Rowan’s black muzzle wrinkled as his lips pulled back, revealing a flash of teeth. His tufted crest raised for a moment, his eyes, intense and gleaming. He lifted one long finger, slightly curled, then beckoned. The gesture startled Rosa; there was no mistaking it - Rowan wasn’t simply present; he was aware, engaged, purposeful.
In a flash, he bounded off, his small frame leaping through throngs of shoppers that barely even noticed his passing.
Rosa grabbed Selina’s sleeve. “After him.” They hurried past colourful storefronts, Rowan darting ahead, his nimble leaps carrying him effortlessly between the holographic displays that flickered in their path. Stylish android-like mannequins dressed in the latest virtual fashions swirled in midair, their fabrics shimmering with colours that shifted in the light. Ro bounded straight through them.
He paused briefly, perched atop a pop-up screen advertising a digital stylist, before continuing his path through the milling crowds of flamboyant avatars. His purposeful scampering contrasted sharply with the surreal atmosphere around them, urging Rosa and Selina to keep pace with him.
The macaque led them to a large stone gateway, covered in relief carvings celebrating virtual evolution. The monument grandly depicted humanity reaching toward a digital horizon of simulated worlds surrounded by cascading data streams that glowed like rivers of light. Cut into the arch were the words ‘The Glitch Grove,’ letters bold, yet slightly uneven, as though the passage of time had left them partially warped. After checking that they were following, Ro leapt onward with renewed urgency.
On the other side, the shops were replaced with a dreamlike wood. The light was dimmed into an artificial dusk with an intentional theatricality, as though the atmosphere itself were calibrated to awe. Hues of indigo and points of gold suffused the air, shimmering like the afterglow of a screen. Elegant trees stretched skyward, their trunks etched with swirling patterns that pulsed faintly with coded vitality. Leaves, broad and veined in intricate detail, glowed faintly, casting a luminous canopy above.
“This must be one of those immersive attractions,” Selina muttered, glancing around. “Infinity NexUs really goes all out.”
Rosa hesitated, taking it all in. Suspended in the leafy heights and drifting between the trees, large orange fish glided lazily, their fins trailing streams of glowing particles. Underfoot, the ground gave gently, its texture oscillating between soft moss and something faintly pixelated.
From the virtual canopy came delicate ambient tones, a music of chirps and rustles that perfectly mimicked a living forest. Here and there, flickers of light darted - perhaps insects, or perhaps programmed firefly data trying to form something tangible. Every element felt deliberate, engineered for maximum wonder.
The grove buzzed with a carnival vibe as shoppers strolled under the arches of luminous leaves, their multiform virtual faces aglow with delight. Here and there, floating lanterns cast dappled hues of gold and amber across the bustling scene, illuminating pockets of lively activity. Merchants hawked their wares from stalls that lined the path, their offerings suspended in midair or rotating in tidal displays, drawing curious onlookers into experiences where the tangible and virtual blurred.
Children darted through the throng, trailing ribbons of light that left lingering traces in the air, their laughter ringing like tiny bells. Street performers danced between stalls with fluid, hypnotic movements. One juggled an impossible cascade of orbs that became flutters of butterflies mid-flight, while another spouted great gouts of fire that momentarily engulfed the delighted observers before evaporating into nothing. Rosa felt a twinge of disquiet but couldn't deny the beauty surrounding them.
A small flying beetle alighted on Rosa’s arm, its wings, gossamer-thin and adorned with fractal patterns that shimmered in opalescent hues of gold and green. She raised her arm slowly, captivated as it tucked its wings beneath an iridescent carapace. Looking closer, she could see faint pulses of light coursing through intricate circuits etched into its shell, their rhythm mirroring the soft thrum of a heartbeat.
Every minute movement of the creature seemed elegant, choreographed as its soft, shifting glow spilled over her sleeve in a warm, ethereal halo. Its tiny faceted eyes, gleaming with infinite complexity, seemed, for a moment, to hold her in quiet study. The world around her faded into stillness, leaving only the miraculous, otherworldly beauty of the beetle - an exquisite fusion of the natural and the imagined. Could it be watching her? The thought came abruptly. She shook her arm, dislodging the insect, sending it buzzing back into the air.
Selina let out a low whistle, her gaze sweeping upwards. "It's like... like some kind of walk-in screensaver on steroids." She reached out to touch a twig that shimmered in response, its texture oscillating with a faint static buzz.
A sudden rustle broke through the ambience, pulling their attention to Rowan. Perched on a low branch, his black fur absorbed the light, his eyes glinting with an uncanny sharpness. He let out a soft, guttural sound before springing forward, a blur of movement against the glowing foliage. After a backward glance, he wove through the trees with fluid precision, his small form leaving faint ripples of disturbed light in his wake.
Compelled by his urgency, Rosa and Selina hurried after him, feeling like he were guiding them through a labyrinth only he understood.
Then, half-concealed by the intertwining trees, something else appeared, a travelling theatre, lit by hanging lanterns, surrounded by a small crowd. Rowan stopped, staring for a moment. His crest lowered slightly as though caught between unease and fascination. He looked meaningfully up at Rosa as she caught up to him, and he made a faint clicking sound deep in his throat before pushing to the front of the audience, pulling her by the sleeve.
The small theatre was a marvel of craftsmanship, a two-storey wagon that unfolded at the front into a tiny wooden stage. Its dark oak frame, perched on heavy wheels, exuded an air of flamboyant charm. The upper storey, with its panelled windows glowing warmly with lamplight, was crowned by a steeply pitched roof adorned with quaint dormers that jutted out like medieval flourishes. At the back of the stage, a narrow balcony draped in rich velvet concealed a small, discreet door that opened into the wagon's compartment - a space that hinted at the presence of an entire impossibly compact theatre within.
A tall figure on stilts, wearing a black leather eyemask, moved through the audience, plucking small objects - a clockwork moth, a crimson feather, curled like a question mark, a tiny, luminous jellyfish, its tendrils trailing pink light - from the onlookers who all laughed appreciatively. Approaching Rosa and Selina, it leaned low, pausing for a beat. Its voice was barely audible over the crowd’s murmurs. “What will you give?” it asked, its gaze looking beyond them, lingering, as if expecting an answer not from them but from somewhere else.
Stage lamps dimmed then and a figure appeared at the miniature balcony, bowing low to the audience. He was dressed like a player from an old troupe, his pale face deep inside a sliver crescent hat that extended down to his chin. He raised one hand to quiet the watchers, his voice low but unmistakably confident.
“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present a tale of treachery, and of truths perhaps better left hidden.”
He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle in the air. With a theatrical flourish, he gestured toward the stage. “Watch closely. The truth will be shown in silence. But beware - truths may be influenced by the act of watching.”
A thick mist arose about the tiny stage. The atmosphere was charged with a strange anticipation. At the centre of the stage, a figure sat, hunched over a small table, its fingers tapping frenetically on the surface, though no device was visible.
Selina nudged Rosa. “Creepy or what?”
Before Rosa could respond, a hooded figure appeared at the back of the stage, holding an elongated orb with thin jointed legs angled up at its sides. The figure stepped forward and raised it high. The seated one’s motions became more frantic, perhaps writing or scratching into the surface of the table.
The hooded figure turned toward the audience, its movements jerky, almost mechanical. It leaned conspiratorially toward the audience, eyes scanning the faces. Its voice, when it spoke, crackled with static.
“The play’s the thing wherein to catch the conscience... of the thing. As you observe from beyond the veil, what do you see? What will you be?”
Selina smiled knowingly at Rosa, but noticing her frown, she explained, “It’s supposed to be ‘the king.’ The play’s the thing wherein to catch the conscience of the king.” She leaned closer to Rosa, her voice barely a whisper. “It's like the dumbshow in Hamlet.”
Rosa glanced around, confused. “Dumbshow?”
Selina turned her gaze back to the stage. “A silent bit in a play. The murder of the king in Hamlet, it’s all part of the plot.”
The stage went dark, the actors gone. The audience murmured approvingly as though satisfied with the performance. Rowan chirped nervously, the sound quickly swallowed in the twilight. Then the boards of the stage began to move, folding inward, as if the theatre were closing up. The lights flickered. It seemed that the strange little performance was over before it had begun.
Rowan leapt across the dismantling stage, swung up the little balcony past the master of ceremonies and vanished through the curtains into the compartment at the back of the set. The small door there creaked as it swung open, revealing the faint glow of light within. Rosa barely had time to react before the master's voice rang out, silken and commanding.
“Ladies,” it purred, “the stage. An unreal place. Tell me - when one ventures into the unreal, how do you know who comes back out?”
The question hung in the air like a knife suspended by a thread. Rosa was uncomfortable to find herself picked out of the audience in this way, but Selina gave her a gentle shove.
“Don’t overthink it,” Selina muttered, though her voice betrayed her unease. “Infinity NexUs immersion. It's probably part of our tailor-made experience.”
The master of ceremonies chuckled, stepping aside with a flourish. “Life is rarely as scripted as we’d like to believe - or perhaps it is, but only the author knows the ending. Come, step into your story.”
Rosa’s fists were clenched, her body taut with anticipation as she ascended the half dozen tiny narrow steps to the balcony, the worn wood creaking beneath her boots. The wagon loomed above her, its dark oak frame etched with age, the faint smell of wax and old velvet in the air. She gripped the carved railing and paused at the top, peering through the door into the lamplit interior of the structure. The tiny balcony seemed suspended in time, its weathered surface barely wide enough to stand on, yet offering entry to whatever lay beyond the curtain. Behind her, Selina followed hurriedly, her hand lingering on the doorframe as she too stepped into the muted glow, eyes wide as she took in the strange, intimate space unfolding before them.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Inside was dark, except for the table in a spotlight. The figure at the table was there, now making sweeping curves over and over with its hands, then, it froze, mid-motion. Its head jerked unnaturally, and for just a moment, its face glitched - flickering like a corrupted image on a screen.
For a fraction of a second, the figure’s face vanished - and Rosa's own face stared back at her from the figure’s features, eyes wide, mouth moving soundlessly. “Can you see?” The illusion lasted only a breath before the figure resumed its frantic movements, but the unsettling sensation lingered in the air.
Rosa’s heart skipped. “Did you…?”
A pool of light faded up beyond the table, interrupting her thought. The hooded figure from before was there. “What to ourselves in passion we propose, the passion ending, doth the purpose lose.”
Selina hissed. “It’s quoting Shakespeare, I think.” She seemed to accept everything as part of the experience.
The figure went on: “We are not who we think we are. We are all players. Do you think you are unseen, hidden in shadows? You are as bound to the tale as we are.”
Rosa found herself breathing heavily. The words sank into her chest, heavy and suffocating.
For a long moment, the space was still. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, the writing figure clambered onto the table, its body twisted at an unnatural angle. It smudged the imaginary marks it had made into new shapes. Curves and circles. Rosa could almost hear the scratching of its fingers against the surface.
The master of ceremonies, now right at their side, gestured around them as their eyes became accustomed to the gloom. The theatre compartment seemed only a few feet square, causing everyone to stoop. “Behold the great stage where stories are born and die. You see a play within a play, and within it, echoes of truth. A dumbshow, a shadow reenacted? Or the endless absurdity of forever flipping a coin?”
Selina frowned. “Are we stuck in your dumb show?”
The master of ceremonies laughed, the sound rich and resonant. “Not quite. Here, we peer behind the mirror. The question is not only of who sees - but who scripts? Are you writers, or merely actors repeating lines you do not understand?”
The master of ceremonies continued on, “Dreams, memories, scripts - they blur so easily, don’t they? And yet, someone must pen them. Shall we meet your playwright?”
The space dissolved, replaced by the figure crouched on the desk. Shadows cloaked the scene, but the rhythmic scratching of a pen was unmistakable. The air trembled with each stroke, and Rosa felt the weight of the figure’s presence.
“Behold,” the master of ceremonies said with reverence, “the one who writes your story. Or perhaps...” His voice dropped to a whisper. “...you write upon the desk yourself.”
The figure paused, its pen hovering above the grooved and gouged surface of the table. Slowly, it looked up, its face obscured in shadow but its gaze palpable. Rosa froze. It felt like staring into a mirror, into a truth too vast to comprehend.
Selina gave a small, uncomfortable groan.
The master of ceremonies tilted his head. “The lines blur so quickly, don’t they? Are you the writer, or are you the written? Do you hold the pen, or does the sweep of pen hold you? The fourth wall falls not with a crash, but a quiet question.”
The figure lowered its pen, and the vision dissolved back into mist.
When the mist cleared, they were no longer in the theatre. Rosa and Selina stood on cracked concrete in a narrow, dimly lit alley. Cold air stung their faces, and the hum of distant machinery edged the silence.
Selina stumbled against a graffiti-covered wall. “What the…?”
Rowan perched on a stack of crates, seemingly unbothered.
Rosa turned back, in time to see the theatre moving away, its intricate framework folded up like origami, transformed into a compact, wheeled structure. With a low creak, it disappeared into the haze.
“Was that...” Selina pointed, her voice flat. “Did that thing just... leave?”
Rosa nodded slowly, her heart pounding. “It’s like it wasn’t supposed to stay in one place. Like it’s a travelling... illusion.”
Selina scoffed, though her voice quivered. “Infinity NexUs and their immersive tech - this was tailored for us. The theatre, the playwright, all of it.”
Rosa wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the spot where the theatre had vanished. “It certainly wasn’t just random,” she said softly.
Rowan huffed, leaping from the crates and landing deftly with an urgent look.
Selina sighed and adjusted her jacket. “I guess we’re not done yet.”
Rosa didn’t move. The echoes of the master of ceremonies’ words lingered in her mind: Are you the writer, or are you being written?
She looked up at the alley’s dim sky, the stars barely visible through the haze, and wondered if somewhere, someone was watching her - writing her next step.
The alley stretched out like a forgotten vein, its cracks and grime lit by faint, illuminated signs clinging stubbornly to derelict walls. Rosa pulled her jacket tighter, her steps careful over uneven tarmac, slick in places with substances neither woman wanted to examine too closely.
Rowan darted ahead, his small figure slipping between the shadows with deliberate purpose. His chirps were sharper than usual, insistent. He paused often, glancing back to ensure they followed. Each pause brought a tense stare into the dimness ahead, as if anticipating something - or someone.
“Why would anyone make a place like this?” Selina muttered, glancing up at a rusted fire escape that creaked in the breeze. “If you’re programming a space, wouldn’t you at least try for, I don’t know, a little charm? It’s all grey and... miserable.”
Rosa paused, running her fingers along a crumbling brick wall. Her nails scraped flakes of paint from an old sign, its faded letters offering vague promises of quality goods long since forgotten. “Maybe that’s the point. It’s supposed to feel... empty. Abandoned. If you want to control people’s attention, you don’t let them get comfortable.”
Selina frowned. “Or maybe whoever made it has a thing for dystopias.”
“Or, even in virtual reality places are needed for shady dealings.” Rosa glanced at Ro, who was now perched on a broken concrete bollard ahead. His small frame seemed coiled with tension, his eyes scanning the darkness.
The alley narrowed as they rounded a corner, the walls looming higher, their surfaces fractured in places with faint digital distortions. Broken advertisements sputtered into half-life, their pixelated remnants stuttering through nonsensical messages. Find what you need - need what you find. A cartoonish face laughed silently before glitching into static.
“Delightful,” Selina murmured, sidestepping a puddle that had things floating in it.
“Everything here feels grim,” Rosa said, her voice low. “It’s like...” She hesitated, struggling to put words to the sense of unease tugging at her.
“Like someone wanted it to feel like reality,” Selina offered, “but couldn’t resist leaving their fingerprints all over it.”
They rounded a corner, and a doorway came into view. A sign saying RealityStep, its letters dull and lifeless, hung above a rusted door barely distinguishable from the walls around it. Rowan hesitated near the threshold, his small body tense.
Selina sighed. “Well, here we are. Whatever that means. I thought RealityStep were supposed to be in some elite zone. This little guy seems to know exactly what he's doing.”
But Rosa wasn’t looking at the sign. Her gaze had turned back on the passageway behind them, where faint shapes flickered in and out of the dimness. She blinked, her stomach tight as they coalesced into slender, long-limbed figures.
They moved hesitantly, their outlines soft and indistinct, like smudges of light against the dark alley. There were five - no, six of them, their elongated forms unnervingly familiar. Rosa took a step forward, her pulse quickening.
“Selina...” she began, but her voice faltered.
“I see them,” Selina whispered, her tone wavering. “What... what are they?”
The figures seemed to hover at the edge of perception, their movements fluid but disjointed, as though they were tethered to a different rhythm. Their dark eyes glimmered faintly, locked on the trio with unnerving intensity.
Rosa’s breath came shallow. “They look like...” Her voice trailed off as the realisation hit her. “Cebus monkeys. But they’re not...”
The figures tilted their heads in eerie unison, as though hearing her thoughts. One stepped forward, its outline flickering, and reached a hand toward them.
“Rosa,” Selina hissed, grabbing her arm. “What do they want? They can't be part of Infinity NexUs This isn’t...”
A sharp shriek broke the tension. Ro was glaring down the alley, past the apparitions, his eyes narrowing. Rosa wondered why he might be so antagonised by the cebus things. Then she saw the why.
Creeping, low to the ground, a small, hunched mechanism, jointed and yellow, with glowing red lenses.
The effect was instant. The ephemeral figures recoiled, their shapes sparking erratically. One by one, they began to scatter, their forms dissolving into the shadows as what appeared to be a mechanical rat slunk into the centre of the alleyway. The sound of its clicking feet echoed unnaturally, filling the alley with a metallic rhythm.
Rosa’s heart pounded. “They’re... afraid of it?”
Selina’s grip tightened. “Now, what on earth is that thing?”
Before Selina could respond, more crawled into view - sinister rodent things, angular, dark yellow, their red eyes cutting through the gloom like lasers. Their faces questing, their movements deliberate and unrelenting.
“Oh no,” Selina breathed. “What do they want?”
The unnatural creatures scuttled forward, fanning out across the alleyway. One emitted a sharp, high-pitched whine that set Rosa’s teeth on edge.
Rowan shrieked, tugging at Rosa’s sleeve, before darting toward the RealityStep door, chattering frantically.
“We need to move,” Selina said, her voice high and thin.
Rosa didn’t respond, her heart still lost in the sorrowful yearning of the ethereal cebus things. The rats closed in, their glassy eyes scanning hungrily, their pace quickening.
“Rosa!” Selina’s shout jolted her.
Rowan scrambled ahead of them toward the short flight of stairs leading to the door. The others stumbled toward it in desperation. Selina reached it first, yanking the handle.
’"It's locked!” she shouted, slamming her shoulder into the door. “It won’t open!”
The rats swarmed closer, claws scraping against the concrete like nails on a chalkboard. Without warning, one leapt forward, its claws digging into Selina’s ankle.
Selina screamed, trying to shake it off, but the rat clung on, its metal limbs locking tightly around her leg. “Get it off me!”
The rest of the rats skittered forward. They moved in unison, a tide of angular bodies scuttling, creeping, red eyes flashing. Their claws scraped against the pavement in a disjointed rhythm, the sound sharp and grating.
One sprang for Rosa’s shin - she barely yanked her leg back in time. Another darted up the stairs, closing in on Rowan, its jagged limbs twitching as it prepared to leap. More clambered over each other, scrambling, surging at them from every direction.
Selina screamed, staggering as the rat on her ankle tightened its grip, its metal limbs locking around her like a trap. Another lunged for her thigh - she kicked out desperately, knocking it away, but it skidded across the pavement and sprang back up, undeterred.
Rosa swung wildly at the nearest one, her pulse pounding. The swarm kept coming. Closer. Faster. Too many.
Meanwhile, Rowan swung up the side of the door. His small hand reached out, unseen in the chaos by the others, pressing against a faintly glowing panel embedded in the wall. A soft beep echoed, and the door clicked open with a hiss.
“It's open! Go!” Rosa gasped, dragging Selina forward.
The trio tumbled through the door, the rat still clinging to Selina’s ankle. Rosa spun and shoved the door shut with her full weight, the metallic impacts of rats hitting the other side sending vibrations through the frame.
Selina collapsed against a wall, trying to shake off the mechanical vermin which was scrabbling doggedly up her leg. “Get it off me!” she cried, her voice rising in panic.
Rosa leaned close, waited for the right moment, then drove her boot down on the thing. It let out a piercing whine before its grip loosened, and it tumbled across the floor.
Rowan sprang forward without hesitation, snatching up the yellow bot and hurling it against the wall with a sharp, echoing crack. The impact shattered its body, sending mechanical fragments scattering through the air, revealing blinking circuits that flickered erratically before fading into darkness. The broken remains lay utterly still.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Rosa sank to the floor, her chest heaving, while Selina clutched her ankle, her face pale and shaken. Ro paced restlessly, his movements sharp and agitated.
“What is wrong with this place?” Selina finally managed, her voice trembling. “It’s supposed to be a virtual shopper’s paradise!”
Rosa’s gaze lingered on the door, her mind racing. The rats, the figures, the theatre - it all felt like fragments of a nightmare that didn’t end when she woke.
“This isn’t over,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Rowan paused, glancing at her, his sharp eyes filled with a tension she couldn’t quite place.
Ahead, a corridor stretched, dimly lit and unwelcoming.
