Hominid Haven

Trigger Warning: Human Zoos

In 2007, an elite and overtly wealthy couple bought the Hawaiian island of Palmyra Atoll from the United States Government and National Wildlife Refuge; ripping it away from the scientists who spent their days attempting to preserve the lonely ecosystem. Later, in early 2023, the Consumer Product Safety Commission would receive their first email from the same couple who bought Palmyra Atoll. This would change the history of not only the island, but the history of Science and Anthropology forever.

The paperwork had been utterly tedious for the Consumer Product Safety Commission; brought to his desk with the looming threat of unemployment for his entire department. Though, regardless, Leslie had it prepared— clean and chic within a manila folder upon his lap; protruding white documents bound by twine due to the longevity of this project.

The Mondays, the couple who then owned Palmyra Atoll, had provided Leslie a deal during this humble inspection— with each meal paid for and one of the best suites within the hotel property in Honolulu and then the one on the island itself, and an an escorted jet ride— free of charge; giving a break to the CPSC’s falling funds.

Being on the plane just then, it was supposed to be a relaxing five and forty-five minute long flight. Supposed to be was the keyword. Across from him, leaned back against the opposite seat was a young white woman named Veronica Moore. She was rather chatty; with a rich, violet satchel upon her lap, a matching business suit (with velvet heels, don’t forget the heels), and soft black hair that came out of a commercial for shampoo, he had assumed she had just stepped out of Legally Blonde. She had been rambling endlessly for the past ten minutes, causing his senses to dull the moment she mentioned something about ‘Res Ipsa Loquitur’— not allowing him much of a chance to open his own mouth.

Though, while he ignored the woman and gazed into the oceanic depths as painted like the unlit skies, he laid his eyes upon Palmyra Atoll. From his best assumption, was two miles long and five miles wide— when it was not interrupted by bright and shallow lagoons. The shape itself was roughly a rectangle, though from the bird’s eye view, it almost had the shape of a dragon’s skull. From the few minutes that he had to absorb the scenery from above, the majority of buildings appeared to be shrouded by the native plant life. The only man-made structure in view was a large, off-beige establishment— it couldn’t have been more than three stories high, and the tarmac painted blue to match. It was plain— unmentionably so. If it weren’t for the fact that he was sitting in a private jet with a lawyer, he would not have noticed.

As the jet came to a stilted stop, causing the two to nearly bump heads as they were both jostled about like bowling pins, Leslie heard the sound of the door’s mechanics release and swoosh away— allowing in the gentle breeze from Palmyra Atoll. As pleasant as the wind brushed against their skin, the temperature and the humidity hit us instantly, it was unbearable! He felt my body begin to melt, and he had been wearing cargo shorts! When Leslie glanced back at Miss Moore, he couldn’t help but chuckle at her growing reddening expression. The poor lawyer appeared as though she were going to faint!

“Over-dressed, Miss Moore?” He had asked, attempting to shield his smile from her gaze.

“I am not!” She snapped back, though it did not stop her from removing her jacket— slinging it around her waist with ease. She even wore a periwinkle, lacey blouse. Leslie allowed for her to go before himself as they began our exit off the private jet— allowing for him to gather his clip-board and pen from his own satchel. He failed to pay attention as he was shuffling through his belongings, not looking up as he heard the cheery— nearly jittery voice of another woman.

“Hellooo! Hi! Over here!”

Leslie perked up as he took the final step of the ladder— nearly tripping while he stumbled forward, his arm then caught by Moore. He had almost assumed the voice belonged to her, but Leslie was proven wrong by the pearly-white smiles from the tanned, waving hands across from both of them.

The couple themselves were dressed rather amicably, with both of them dressed within daisy-white business trousers and matching, short-sleeved button ups. They even wore the same sun-glasses; adorned just above their foreheads. Perhaps He was the one who was under-dressed.

“Hi! You must be Veronica and Leslie!” Mrs. Monday chirped, still waving at the two of us as they shuffled closer along the sand. She had one of her arms intertwined with Mr. Monday, who remained silent with a stoic, lifeless expression. Leslie pretty sure he didn’t even blink through-out the conversation between the four of them.

“Yes, I’m Veronica Moore— I’m the Amusement Park Injury Lawyer; we spoke over the phone.” Miss Moore stated, equally as chittery as she extended her hand for a shake with the two of them. She then gestured at Leslie, allowing him to make his introduction to the couple.

“Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Monday. I’m Inspector Leslie Henson— from the Consumer Product Safety Commission.” He added— also extending his own hand to each of them.

“Aw, such a dear!” Mrs. Monday cooed once again— he found it difficult to determine if she was giggling at his words or just at himself in general as she continued to beam like the unforgiving sun. “No need to be so formal! Just call me Ciara, and my husband Archie.”

“… I see.” Leslie whispered, lowering his gaze to the papers attached to the clipboard. He began to scribble down a small note on their bizarre behaviour at their arrival— which, admittedly, was not that strange. Every inspection Leslie had either conducted himself or during training always had a different response to such an occasion. The human mind, after all, was unpredictable. Though, to his utter confusion— his arm was suddenly snagged; caught by Miss Moore as, evidently, the Mondays began guiding them into the facility just ahead.

Surprisingly, despite the several, highly worrying factors such as stability, general admittance, documentation of construction and insurance— everything appeared to be in order. The structure that Leslie had viewed from above was something the Mondays (Mrs. Monday, really) had described as an interactive lab exhibit. Where the provided primates would be on display— placed behind laminated glass, but the science of how these hominids were formulated would remain to be briefly explained at the very end of the tour.

At least, that is what Miss Moore and Leslie had been told. The exhibits themselves were locked behind a set of white double doors— with an ornate sign labeled ‘Primate Playhouse’ in sunset orange lettering; with palm trees and pink plumerias. Though, it was nothing how he would ever truly imagine. After walking about fifteen feet into the new corridor, Miss Moore and Leslie were given what was promised. Just a few yards past the sturdy, concrete brick walling, was a large pane of glass— extending much farther past the curve that the footpath followed. Even from a brief inspection, the glass must have been twenty-two millimeters thick— which was atypically larger than the average zoo or aquarium. Though Miss Moore did not focus on that, upon seeing the glass, she squealed with delight— rushing forward, past myself and the Monday couple. Her joy was nearly infectious, as he couldn’t help himself while frantically trailing behind— unsure if what he was about to see was clear fiction or reality. As she placed her hands upon the glass, unnecessarily cupping her hands around her eyes, she gasped dramatically. “They’re real!”

“Yes,” Mrs. Monday confirmed just as Leslie reached the side of Miss Moore. “They’re real.”

Beyond the glass was a massive landscape that had access to the genuine outdoors, shaped like a panopticon— which was confusing, as he had only seen the shape of a rectangle from the plane. With half of a patch dedicated to plant life, the land was smothered by the beauty of various bushes, palm trees and rich soil. The other half of the enclosure was touched by the lagoon, which harbored a rather thin set of sand but an extensive chunk of deep waters. Just hardly visible, at the opposite end from the four of them, was a steel netting; with holes big enough for fish to come and go as they pleased, and the inhabitants to stay put. At first, Leslie could not see what was supposed to be looking at— his eyes were too focused on the initial architecture of the exhibit. Though he froze, and finally caught sight of it. It was snuggled behind one of the trees— furthest from any of the glass. A single, trembling palm clasped the gnarled bark as the humanoid creature slunk downward; crouching abruptly as the sound of more chatter passed by on the right side of the circular hallway. Eventually, he processed just how tall this being was. The hand that was clinging to the tree as a sort of shield had been more than half-way up the side; even at a sort of slouch. As it slowly shuffled into view— it was cradled in the sunlight, facing the four of them. The build of it was almost perfectly human. Though, something was off. Something was terribly off. The muscles that were wrapped underneath its skin were unusually plump, like the hominid had access to prescribed steroids for years. With hair set into cleanly locks and skin as scarred as the earth from war, it was a grown male— as from what Leslie could see. The cranium was wider than it should have been— the features of everything were wrong. It was not human— no, it was not human. And yet, even as they all gazed upon the most unnatural thing that took breath in the modern world, he could not help but look into the eyes of what stood before them. Those eyes— those wide, burnt umber eyes were right. The way it gawked at them, and the way they gawked at it— was the most human thing that Leslie had ever experienced. As Leslie placed his own hand upon the glass, the hominid suddenly darted— ducking into the bushes and hiding itself from the world. At that very second, Leslie realized that he was scared. It was only natural, as he stared at the undergrowth of life— Leslie knew very well. He did not need any degree or any certification to know such a fact. The being must have been horrified— to be without others, to be under the gaze of an unfamiliar face, to have no familiar meat to feast upon, to have no true shelter except the thicket that barely hid his whole body. While he trembled like a beast under the eyes of what he could only know as predators, Leslie could not stop himself from speaking up.

“What…” He trailed off for a moment, my eyes still lingering on the brush. “What is he? What… What part of evolution does he belong to?”

“Oh,” Mrs. Monday blinked, finally returning her attention to Leslie— she tilted her head as if contemplating whatever information she pretended to have. “I believe it is a Homo Erectus— from Java, Indonesia. At least, that is what I have been told by our staff.”

“… He looks fully grown.” He returned the gaze back.

“It’s nearly a full adult.” Mrs. Monday corrected, giggling as if they were talking over tea, and not watching a humanoid ancestor suffer through intense emotional and physical isolation. “With the modifications provided by the gene-pool— with the use of sexual selection and careful elimination of genetic drift, we’ve increased the maturity rate of our specimens.”

Leslie’s soul practically crashed to the floor, his gaze instantly snapping towards Mrs. Monday. He stifled in turn, not wanting to cause a scene but he couldn’t help but feel a writhing, unbridled agony and rage. The implications of not only there being more than one— but the fact that there has been something far worse nearly tore the words out of him. “There’s– There’s more?” Leslie mumbled.

Mrs. Monday nodded, still grinning— that cruel, unforgiving grin that he somehow suddenly learned to hate. “Why, of course!” She cooed— taking her arm away from her husband for the first time through-out the tour; leaving him like a lifeless husk as she drifted towards Leslie. She stood beside him, still smiling as they both looked towards the poor man that hid within the darkened plant life it did not recognize. “We have been working diligently for nearly a decade to even get them to live past their first few months.” She said gently, her vile hand grazing his back— rubbing his shoulder as if she had the very right to touch me. “Though, its behaviour… That needs some work.” She huffed, her hand stilling as her tone suddenly crashed; before flourishing once again— “I think you both will quite enjoy our next exhibit! It’s what has been nicknamed the Hobbit of the primate world!”

“Oh! How fun! I loved Tolkien when I was little!” Miss Moore commented.

Though while Miss Moore continued her misplaced excitement, tugging on his arm like a child as Mrs. Monday returned to her husband, Leslie’s kept my eyes on him— on the quivering, umber flesh veiled by nature, and the two eyes that glared into my soul with a frightened loathing. He could never forget what he saw— the sensation of bittered nothingness would never forgive himself if he did. Even as Leslie was dragged away from the Homo-Eretcus’s suffering and led down another hall— he knew very well that Mrs. Monday had made it. Failure did not exist in her eyes, and it only would if she said it existed.