... situation in the North. You know, those anti-dino rebels or whatever."

Sangria nodded, keeping his expression neutral. He knew exactly what "situation" she was referring to. Entire cities had been razed under her father's command.

"Must be tough," he said, feigning sympathy. "Having a dad who's always so busy."

Sayley's smile faltered for a moment. "Yeah, well, it's his job. Someone's gotta keep the peace, right?"

"Right," Sangria echoed, his voice smooth and reassuring. Inside, his stomach churned.

The group's walls came down bit by bit. They stopped questioning why he was there and started treating him like one of their own. Sangria was careful not to push too hard. He let them reveal themselves to him, piece by piece. The arrogance, the entitlement, the casual indifference to the suffering their families caused—it all spilled out in their laughter and offhand comments.

"Did you see that video going around?" Emmie asked at one point, scrolling through her phone. "The one with those protestors? They're trying to block the railways or something. So dumb."

"I know," Ter, a broad-shouldered shidiasaurus, said with a scoff. "Like, what do they think they're gonna accomplish? You can't stop progress."

"More like you can't stop tanks," Carnel added, earning a round of laughter.

Sangria forced himself to chuckle along, even as his jaw tightened. These people didn't see the world beyond their gilded lives. To them, everything was a joke, a game. But Sangria wasn't laughing. Every word they said was another piece of ammunition for him, another weakness to exploit.

Sayley turned to him, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So, Sangria, what's your story? You've been awfully mysterious."

He shrugged, keeping his tone light. "Not much to tell, really. I'm just another guy trying to figure it all out. Nothing as glamorous as you, Sayley. You've got a name that everyone knows. Me? I'm just... around." He smirked, his tone playful but guarded enough to keep her hooked.

"Oh, come on," she pressed, leaning in slightly. Her finely scaled snout caught the faint pulsing glow of the bioluminescent mushrooms scattered around the party. "Nobody just ends up at a Saurastar candidate party without some kind of story. You've got to give me something."

The table quieted, and all eyes were on him now. The sharp, curious gazes of the theropods around him felt like needles pricking at his facade. He'd expected this, of course. They were predators by nature, even if they hid it behind polished manners and wealth. Sangria leaned back in his chair, his mask hiding a pleased grin. This was his moment to reel them in.

"Fine," he said, as if conceding, his voice rich with faux reluctance. "But it's not that interesting. I've moved around a lot, you know? Never stayed in one place too long. My parents were... let's just say they weren't the settle-down-and-grow-roots type. I've been to a dozen schools, met all kinds of people. Guess I learned how to blend in pretty quickly."

Sayley tilted her head, intrigued. "That explains why you're so smooth with people," she said, a teasing edge to her tone. "A real social chameleon, huh?"

"More like a social survivor," he quipped, earning a laugh from the group. "But yeah, I've had to learn how to read a room. Helps when you're the new kid more times than you can count."

"That sounds exhausting," one of the other girls said, a sleek theropod with iridescent plumage. Her name escaped him—something pretentious, no doubt. She sipped from a delicate glass of sangria that matched the party's theme. "I've only ever lived in Yucatan, and I can't imagine bouncing around like that. It's... unsettling."

"It has its perks," Sangria replied smoothly. "You get to see the world, meet fascinating people. Like all of you, for example." He gestured around the table, the light glinting off the fake metallic sheen of his mask. "I mean, who wouldn't want to rub elbows with future Saurastars? You're all pretty much royalty."

The group chuckled, clearly pleased by the flattery. Sayley, though, narrowed her eyes, a sly smile playing on her lips. "That's a nice dodge. But it doesn't explain how you got in here. This is a pretty exclusive crowd, you know. Are you somebody's plus-one? Or are you just really good at sneaking past security?"

"Would you believe me if I said both?" he said, grinning. The table erupted in laughter, and Sangria took a sip of his drink, using the moment to gauge their reactions. They were loosening up, their skepticism melting away under the warmth of his charm. Good. That's what he needed.

"Seriously, though," Sayley said, her tone softening. "You're... different from the usual crowd. I mean, most people here can't stop talking about themselves. But you've been asking us questions all night. It's refreshing."

"It's just good manners," he said modestly. "Besides, I already know you're all brilliant, talented, and probably more accomplished than I'll ever be. What's left to talk about except how fascinating you all are?"

Sayley's cheeks flushed slightly, her green scales darkening. She looked away, trying to hide her smile. The others at the table exchanged glances, clearly impressed. Sangria could feel the shift. He wasn't an outsider anymore. He was one of them—or at least, that's what they thought.

The conversation flowed more easily after that. They asked him about his favorite places to visit, his thoughts on the latest Saurastar competitions, and even his opinion on the music playing at the party. He answered everything with just enough detail to seem genuine, carefully steering the discussion away from anything too personal. When they started talking about their plans for the anti-dino demonstration, he listened intently, filing away every word.

"It's going to be a total joke," one of the boys said, a bulky theropod with crimson scales. "Those protesters think they can actually make a difference? Please. My dad says they'll be shut down before they even get started."

"Of course they will," Sayley said, rolling her eyes. "They're so disorganized. All noise and no strategy. It's almost embarrassing."

"Still," Sangria said, his tone careful, "it's kind of impressive, isn't it? That they're willing to stand up for what they believe in, even knowing the odds are against them."

Sayley looked at him, surprised. "You think so?"

"Sure," he said, shrugging. "I mean, I don't agree with them or anything. But it takes guts to put yourself out there like that. Most people wouldn't bother."

The group nodded, seeming to accept his answer. Sayley, though, continued to watch him, her gaze thoughtful. Sangria met her eyes, holding her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. She looked away first, a faint blush creeping back into her cheeks.

"You're full of surprises, Sangria," she said, her voice quieter now. "I think I like that."

"And here I thought I was an open book," he teased, earning another laugh from the group. But inside, he felt a flicker of unease. Sayley was smart—smarter than he'd given her credit for. She might not have figured him out yet, but she was paying attention. He'd have to be careful.

As the night wore on, the party began to wind down. The table emptied out as people drifted to other groups or headed for the dance floor. Eventually, it was just Sangria and Sayley left, their conversation growing quieter and more intimate.

"So," she said, twirling a strand of her dark green hair around her finger. "What do you think of the party?"

"It's... interesting," he said, choosing his words carefully. "You've got a good crowd here. Lots of energy, lots of ambition. It's inspiring, really."

She laughed softly. "Inspiring? That's one way to put it. Personally, I think it's exhausting. All these people trying so hard to impress each other. It's like a competition nobody ever wins."

"Sounds like you're not a fan," he said, tilting his head.

"I'm not," she admitted. "But it's part of the game, right? You show up, you smile, you play your part. That's how you get ahead."

"Sounds lonely," he said, his voice soft.

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Sometimes it is. But that's just how it is for people like us. You wouldn't understand."

He wanted to laugh at the irony. She had no idea how much he understood—how much he'd had to sacrifice just to get here, to sit at this table, to be part of this world. But he didn't say any of that. Instead, he just smiled, a small, sad smile that seemed to catch her off guard.

"Maybe not," he said. "But I'd like to try."

For a moment, she looked like she might say something more. But then the music shifted, and someone called her name from across the room. She stood, smoothing her dress. "I should go," she said, hesitating. "But... thanks for the conversation. It was nice."

"The pleasure was mine," he said, standing as well. "Have a good night, Sayley."

As she walked away, Sangria sat back down, his mask slipping for just a moment. He felt a pang of something—guilt, maybe, or regret. But he pushed it aside. He couldn't afford to feel anything for these people, not when the stakes were so high.

Pulling out his phone, he typed a quick message to his contact in the resistance, detailing everything he'd learned. Then he slipped the phone back into his pocket and leaned back, his gaze sweeping over the party. He'd done what he came here to do. Now all he had to do was wait for the fallout.