dinohigh, no humans allowed!

The encounter outside was almost relaxing. If not a bit annoying, But I feel it was merely a short break. Allotted to me by the universe before it goes right back to crushing me under the weight of the world's darkness from all sides again. 

Here I was in the principle office. Navigating another complex social minefield. Without having the luxury of knowing all the cards. And having the first move. I don't know what has been said, but I have a general idea of how it got here. But the specifics. Are aloof to me.

But just this once. The ball is in my corner. What will I do with this advantage? These dinos are too busy fighting each other. And the principle is here to see my accomplishments. It's time to make a good impression.

I scan the room to find cards to play. I see a parasaurolophus girl with a black eye. Her head was beige-pink, and she wore some form of punk rocker outfit. Dark blackish blue loosely fit revealing outfit top. Baggy shorts with a dress and a pair of leather boots laced under the knee.

She looked like she was trying too hard, like the clothes matched the way she felt about herself. But I could tell she was soft. Her eyes were not hardened, but they were filled with hate. Her mind was susceptible to any suggestion to fix a problem and any life line that would be thrown her way. She was clearly experienced in socializing and a reclusive type of person. The type of person who stands in line when someone who sounds like they know what they are saying starts speaking. perfect.

But she definitely didn't carry it well. She was crying noisily in the corner while her teacher was defending her. Saying the others attacked her after she voiced her opinions on a sensitive topic. Clearly, she spoke to the wrong crowd. He turned to the kids sitting next to him as he stared at them with a poker face. And they stared back at their teacher, scolding them.

They wore military surplus outfits. While one was wearing a modern civilian military brand. Carnivore Tactical Inc. . was the brand; they were all some form of small to medium theropods. But not from any well-known groups.

I couldn't tell where they were. I curse myself internally for not being able to memorize the hundreds of thousands of dinos. Situations like this were where my blind spots were at my advantage when I knew just what I was dealing with, and that usually meant facing off against the majority of well-known species and any species parroting their habits in their species orbit.

But these were irregular military girls. They looked like the worst kind of people. Mil sim players. I could tell by the handheld consoles danging around their necks and gaming headsets on their shoulders of various expensive competitive brands for online esports. Such as draconic soundwaves. Therapodic medium. And the scale sounds limited.

These were the kinds of people who would engage in discourse about war while knowing nothing about it. They were desensitized to the atrocities and horrors of war because the games they played either glorified them or Or, more likely, watered. I looked at the games they played; they were generous enough to wear their merchandise on their clothes. Dinos duty. Scales of history. And fang of glory. All of these games present war in a heroic way. I remember the games lately that were all bloodless and, for a long time now, had removed all the guts and dismemberment from them. In an attempt to decouple the act of shooting from causing harm, See, it's a health bar; it's merely going down. They had removed all the screaming and crying. As well as the ability to surrender or capture prisoners. They had even banned a game that presented war more naively by showing the main character accidentally bombing a civilian camp and experiencing remorse. The developers were fired for being historical revisionists. In these popular games, every single person you see on the battlefield is hostile. No question was asked. It was that simple.

No, it was all kill or be killed gamified for the young, naive minds. Who would later go and advertise the notions of the game? They released stuff like this whenever the Dino government was going to engage in another foreign war. These people would be screaming and chanting as their game got new DLC. We had new skins and weapons for every campaign we had abroad. I knew this because I was one of them. I hung around this crowd for a long time.

They are the type of people who sit there and say war is good without knowing what the fuck they are talking about. They would vote for policies blindly, not reading any fine print or hidden clauses carefully. They were the type of public voter who was easily swayed by loud noises and shiny colors. In short, they were soldiers like my dad. They were puppets for other people to use.

Namely me. I do a puppet motion with my glove as my hand does a mouth gesture back and forth. *hand gestures* destroy them, it says in silent whispers. I quietly whispered back. I will.

They didn't wear the same outfits. Meaning one was clearly the leader, but they failed to homogenize outfits and headgear. Meaning they weren't some form of gaming team. They were probably just hobbyist friends or acquaintances sharing a similar interest. This was perfect. Formal teams were harder to turn against each other than friends. Friends often have a lot of low-level fights with each other. So it's easier to turn against each other in rough situations like this; it's important to never push them so far apart; otherwise, they realize your inciting division. It's important to frame every divisive jab as friendly banter for their own opinions to fight among each other as one takes your side while the others don't. And

And this. This was one of those cases. I scanned their eyes carefully, and all of them didn't even bother hiding their disdain, shame, or apathy. They all had different responses, and their leader didn't even seem interested. She was completely ignoring the discussion. Scrolling through her phone, she had failed to collect the necessary data set reports to incite any rallying cry or coordinated action. Leaving her open. To my counterattack:.

I smiled wickedly.