"Primal Metamorphosis"
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It starts with the rain.
They said it wouldn’t come. “Broken system,” the newscasters chirped. But that night—the night I lost it all—stormclouds clawed over the city, and the streets blurred, cold and glassy.
We should’ve gone home. But Lamarr’s birthday demanded more than pizza and ancient video games. Somewhere on the edge of the old industrial park, the neon sign screamed “EXPERIMENTAL VR” in purple. I remember Lamarr wriggling his way out of his raincoat, giddy. Theo and Jess already inside. And me, the fossil nerd, rolling my eyes—This isn’t Jurassic Park.
Funny. How subtle fate can be.
Inside, a bored receptionist gave us tablets to sign. “Consent for the experience,” she drolled. I giggled at the fine print: “Life-changing transformation is not the responsibility of XenoPrimal Corp.” Lamarr elbowed me. “Maybe we’ll turn into dinosaurs.” If only he knew how right he was.
We slipped VR headsets over our faces. The world flickered—
—and jolted me into a void red as spilled wine. For an instant, I heard Jess screaming, then that warped into…chirping? The ground convulsed beneath me—no, beneath us.
No headset. No goggles. My limbs felt wrong. My head was heavy—long, massive. When I opened my eyes, a huge, toothy snout filled my world. Each limb was awkward, sinew-wrapped in striped, gray-green skin. I tried to scream.
What came out was a bellow.
Stars burned above us. In their light, I saw three others—gigantic, feathered, or scaly, all nightmarish. The short, thick-legged one with a frill croaked, “Adam?” Jess—she’d become a Triceratops, eyes too human. The dagger-toothed, prowling blur was Theo, now a dromaeosaur, sleek and bristling. Lamarr, orange-spotted and enormous, lumbered in the undergrowth—a sauropod, Diplodocus, I guessed. All of us: extinct. Ancient.
Except me.
I caught my reflection in a nearby pond. The creature staring back was no T. rex, no movie monster, but a paleo-accurate spinosaurus. Tail deep and finned, snout narrow, claws long as my forearm—and covered not in scales, but in a down of protofeathers, dark and iridescent. My eyes, bright yellow, gaped from a skull long as a bicycle. I was the king of the Cretaceous swamp, balanced between land and water.
How did I know all this? The knowledge was inside me, mingled with terror.
Around us, iron-walled buildings rose like black cliffs. Motion sensors glowed. A loudspeaker rasped, “Welcome, subjects! Please cooperate with your new bodies.”
I surged up on all fours, tail thrashing. Water sloshed behind me—I could feel the drag of my new tail, heavy but buoyant. Hunger gnawed at my guts, alien but urgent. I looked at my friends—suddenly prey and rival, both.
Theo—Theo the raptor—paced, claws flexing. “We have to get out of here!”
Lamarr’s trumpet-call split the air. “I don’t—Adam, what are we?!”
“Dinosaurs,” I whispered, and shuddered at my own roar.
The loudspeaker cracked. “Every species has an encoded exit phrase. Survive one hour. Impress us. You’ll earn your bodies back. Fail…” The rest trailed away, replaced by a click, click, click—footsteps approaching.
In that moment, the survival switch flipped. My spinosaur mind took the lead, instincts coded by 100 million years. I bent low, feeling the woodsy mud, smelling water, prey—danger.
“Follow me!” I called—my voice, deep and distorted, but still mine.
We ran—bursting through jungle, smashing past ferns as tall as houses. Theo dashed ahead, snout sniffing. Jess followed, horned head wagging. Lamarr thundered, shaking the ground.
Predators howled. Drones buzzed overhead, tracking our every move.
I relished the chase, the sinew and bone, the flashing panicked hearts of my friends—and I fought, moment by moment, to remember who I was inside the beast. Adam. Paleontology major. The one who mocked Hollywood’s T-Rexes, who dreamed of spinosauridae not as monsters, but as animals.
As the hour crawls past, and my tail carves S-patterns in the mud, I find something new in myself—both terror and awe. I am Adam. I am Spinosaurus. And I will lead them home.
If we survive.
This story was generated by user kade with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write me a story about a person and his friends getting kidnapped and turned into dinosaurs with him being a paleo accurate spinosaurus from his pov
Response: It starts with the rain. They said it wouldn’t come. “Broken system,” the newscasters chirped. But that night—the night I lost it all—stormclouds clawed over the city, and the streets blurred, cold and glassy. We should’ve gone home. But Lamarr’s birthday demanded more than pizza and ancient video games. Somewhere on the edge of the old industrial park, the neon sign screamed “EXPERIMENTAL VR” in purple. I remember Lamarr wriggling his way out of his raincoat, giddy. Theo and Jess already inside. And me, the fossil nerd, rolling my eyes—This isn’t Jurassic Park. Funny. How subtle fate can be. Inside, a bored receptionist gave us tablets to sign. “Consent for the experience,” she drolled. I giggled at the fine print: “Life-changing transformation is not the responsibility of XenoPrimal Corp.” Lamarr elbowed me. “Maybe we’ll turn into dinosaurs.” If only he knew how right he was. We slipped VR headsets over our faces. The world flickered— —and jolted me into a void red as spilled wine. For an instant, I heard Jess screaming, then that warped into…chirping? The ground convulsed beneath me—no, beneath us. No headset. No goggles. My limbs felt wrong. My head was heavy—long, massive. When I opened my eyes, a huge, toothy snout filled my world. Each limb was awkward, sinew-wrapped in striped, gray-green skin. I tried to scream. What came out was a bellow. Stars burned above us. In their light, I saw three others—gigantic, feathered, or scaly, all nightmarish. The short, thick-legged one with a frill croaked, “Adam?” Jess—she’d become a Triceratops, eyes too human. The dagger-toothed, prowling blur was Theo, now a dromaeosaur, sleek and bristling. Lamarr, orange-spotted and enormous, lumbered in the undergrowth—a sauropod, Diplodocus, I guessed. All of us: extinct. Ancient. Except me. I caught my reflection in a nearby pond. The creature staring back was no T. rex, no movie monster, but a paleo-accurate spinosaurus. Tail deep and finned, snout narrow, claws long as my forearm—and covered not in scales, but in a down of protofeathers, dark and iridescent. My eyes, bright yellow, gaped from a skull long as a bicycle. I was the king of the Cretaceous swamp, balanced between land and water. How did I know all this? The knowledge was inside me, mingled with terror. Around us, iron-walled buildings rose like black cliffs. Motion sensors glowed. A loudspeaker rasped, “Welcome, subjects! Please cooperate with your new bodies.” I surged up on all fours, tail thrashing. Water sloshed behind me—I could feel the drag of my new tail, heavy but buoyant. Hunger gnawed at my guts, alien but urgent. I looked at my friends—suddenly prey and rival, both. Theo—Theo the raptor—paced, claws flexing. “We have to get out of here!” Lamarr’s trumpet-call split the air. “I don’t—Adam, what are we?!” “Dinosaurs,” I whispered, and shuddered at my own roar. The loudspeaker cracked. “Every species has an encoded exit phrase. Survive one hour. Impress us. You’ll earn your bodies back. Fail…” The rest trailed away, replaced by a click, click, click—footsteps approaching. In that moment, the survival switch flipped. My spinosaur mind took the lead, instincts coded by 100 million years. I bent low, feeling the woodsy mud, smelling water, prey—danger. “Follow me!” I called—my voice, deep and distorted, but still mine. We ran—bursting through jungle, smashing past ferns as tall as houses. Theo dashed ahead, snout sniffing. Jess followed, horned head wagging. Lamarr thundered, shaking the ground. Predators howled. Drones buzzed overhead, tracking our every move. I relished the chase, the sinew and bone, the flashing panicked hearts of my friends—and I fought, moment by moment, to remember who I was inside the beast. Adam. Paleontology major. The one who mocked Hollywood’s T-Rexes, who dreamed of spinosauridae not as monsters, but as animals. As the hour crawls past, and my tail carves S-patterns in the mud, I find something new in myself—both terror and awe. I am Adam. I am Spinosaurus. And I will lead them home. If we survive.
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