The whole thing, in order, with the receipts and the parts nobody looks good in left in.
A new chain opened and somebody put a jar of pixel chimps on it. The jar emptied — 9,953 of them, out to roughly seventeen hundred separate wallets. No farm, no whale propping it up. A lot of people liked the art at the same time.
This is the part people forget. After the mint, Chimps did nothing. No account, no announcements, no roadmap, no floor. Seventeen hundred wallets holding pictures nobody was bidding on. If the story had ended here it would have ended the way almost all of them do — quietly, at zero.
Then, out of nothing, traders started noticing the chimps. Not because anyone promoted them — there was nobody to promote them. The art got picked up, passed around, and the floor detonated: fifteen thousand sales in a week and a floor up fifteen hundred percent from a standing start.
Remember the order here, because everything after it depends on it. The collection came back to life first. Completely unattended.
Once it was moving, an official-looking account appeared — created that same August, from nothing, and started speaking for the collection. Not a founder returning. Someone arriving.
And here's what took days to establish: the person behind it wasn't the artist and never had been. He was a freelance developer paid one hundred dollars to put someone else's pixel art on-chain. The mint brought in about five hundred and fifty, he forwarded it to the man who hired him, and as far as he was concerned that was the end of it.
That is his account of it, and it was never verified. We're including it because he told it, repeatedly, in public — and because of when he told it. The hundred-dollar job and the artist chasing him for money became a fixture of his posting the moment holders started asking who he was and what he intended to do. It always arrived attached to the same request.
Fund the other mint.
The first message wasn't a demand. It was a holder saying the site was rough and offering to build a better one for nothing — buy a twelve dollar domain and it's yours. Then, unanswered: stop launching tokens, stop tying this to Biden, Chimps can survive on the art and the vibes alone. Make a Discord.
He didn't. So a holder built it and sent the invite over. About forty people showed up. Not hundreds — forty. A server small enough to know everyone in it, that officially wasn't supposed to exist, and that the account was publicly calling a wallet drainer.
Forty people were enough to change what happened next. That's worth saying plainly rather than inflating, because everything else on this page is checkable and this should be too. Join and count us.
Nobody was coming. So somebody did.
No permission asked for, none given. A group of holders picked the machine up off the floor and started running it themselves — while the person whose name was on it was telling the world they didn't exist.
Once there was a room, there was a plan: pay for it and let the man walk away clean. The community would fund the Biden mint he was stuck on, he'd hand over the contract, and everyone would be free of each other.
He agreed to all of it. Sent the deployer address. Said we were fully agreed. He also added a community wallet as an admin on the OpenSea page — which cost him nothing. It granted visibility, not control; the contract, the keys and the artwork all stayed exactly where they were.
What he wanted in exchange was neither symbolic nor deferred. Money into the Biden mint, first, before anything was transferred. Then he'd send the details. One by one.
Agreement was never the hard part — he agreed constantly. The hard part was getting a direct answer to a direct question, and then getting the same answer twice. Terms settled in one message were unsettled in the next.
Each answer moved the goalposts a little and conceded nothing. Agreement cost him nothing, so it was free to give — and free to withdraw the moment anything was required of him.
One question ended it. Who actually owns the art? He deployed the contract but never drew a chimp. If the artist filed a copyright claim, the collection could be pulled off OpenSea the day after the community paid for it — leaving holders with a contract pointing at pictures they had no right to.
So we asked for the layered files and something in writing signing over the rights. Nobody sane pays for a collection a third party can delete on a Tuesday.
Read that twice. The identical artwork, on the biggest chain there is, went to nothing. Chimps didn't work because of the pictures.
So the deal he'd agreed to was one he could not actually perform. He could sell a contract; he could not sell the art on it, and he knew that before terms were ever discussed. He asked for the money anyway. When the paperwork was requested instead, the answer was that it wasn't his business, that the artist could revoke approval, and that we should send the funds or stop wasting his time.
With the deal stalled, the account posted once more — saying unauthorized Discord servers were misusing the collection's name, and that it was being deactivated to end the confusion. Then it went dark.
And the thing nobody negotiated for happened anyway. Ownership was renounced. Not sold, not transferred, not handed to any person. Released. OpenSea now lists the collection's creator as the null address — there is no owner of Robinhood Chimps, and there never can be again.
Read the last four days in order and judge for yourself. A collection revives with nobody attached to it. An account appears. It promises a handoff to a team that doesn't exist, announces a token off a vote that never happened, tells holders their own community is a wallet drainer, negotiates a sale of something it can't deliver, and asks for money up front the entire way. When the paperwork became the price, it deleted itself and let the contract go.
Here is what the contract returns today, read straight off the chain. A five percent royalty on every sale, paid to the deployer's wallet.
Only an owner can change a royalty setting. Ownership was renounced at 14:42:01 UTC. Which means the five percent was put back in place before the keys were thrown away — and the act of renouncing is what made it permanent.
Read the two facts together. He walked away from a collection he said he gained nothing from, nine minutes after announcing he was deleting the account — having first ensured that a cut of every future sale routes to him forever, beyond the reach of the community, the artist, or himself.
There's an unintended consequence in that, and it's the best thing to come out of this whole mess. A renounced contract can never have its baseURI changed. Whatever the token metadata pointed at on the day ownership was thrown away, it points at forever. Pair that with a community pinning the files to IPFS and the artwork stops depending on anyone's goodwill, server bill, or attention span. It cannot be swapped, and it cannot be allowed to lapse.
We can't tell you what he intended. We can show you what he did, with dates. That's what this page is.
The account was gone for about an hour.
It reactivated within the hour. Nearly everything was gone — the torch-passing, the wash-trader posts, the long confession, the scam warnings, the token announcement. What survived was the OpenSea verification post and a handful of harmless ones about chimps. The record of the previous four days had been cleaned out of the account that made it.
Then it started posting in a voice nobody recognised. Upbeat, plural, promotional. The project is officially in our hands now. New drops will be free claims for holders. Chimps are invading the timeline today — what's your pick?
And when a holder posted that the takeover was complete because the previous controller had deleted the account and renounced the contract, the reply came back: we asked them to delete it and hand the project over to us.
At 12:54 that afternoon it went further. Asked directly why it was scamming people, it answered that it wasn't — and that the real story was that a few people had been collecting funds through Discord and other channels and keeping them for themselves. The dev had flagged it and stepped away. Their own Discord would be ready soon.
That accusation is aimed at the people who built the room. Here is the answer to it, and it is checkable.
Holders said so on the post within minutes. That is a lie — from one. From another, the full sequence laid out in a reply, including the reason a contract and a private key were never going to be enough on their own.
We're not going to speculate about who is typing or what state they're in. We don't know, and guessing would be the same move being made against us. What we can say is what the chain says: whatever that account promises about drops, claims, or the future of this collection, it has no power to deliver any of it.
If that account announces a Discord, it is not the holders' server. Verify every link against this page and the pinned links in the community. No admin will ever DM you first.
Everything above is our account of what happened. Here's the raw material it came from — the entire DM thread, unedited except for stitching the screenshots into one continuous scroll. Read it and decide for yourself.
Nothing has been added and no order has been changed. Details about his private circumstances are omitted — not to protect him, but because they were never evidence of anything, and a record that sticks to conduct is one nobody can argue with.
A renounced contract cuts both ways, and anyone telling you it's purely good news is selling something.
We took over a community. We never took over a contract — and now nobody ever will. Anyone claiming otherwise is wrong or lying. No admin will ever DM you first.
This collection has now survived a dead month, a dev who arrived after the fact and left before the end, a deal that collapsed over paperwork, and its own ownership being thrown away. It's still here.
No founder is coming back. No roadmap, no treasury, no promises. There's an ownerless contract, ten thousand chimps, and whoever decides to stick around — which, going by Stage 03, has always been the only thing that mattered.
Your Chimps are your character select. Verify in Discord and the chain does the rest.
discord.gg/wX3GWXrZt7 — the only official server. FILL: CTO lead handles
Everything on this page happened around a set of pictures, and the person who made them has never spoken here once. Not in the Discord, not on the timeline, not in a single message anyone can point to. We have never heard from them directly. We don't know their name.
Everything we think we know about them came secondhand, from a person whose account of nearly everything else fell apart under checking. So we're not going to repeat any of it as fact, and we're not taking a side in a dispute we only ever heard one half of. For all we know the artist was owed money and never paid. That version fits the evidence as well as any other.
Your art built something. Nine thousand nine hundred and fifty-three of them went to seventeen hundred people, and when the same artwork launched on Ethereum through someone else it went to effectively zero — so it wasn't luck, and it wasn't the chain. It was the work. There are people who care about it enough to have spent weeks trying to keep it alive.
We want the rights question settled, openly and on paper. Not because we're trying to take anything from you — because right now nobody can honestly tell a holder where the art stands, and you deserve to be named for it either way.
One thing we'll tell you straight, because you'd find it out anyway. The 5% contract royalty is permanently locked to the original deployer's wallet. Ownership was renounced, so it cannot be redirected to you or to anyone. Any arrangement we make has to be built alongside that, not through it. We're not going to promise you something the chain won't allow.
If you drew these chimps, or you know who did — come and say so. The door is open and there is no catch. We'd genuinely just like to meet you.
discord.gg/wX3GWXrZt7 — ask for whoever's running the place. No admin will ever DM you first, and that goes for you too.