Have you ever been in one of Arcadia’s parks, only to hear what sounds like a car horn or a person talking from a tree? Some people think otherwise, but there’s a perfectly natural explanation. It’s a bird, one hidden behind layers and layers of disguise.
For who can forget the humble cuckoo bird?
On the surface, they have one of the more recognizable bird songs. A two note call that ranges from the common forests of Arcadia’s parks to the clocks that share their name when the song strikes twelve.
But beneath their beautiful songs, they hide a darker side. For cuckoos don’t make nests, they steal other birds. The baby grows up raised by another bird, pushing out their own babies and making them their sole focus. Draining more and more from their ‘parents’ until they overgrow them.
It’s the poor parents that are the victims here, forced to tend and care for something that was never theirs to begin with.
And isn’t that such a familiar feeling Destructo Boy? You played the game for so long, pretending to be something that you aren’t. The disguise of hero was fitting, helping lead on your father for as long as you could. Who could doubt such an enthusiasm for good from such a bright, shining star.
Like clockwork, when it was time, you dropped the act. No longer were you just the young boy trying to do right. Anger replaced hope, overwhelming what had been once a beacon of just. That night, your time in the pit showed us what you really are.
A monster.
You were given the opportunity to return to your loved ones, to at least some of your family that you had thought entirely lost to you. But that wasn’t what you wanted, you wanted something more. Something darker. You pushed those opportunities out of the nest, expecting them to fall down and splatter. Hell, you almost even pushed him into the pit that had warped you.
So noisy, just like a baby cuckoo. Your hyper focus on revenge at your father at any cost that you forget to check the world around you. There is no sense of loyalty, brotherhood, or family. You work only for yourself, and that leaves you vulnerable.
Loud baby birds in nests are open treats for a serpent. I see you here, alone and vulnerable. No Doom, no Foley, no drones to back you up as you step into the light once more. There aren’t any more worms to feed the overgrown chick, or to keep it safe from harm.
You’re open, left to your own devices. And no baby bird can survive like a serpent can. For a snake is truly born on its own devices. Able to adapt quickly, find his own standing, and make his mark against the world. There are no parents, no safety nets. Only the harsh world, and a harsher bite.
For a baby bird, all alone, it means only one thing.
Certain doom.