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Mother Bird

Behold, a bird.

A Mother Bird.

She soars across Arcadia, seeking prey. But not just any prey.

The right prey.

When her powerful eyes spot the correct prey, she swoops down and attacks. Fight as it might, the poor animal stands no chance against this bird.

Because this bird has more than one mouth to feed.

A mouth that depends on her to feed it.

It is not in her power to neglect that mouth. No, her very power is in making sure she feeds it. With the right prey, her dependent will grow stronger, and this is her ultimate drive.

The Mother Bird returns to her nest with a stomach full of nutrients, regurgitates it into her baby’s mouth, and begins to teach him how to groom and take care of himself.

Eventually, if the Mother Bird does her job right, the baby bird grows strong, independent, and leaves the nest, flies off on its own, thankful and ready to begin his life accountable only to himself, and the natural order of things.

The Mother Bird is an idyllic model for society, as well as every Arcadian who has a dependent that relies on them to feed them.

And whether it is a society that does not encourage independence…

Or a household that does not encourage independence…

Or a father figure that does not encourage independence…

They stunt the growth of their dependents. Cut them off at the legs. So that those dependents who possess hopes of standing on their own two feet, have only DOOMED hopes, and impossible dreams.


To make those poor dependents stand on their own, you’d have to tie strings to their limbs, and lift them yourself.

You, Mr. Doom, are no Mother Bird.

And dag nabbit, Mr. Doom. I truly wish you were.

I must admit, you are clever. For the puppeteer has truly become the puppet. The dependent remains eternally so, relying solely upon you to make him stand…

…when all he really wants to do…

…is fly.

You’ve had two chances in this life to nurture independence from those who are dependent upon you.

Two chances to hunt down the right nutrients to help them grow stronger.

Two chances to teach them to take care of themselves.


To teach them to fly on their own.

Many Arcadians, myself included, can only hope to have one chance at what you’ve been given.

Your first attempt has landed himself on Death Row.

Your second attempt remains eternally attached to your handle, strung up by the limbs, incapable so much as taking a single step towards leaving your nest without you gesturing him there yourself.

You may be a genius, Mr. Doom.

You may see things that others can’t in the machinations of physics and chemistry.

But in the machinations of independence, you are a fool and a charlatan.

Give your baby bird to the ACA.

Let us cut him from those strings, and teach him to fly.

…But I suspect, you’ll never allow that.

Because you sir, are a selfish bird.

You want all of Arcadia’s skies for yourself.

Sebastian Boswick