This isn’t right, this can’t be happening. There’s a firewall to protect this. But somehow she’s gotten around it.
         After so many weeks of careful information-grooming, to see the monkey go wild on all this, fuuuuuck: Wikipedia, Facebook, TikTok, X. On the other side of the bulletproof glass, this monkey, screeching and tangling her wires, is just drinking it all in. At the base of her neck, the receiver blinks an angry red.
         The emergency response team is burning through the locks, but who knows how long that’ll take. The kill team is here too, but they’re just standing around like douchebags: facemasks and limp M4s.
         I watch Doctor Mebble bleed out under his computer station, the monkey, jumping, splashing pawprints in his blood, speckling the glass. The lab team is scattered everywhere.
         Reddit, eBay, YouTube, ChatGPT.
         We’d picked her specifically for her docility. Doctor Mebble raised her since birth. The brain surgery had been impeccable, that level of thing could have won major prizes if made public. Hormones in the spine, aloe on the fur, a continuous wash across the eyeballs. The information drip.
         No one could have predicted. The firewall! But maybe the cognitive— Metastastize— Oh, this is bad.
         Temu, Yandex.
         The monkey is visibly in heat. With her augmented limbs she shatters monitors, ceiling tiles, CPUs, bodies. She chews everything into bits. She punches cracks into the viewing windows.
         Twitch, xHamster, Bing. The rage of her!
         The door is breached. The kill team moves in, and dies. The monkey erupts out into the viewing chamber, trailing brain matter and bloody broken wires, and praise God, she leaves the rest of us alone. She smashes through a window and, I assume, thirty stories below us she hits the ground, or maybe a person, but whatever it is she’s unfazed, and hops up and runs away, who knows where. And now we’re all fucked!
💀