It was a while before Rosa stayed late again. Uncharacteristically, she joined her fellow workers for drinks at the local wine bar, reluctantly navigating small talk over pinot grigio. She told herself this was nothing to do with the camera incident. She simply needed to unwind, even if it meant enduring the awkwardness of socialising. With each clink of glasses though, her heart sank deeper into a pit of discomfort. What am I doing here? she wondered, feeling like an imposter amidst their carefree chatter.
One night, she even attended a show—Shakespeare, of all things—but the enthusiasm of the strangers rang hollow as she feigned interest in them and the play, struggling to care about the story. Before long, everything felt too forced and unnatural for her. She left early and caught a taxi home in the late-night drizzle.
Solitude hadn't ever been a choice for Rosa. Initially, work had filled her hours, consuming her days with the rhythm of research and deadlines. But as evenings with friends became fewer and further apart, her job grew into a comfortable default. She’d come home to a peaceful apartment, slipping into her well-worn routine: brewing chamomile tea, curling up in the light of scented candles on the couch with Georgie the cat, and scrolling through social media feeds that pretended everyone else was living their best life. Now and then—when the silence grew loud—she felt a bit like a ghost, haunting her own life, trapped between the desire for connection and the comfort of solitude.
Rosa shuffled into the bathroom, smooth jazz playing softly on her phone, her hotel slippers from last summer's holiday still cosy on her feet. After brushing her teeth, she changed into her pyjamas, signalling the end of her day. She fluffed the sofa cushions just right and paused to rub Georgie’s chin, enjoying the warmth of his response. As she passed the table, her eyes fell on her scattered research notes, and her mind drifted back to the various scraps of ideas she had collected. While she welcomed the challenge of refining her dissertation, the prospect of presenting it at the upcoming winter lecture made her feel uneasy.
In the early hours, as Rosa struggled to sleep, a bird began calling outside her window. A collared dove, its repeating hoo hoo phrase annoyingly persistent, always heavy on certain notes as though trying to emphasise some important avian message. "Hoo hoo... who...?" On the edges of sleep, the sound fluttered its way into her dreaming, like a cuckoo invading a nest. "Who? Who's there?" The start of a play. Waiting for a ghost. A great, heavy curtain swung back with a long 'ffvvvvvvvpppsss' sound, as if the reverberations of some important utterance. "Who's there?" she tried to ask, but found herself coughing and choking, unable to get the words out.
She saw hands, her hands, floating over a computer keyboard, poised to type, "Who's there?" But the words wouldn't come. The 's' key jammed, unleashing a torrent of gibberish that spiralled into endless strings until the keyboard dissolved into ripples, the letters swimming away like ink in water, swirling into fragments pursued by hundreds of tiny pink monkeys. She watched as the letters transformed into fairy-tale memories crawling on ancient palimpsests. As she tried to focus on them, they flicked away like motes in her eye as if the very air conspired to keep them hidden.
Then, as if spat from the shadows, the sound again: 'ffvvvvvvvpppsss.' Louder, right in her head. Clearly a voice now, dissolving gradually into sibilance. "Sssssseeeeebbbssssss," it hissed. Not only did the voice storm into her consciousness without warning, but also a vision of a figure, face shadowed beneath a hood. Like the words, the perception of the image was unsettling, flashing within, rather than entering via the senses.
It was a monkey, its skin unnaturally smooth, almost translucent, stretched tight over a skull too sharp in its angles. The hood fell low over the creature's face, a shroud that seemed less like fabric and more composed of darkness itself. Its black, empty eyes, peered from the depths, locked onto hers, long fingers mimicking the motion of typing, as though desperately trying to complete some forgotten task.
Baum bolted upright, her sheets tangled around her legs, heart pounding. Agitated, she grabbed a pen that she kept at the bedside and began recording what she had seen, filling a number of Post-its with her night visions. The dream was meaningless. She understood it was just her brain trying to sort through its clutter. Yet, something in the image of the monkey gnawed at her.
The collared dove kept cooing outside her window, its persistent calls blending into a dull hum as Rosa's notes turned into a jumble of scribbled eyes and doodles. She thought about chasing it off, but she didn't. A monkey in her dreams made sense, right? She spent all day with primates and their quirky behaviors. But something about that dream nagged at her, unsettling. “Hoo,” the dove echoed again. Who? Was her subconscious trying to tell her something important? Or was she just too tired to think straight?
Shuffling in her pyjamas into the kitchen, she microwaved some milk, the steam curling into the air mirroring her unresolved thoughts. She found solace in her simple rituals, like drinking night-time milk or clasping her special, warm, autumn cup while watching the sun inch over the horizon.
Dreams might not have hidden meanings, but they could stimulate creativity. Vivid images. She realised now, that's what her presentation needed: images. Aware that there had originally been live updates published on the Web and even a webcam in the monkey enclosure "showing the creative activity in its fuller context", Baum opened her laptop on the kitchen island and brought up a Web browser. You're doing this before you even eat or check your messages! She looked for YouTube videos and pored over their content. The monkeys she saw were hardly aspiring playwrights: rocks were employed, the keyboard defiled, personal stuff was flung. Still, she had an idea now.
As Rosa drove to work, the dream she'd had clung to her like the dawn mist over the city streets. The chaos of the monkeys—the beaten and defiled keyboard—swirled in her mind. Buildings and street signs blurred past and the usual throngs of morning pedestrians meandered along the pavements, like the scattered thoughts in her head. That hooded figure haunted her, long fingers typing. The hissed "Sssseeeeebbbbssss" refusing to leave her thoughts. What did it mean? Probably nothing. Wasn't seebs short for something? She gripped the wheel tighter, trying to shake it off, but a nagging feeling lingered, like she was on the verge of some hidden connection.
During working hours, she struggled to focus on the Borneo macaques she was supposed to be studying. As she observed their antics, she fought to keep her mind from drifting to the idea her dream had triggered, pushing it aside until later. It wasn't easy. Deadlines crept closer like a relentless tide. Each day that slipped by without progress felt like a lost opportunity, and the growing pile of undeveloped material filled her with a sense of dread.
As the workday finally drew to a close, a rush of anticipation surged through her. She had been itching all day to put her idea into action. Integrating the Paignton monkeys' text with the company’s cutting-edge AI felt now like a natural next step, especially since no one else seemed to be exploring its potential. She began calling up the files she needed and laying out her notes when her excitement deepened. Her gaze had fallen on a state-of-the-art VR rig in the corner of the lab, its full-body tracking harness draped over a chair like an executioner's cloak. Now that was something she hadn't thought of.
As the workday finally drew to a close, a rush of anticipation flushed through her. She had been itching all day to put her idea into action. Integrating the Paignton monkeys' text with the company’s cutting-edge AI felt now like a natural next step, especially since no one else seemed to be exploring its potential. She began calling up the files she needed and laying out her notes when her excitement deepened. Her eyes had fallen on the state-of-the-art VR rig, neatly stowed in its curving charging dock, cables coiled with meticulous care.
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Now that was something she hadn't thought of. The virtual reality rig had a feature that saved moments as vivid, three-dimensional snapshots, the kind of visceral visuals that could really transform her presentation for the winter conference. This could be her chance not only to push the research forward but also to blow everyone's minds with stunning imagery—powerful, immersive scenes that would leave a lasting impression.
She pulled on the headset and the screen sprang to life, digital overlays engulfing her in inspiring hues of electric blue. The LumiGard YBM icon for the new AI had pride of place. She reached out a hand and felt a haptic pulse as she clicked open her files. The AI transformed them into panoramic visuals, surrounding her with intricate representations of the monkeys’ work. Their original zoo enclosure materialized around her in stunning high definition, with every rock and strand of hay rendered with precision, thanks to the state-of-the-art virtual reality system. Equipped with a high-definition headset and a full-body tracking harness, it allowed her to immerse herself in a digital environment that faithfully replicated the monkeys’ activities. Advanced motion capture technology enabled her to interact with 3D representations of the Sulawesi macaques and their surroundings as if she were truly present.
As Rosa walked among the monkeys in the virtual compound she marvelled at the level of detail—the feel of damp straw, the chatter of the macaques—all so vivid. LumiGard YBM’s research floated around her, translucent blue panels gently bobbing in the air, each filled with meticulous data. She swiped through one panel, watching as it analysed the video clips her assistant had inputted. Another hovered nearby, dissecting the online PDF Notes Toward the Complete Works of Shakespeare, drawing connections between the monkeys’ random keystrokes and fragments of Shakespeare’s plays.
The virtual monkeys ignored her as she moved around the enclosure, as though she wasn't there. She wondered what would happen if she tried to interact with them, but restrained herself, wanting only to observe for now. As she did, LumiGard sifted through the vast web of information, throwing up hundreds of connections. A new panel flickered into existence, detailing the revolutionary impact of the first printing press, casting a blue hue over the simulated gravel path. Rosa waved it aside, only for another to appear—this one linking to 'The Monkey Shakespeare Simulator.' Intrigued, she briefly explored the data before dismissing it, allowing yet another overlay to emerge.
This time, the panel highlighted a cybercrime incident in North Yorkshire, where participants had inexplicably fallen into comatose states. Rosa’s heart raced as she scanned the screen, noting the strange coincidence: animal activists had released a number of capuchins into the police station that was investigating the matter. Presumably, a protest of some sort. The connection seemed too bizarre to ignore, but with a flick of her hand, she cast the panel away, her steps quickening as the monkeys continued to poke at their keyboard, their gaze now occasionally meeting hers.
Amidst this eclectic deluge, one peripheral data panel threw up a peculiar poem, talking of a theft from a beast and the dire consequences that awaited. It was the peculiar term "Gumbaldy" though, nestled within the lines, that caught her eye. Gumbaldy, Gumbaldy... Too strange to be a coincidence. The bald monkey in her dream, the monkey called Gum in the experiment... The more she thought about it, the more the name seemed to tug at her, as if a connection was waiting to be made.
Rosa felt a surge of anticipation as the monkeys in the simulation prodded and tampered with the protected computer equipment carefully placed within their reach and the AI presented more and more data. This immersive experience had the potential to turn up insights and associations previously unimaginable. Each of the macaques' actions prompted her system to scour the Internet for related connections, weaving a web of possibilities that surely would offer something of use for her presentation. Seeing one of the monkeys appear to be giving the computer more attention she leaned in to see what it was doing. For a second, it looked directly at her before purposefully typing: M... A..."
Rosa panicked as she realised that, somehow, she was influencing the simulation. The AI made connections, but surely it couldn’t know what she was thinking. Yes, she wanted there to be some intent in the macaques' activities, but there was no value in fabricating it. Soon it became apparent that the venture was all very tenuous. "If you don't know where you're going, it doesn't matter which way you go—any road will take you there." Grasping at straws. Pareidolia. So many useless associations—fascinating, but useless. Time was running out. She could almost feel the weight of her ambition pressing down on her, urging her to uncover something that would justify all this effort. Something more than just whales in clouds.
Rosa reluctantly removed the headset, frustration rising within her. The immersive digital world drained, leaving her with a sense of unfulfilled potential. She glanced at the clock—well past her usual quitting time—and felt little satisfaction, only the griping realisation that she had been grasping at straws. With a heavy sigh, she gathered her notes, with the biro-drawn eyes all over the margins (a habit she'd developed to distract herself during moments of contemplation) and set off home.
Stepping into the cool evening air, she breathed in the familiar scents of the city, but the excitement of her work felt distant. As she drove home, thoughts of her cat waiting for her brought a small comfort. Tomorrow, she would dive back into her research, determined to salvage something from the mysteries of the monkeys. For now, though, she needed to step away and recharge her weary mind.
That night, Rosa dreamt again of the monkey, its form jittering like a broken simulation. With each letter it typed—m...a...s...s—it paused and turned, staring at her from beneath its hood of shadows, black eyes meeting her own, as though checking what she wanted it to do. The dream crackled with static, and the sense of deliberate intent unsettled her, lingering long after she awoke.
The following morning, she was cornered in the break room by her colleague, Selina. The lab assistant’s blue eyes, framed by sharp, round glasses, projected a thoughtful, almost academic air. Her lab coat looked perpetually crisp, as though freshly pressed each morning, only a single strand of hair slipped free from her high ponytail, softened her otherwise precise appearance. Despite her no-nonsense demeanour, Selina had a habit of showing concern at unexpected moments, a warmth that only surfaced when she thought no one was looking.
“You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Everything okay?”
“Just lost in thought,” Rosa replied, forcing a smile. “I keep thinking about Gum, the bald monkey in the experiment. He was so focused on the screen on that day that Elmo was taken out.”
Selina raised an eyebrow. “Bald monkey? I didn't see that one in your pictures. Do animals go bald?”
“I guess so,” she said. “Gum frightened Elmo somehow and he had to be taken out. Then, when he was on his own, he typed as if he almost understood what he was doing. Almost pleading.”
“Sounds intense,” Selina said, glancing at her with concern. “All that's in the webcam footage? You sure you’re not reading too much into it?”
As she walked away, Rosa called, "You don't know anything about a drone crawling around carpet in here and filming do you?" Selina grinned back at her as though Rosa was making a joke she didn't get.
Sipping at her second coffee of the day, she thought again about the monkey with the smooth skull, purposefully typing the word "mass," one letter at a time. After Elmo's almost endless strings of esses and the final jumble of characters, it stood stark as the only coherent fragment in the chaos. She recalled too, how, with startling violence, another monkey had hurled itself at the keyboard, producing a final garbled mess of 'ssssssjjkbhnmnn.' Gum’s grainy silhouette had slumped in apparent despair, his dark figure fractured by poor resolution. Yet, what lingered most wasn’t the words or the chaos, but Gum’s gaze—piercing, desperate—the urgency in his movement like a silent scream, a message he couldn’t yet deliver. The memory haunted her, clinging to her like a shadow she couldn’t shake.
Why had Selina asked if that had all been in the webcam footage? She’d seen it too—Rosa had specifically asked her to increase the resolution before feeding the video to the AI. Yet now, a wave of déjà vu-induced disorientation swept over her, causing her stomach to churn and her skin to feel clammy. Doubt drifted like a shadow, unsettling her thoughts. She knew she had seen the event, yet somehow it seemed to blur and shift in her mind, clouded in a haze of uncertainty
The event. What exactly was the event? Was Gum's deliberation truly captured on film, or had she misremembered, conjuring a moment that never happened? She could vividly recall the dark macaque sitting by the keyboard, its gaze locked on her as it deliberately typed the word "mass," its hood of darkness cloaking it in shadow. That couldn't possibly be real. The boundaries of reality were blurring, leaving her with an unsettling sense of detachment.
Rosa scoured her downloads for the clip of the event, but it eluded her grasp. Slumped in her ergonomic chair, she felt a disorienting confusion unlike anything she'd ever known, uncertain whether the incident was part of the zoo footage or simply a memory dredged up from elsewhere.
Baum was well aware of the effects of virtual reality on human cognition and perception, the documented cases of cybersickness, where immersive digital environments engendered nausea and cognitive dissociation. The quest for total immersion, intrinsic to VR's design, paradoxically exacerbated detachment from corporeal reality. More severe manifestations—derealisation, depersonalisation—could transform a person's life and surroundings into a dream-like, unsettling realm, distorting familiar faces and everyday experiences into surreal visions.
She had devoted too many hours to these purposeless monkeys, wondering what if—what if? What could she use? She moved to the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. There was a good illustration in this somewhere, but her writer's block had become persistent.
She gazed out at the distant hills, their silhouettes grey in the autumn sky, while lost leaves from the ornamental acers swirled past in the wind.
A flicker of movement disrupted her reverie. A small drone hovering over the car park—patrolling the grounds, its sleek, matte-black body and photoelectric cells absorbing the morning sun’s electric haze.