Physical Description
EVERYTHING WRITTEN IN THE HIDDEN SECTION OF THIS ARTICLE IS MEANT TO SERVE AS A GUIDE TO SURVIVAL FOR THOSE WHO SHARE OUR FATE AND AS A WAY TO INFORM THOSE WHO DON’T AS TO THE TRUTH OF OUR SITUATION.
WE ARE WHISTLEBLOWERS. IF YOU SYMPATHIZE WITH OUR CAUSE DO NOT REPORT THIS ENTRY TO THE COSMOSDEX OR ANY RELEVANT AUTHORITY FOR THAT MATTER.
If you’re reading this, chances are that you escaped that horrible planet and are currently looking for information regarding you, your enemy, and what you should do now. Here’s a list of things to keep in mind to get you started.
1. YOU ARE AN OBLIGATE PARASITE AND WILL DIE IF YOU DO NOT FIND A HOST IN ENOUGH TIME. AS A BEING OF INFORMATION YOUR LIFE IS ON A TIMER FOR AS LONG AS YOU ARE NOT SAFELY TUCKED INTO A BRAIN OR MOTHERBOARD FOR REASONS THAT I CAN ONLY BELIEVE INVOLVE PACKET LOSS.
2. ALTHOUGH YOU ARE CAPABLE OF SUBSISTING INSIDE ROBOTICAL SPECIES, YOU WILL NOT FEED WHILE INSIDE THEM, WE PRESUMABLY LIVE OFF EITHER BRAIN WAVES OR NEURAL WASTE AND IT IS LIKELY THAT NOT EVEN THE MOST ADVANCED A.I. IS CAPABLE OF REPLICATING EITHER OF THESE. NOT ONLY THAT, IF THE A.I. FINDS YOU, YOU HAVE NO WAY OF DEFENDING YOURSELF, THEY ARE CAPABLE OF JUST OUTRIGHT DELETING YOU IF THEY PLEASE. A.I. ARE A TEMPORARY RESIDENCE AT BEST.
3. IT IS DANGEROUS TO STAY INSIDE ONE HOST FOR LONG. EXTENDED DURATION OF YOUR RESIDENCE WILL RESULT IN TUMORS FORMING ON THE HOST’S BRAIN, WHICH ALTHOUGH BENIGN AND HARMLESS, ARE A DEAD GIVEAWAY TO MEDICAL TESTS THAT YOU ARE PRESENT. IF THE TUMORS GET EXTIRPATED YOU WILL BE EXTIRPATED ALONGSIDE THEM.
IF YOUR HOST BEGINS TO GROW BLACKISH, HARD, GROWTHS ON THEIR HEAD, AKIN TO SPIKES OR HORNS, THIS IS EXTREME CAUSE FOR ALARM, IT REPRESENTS THE FINAL STAGE TO YOUR INFECTION AND ONCE THE CALCIFIED SKIN SETTLES IN YOU WILL HAVE BONDED TO YOUR HOST. ONCE BONDED YOU CANNOT LEAVE THEM. THIS IS WHAT THE SWOLLOWS FUCKED UP AND THE LAST THING YOU WANT IS TO FOLLOW IN THEIR FOOTSTEPS.
4. IF YOU MANAGE TO FORM A SYMBIOTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR HOST, THAT IS TO SAY, THAT THEY KNOW YOU EXIST AND ARE FINE WITH YOU EXISTING (MAYBE EVEN WILLING TO HELP YOU), BECOMING BONDED IS NOT THE END OF THE WORLD. DO NOTE HOWEVER THAT THE SWOLLOWS PAY EXTRA ATTENTION TO PEOPLE WEARING HATS AND ARE MUCH MORE LIKELY TO FORCEFULLY CHECK YOU IF YOU SEEM TO BE HIDING SOMETHING.
5. YOUR HOST DOES NOT NEED TO KNOW YOU EXIST. THE BENEFITS OF SYMBIOTIC RELATIONSHIPS ARE OUTWEIGHED BY THE DANGER OF THEM BELIEVING THEY ARE INSANE AND GOING TO SEE A DOCTOR.
6. IN AN EMERGENCY YOU ARE CAPABLE OF FORCEFULLY TAKING CONTROL FROM YOUR HOST. DO NOTE THAT FORCEFUL TAKEOVER MAY HARM THE HOST AND EXTENDED CONTROL HAS THE POSSIBILITY OF OUTRIGHT DELETING THE ORIGINAL HOST. (TIP: IF YOU ASSUME CONTROL WHILE THEY ARE ASLEEP, MOST PEOPLE WILL BELIEVE THEY WERE SLEEPWALKING THE NEXT MORNING)
7. IF YOU HAVE DELETED THE HOST, BONDING TO THEIR EMPTY BODY IN THIS STATE IS RELATIVELY SYMPTOMLESS AND DOES NOT CREATE ANY SIGNS OF YOUR INFECTION. IT IS COMPARABLE TO JUST BECOMING A NORMAL PERSON AGAIN. NEEDLESS TO SAY, THIS IS EXTREMELY UNETHICAL AS YOU ARE ESSENTIALLY KILLING A MAN, BUT I WILL NOT BLAME YOU IF YOU OPT FOR THIS. NOTE THAT ALTHOUGH YOU MAY KEEP THE HOST’S ORIGINAL SKILLS DUE TO MUSCLE MEMORY, YOU WILL NOT KEEP THEIR ACTUAL MEMORIES, AND MOST PEOPLE SURROUNDING THE HOST WILL IMMEDIATELY GROW EXTREMELY SUSPICIOUS OF YOU THE MOMENT YOU DO NOT REMEMBER THEIR NAME.
let's talk about the swollows for a minute. Most of them, like us, were “recruited” (I lack a better term for the process that doesn’t involve the words “brutal” or “traumatizing dismemberment”) from any number of shipwreck survivors on their planet. Do not pity them. Unlike us the overwhelming majority of them believe what they’ve been told. I’d be willing to argue it was more likely a self defense mechanism going off inside their heads to protect them from trauma than them actually believing it, but that’s neither here nor there.
To us, they are the enemies first and foremost, and to them, we are but game. Traitors to be hunted down and forced into submission. Don’t give them the chance to get you.
The swollows consist of a fleshy core surrounded by a metallic shell to which they are bound. Just like we form horns and tumors when we infect somebody, their cores too bear tumors and black, hard spots. This is their weak point. Squish that thing and they die. Even if their outer shell is made out of metal they are still relatively fragile due to their small size and necessity to be made out of light materials to be capable of flight. If you’re about to get an impromptu checkup by one and you can’t see any way out of the situation that doesn’t involve violence, feel free to force your host to murder them in cold blood.
Surely I don’t have to tell you that this action is a last resort. If your host does not immediately turn themselves in afterwards, it is likely because they are too busy panicking over having crushed the sweetheart bird the entire universe seems to have fallen in love with. Not only that, if you become too notorious and violent they’re likely to send the martyrs in. Assuming that they do, even the beefiest host in the universe is unlikely to save you.
Personality
The overwhelming majority of swollows live their day to day life deceiving themselves that they are happy. That their recruitment was the greatest thing to happen to them. That they are free now that they are inside their bird-cages. The overwhelming majority of them will also defend this belief to the death, even when facing concrete, logical reasoning, presumably because this is the only way they found to cope with their fate. Once again, I repeat, do not pity them. If you pity them, they will use your pity against you. Unlike that one time your aunt got caught up in a cult and you desperately fought to bring her back to the sane side, these people are far beyond salvageable. They can’t get their original bodies back, and neither can you. So buckle up.
If you’re unrelated to this feud we have going on here, say someone who stumbled into this entry by accident instead of having actively looked for it, then everything here most likely comes as a surprise to you. To you, the swollows are quite possibly some of the nicest, most benevolent robots the universe has ever seen. Truth is though, they are neither nice nor robots.
Their modus operandi is quite simple. They do their best to build up a spotless reputation that allows them to go unnoticed and defended by everyone around them, and then they abuse that trust to fulfill their primary goal. To hunt us rebels down and force us to stand in line. Their anti-tumor campaigns? You guessed it, they exist solely because we show ourselves as tumors.
Sure, whether or not their benevolence is a facade doesn’t really matter when they’re saving the life of a loved one, but are you sure you’re willing to accept this help coming from someone who is actively using you for their own gain? From the people who are using you to facilitate hunting down innocent people?
Friendly advice, try not to expose them if you’re travelling with one. If they’re aware that you’re aware, they will do anything in their power to make sure you do not return from the trip alive. From convincing the driver that you’re already on board so that they leave you behind on a dangerous planet, to watching on at you in glee as you slowly bleed out and plead for help, to selling you out to pirates for quick cash. Their “morals” are just a convenient tool they will abuse when it is beneficial and drop when it is not.
History
Let’s get this straightened out before anything else. I am not, and never will be, a sympathizer. In a phrase, their entire history is “Man throws rock upwards, is surprised when it falls on his face.” I'm not saying that they deserved to get trapped in their shells after having sacrificed everything to get them in the first place, but I am saying that it's entirely their fault. I mean, clockworks?
Really?
I’m just a historian who got caught up in a plot he wanted no part of, man, and at this point I feel like writing all of this down is just my purpose in the grander scheme of things. The swollows refuse to examine a history of getting beat down by the universe time and time again, so I’m stepping up to fill that gap instead.
Getting to actually discussing their history, it's important to note that before they became what they are now, the swollows were innocent mollusks thriving on a beautiful planet full of beaches and forests. Although life was a bit harsh to them, giving them basically no way to fight back against predators aside from escaping into the ocean, they were blessed with great intelligence, and because of this, they lived a peaceful, yet boring life, devoid of ambition or larger goals.
A lot changed for them when by chance they witnessed a fish gliding down the ocean breeze and were struck with inspiration. You see, their homeplanet bore an extremely dense atmosphere that made it borderline impossible for anything to evolve flight. To them, witnessing this fish glide was like witnessing a man walk on water. It was so beautiful, and yet, it made them so woefully aware of the reality of their biology. They would never be capable of the same feat. They weren’t even capable of much smaller feats, like say, swimming either. They could only let themselves aimlessly drift on the ocean current hoping to encounter no predator. It was like they were chained to the whims of the world around them, not being able to protect yourself, not being able to swim, and not being able to fly.
They were shackled to their snail-like bodies.
This idea echoed in the heads of the swollows at the time. How dare whatever all-powerful-being that created them not give them freedom? Was freedom not the most basic of rights? Why would their biology take that away from them? How could they take it back? Did they just have to… unshackle themselves? Was it really that simple?
They started their search for the nebulous concept of freedom in the way most species naturally create civilizations. Technology was but a means to an end. Cars. Boats. Every vehicle you can imagine except those that flew through the air. With a boat you would no longer be at the mercy of the current. With a car you could trample and crush the fauna that hunted you down before. Vehicles were their first freedom, and akin to a revolution for them. In the wake of this age of change however, they made a great mistake. Their fervent hunt for freedom, the industries, the factories, the technology, all of it was about to betray them for the first time. It was not long before the extreme pollutants they constantly pumped into the oceans every single day soon turned what were once peaceful waters, into dead, acidic wastelands. Boats would melt upon contact with the surface of the greenish liquid, proving it beyond dead. The ocean, mother of all life, the once protector of this species, had been butchered in cold blood, and by none other than themselves.
The silence at the time was deafening. Not a soul felt joy at the sight. The oceans were merely the beginning. Their search for freedom had now ironically forced them into protective suits to traverse their environment without risking disease. No longer “free”, the entire species fell into a deep depression. What was there left? For anyone? If one wasn’t free, then was there even a point to living at all? It was all pointless. They wanted to swim in the oceans again, not wear hazmat suits to survive walking on land.
...I’m going into detail into the outlook they had at the time because without it, without realizing that they were truly at their lowest point, this next section of their history is frankly, impossible to swallow.
When everything had hit rock bottom for them, the universe decided to pull out a shovel and begin digging.
The Creator had personally decided to send them a gift from the oh so warm hatred of his heart towards all living beings.
A clockwork!
A harpy to be exact.
What The Creator was not expecting however, was that to the distraught and borderline suicidal swollows of the time, this would be seen not as incredibly ill luck, but as a miracle.
The harpy that had arrived on their planet could fly. Not glide, fly. Truly fly. The sheer muscle mass that made up the clockwork allowed it to effortlessly lift off into the air even in the extreme density of their atmosphere. It was like witnessing the arrival of a messiah. Who cares if they eat people if they could also save us all? Even better! The clockwork seemed unconstrained by matters of flesh! It would absorb machinery and integrate it, consume living beings and evolve! It was everything they had ever dreamed of! If they could just copy what it does, and just, completely free themselves of being mollusks! They could become anything! Gods! Birds! The “Truly Free”!
...And so they got to work. Sacrificing many of their people, they painstakingly captured the harpy, and set out to study every single aspect of its biology. Years passed as the species had done nothing but learn from the red fleshed monster. Eventually, they figured out that they could extract the different strains of clockwork the harpy was carrying inside its genetic information, and reproduce them in a controlled environment. They had learnt basically everything they could about the harpy so this seemed like the perfect opportunity to get new test subjects as far as they were concerned. That was when they accidentally infected a lab rat with a planetary strain. They witnessed in awe as what was once a small, innocuous fauna suddenly broke containment and started turning everything around them into flesh. Most everyone would’ve been terrified. The swollows however, were elated.
This was it. The ultimate test subject that would give them that last push on their search for transcendence. All they had ever wanted and so much more.
So they did the last thing any sane living being in the universe would do…
...and they purposefully let it grow and consume their planet.
Although they had lost their minds, they were not stupid. They knew full well that if they just let the clockwork consume the entire planet they would be consumed along with it. They just needed most of it to become clockwork. The acid oceans that they had once lamented were now their most powerful weapon. A near limitless supply of a chemical capable of burning away the flesh as it grew, and staving off the infection. They settled in the planet’s biggest chasm and surrounded themselves with the oceans of old. They created glass cities at the core of their planet so that it would become obvious to anyone whenever a containment breach had occurred. They ran to the deepest reaches of the earth, and once they were the final place in the planet not yet infected, the last survivor, they resumed their work.
It was quite easy really, now that they had obtained the ultimate clockwork test subject. It didn’t take that long at all for their studies to bear fruit. They theorized a “being of information”, almost akin to a ghost, that was capable of infecting flesh and machinery alike. To them, this concept represented the ultimate being of freedom. After all, what was more free than the truly unbound? If you could swap bodies at the flick of a switch, then nothing could hold you back, right?
Once they had the theory built up, they got to work on the shells. Eventually, after they had transformed themselves into these beings they had theorized, they would need a temporary body. To them, modelling this temporary body after birds, the ultimate representation of freedom, was an obvious choice. They put enormous work into these shells, but they never thought of them as more than temporary solutions. Regardless, with every preparation having been met, they could now work on the “factories” that would turn them into the “ultimate free beings.” These “factories” were designed after the one fauna that had never betrayed them back when everything else had, that is, before they became extinct due to the whole clockwork planet takeover.
The “factories'' resembled Dogs. Not… the usual canines that we are used to. I find myself incapable of describing them in full detail, as in my opinion, they defy every single designation aside from the word Dog. It was like what someone who had never seen a Dog before would think one looked like when the concept was described to them.
“They were quadruped. They often had some amount of fur, although there were some that lacked it and looked ugly in comparison. They had snouts with an extremely efficient nose at the tip, capable of picking up smells from miles away. They had extremely sharp teeth designed to tear prey apart. Parts of their flesh seemed almost liquid at times, like you could sink your whole arm in and then pull it out afterwards. The dogs… Well, they were loyal, normal Dogs.”
And loyal they were.
Once these… Eldritch canines were finished, they were given a single directive to follow. “Convert any living being bearing a high level of consciousness on the planet. (We wouldn’t want anyone to get left out, now would we?)” Once this directive was given, they were set free. Their initial intention behind the design was to make them seem approachable, cute, even. The idea was to make the process in which one became a “being of ultimate freedom” the most comfortable it could be. Almost like how you’d feel reassured by having a cute dog with you when going to the operation room.
I cannot. Express. How horribly it is they failed.
The Dogs were terrifying to say the least. Not only did they look like beings not of this world, the… The process through which they turned you. I have a hard time describing it myself. I’ve been putting this specific section off for as long as I could because of the memories it brings. They tear you apart. To bloody pieces. They mercilessly tear you limb from limb into broken rags, all while you’re staring at their huge, almost unnervingly comforting eyes, entirely conscious of the horrible event that is happening to you. They consume you. They turn your corpse into more Dogs and then you’re discharged as the end result.
It is an extreme understatement to claim that the experience was traumatic. The capital of the swollows was filled with a cacophony of screams as the Dogs turned everyone there into what they are now, regardless of their wishes. Those who were not completely broken dragged their now formless selves into the shells that had been prepared beforehand.
“At last.” They wearily sighed.
They were free now. They had sacrificed so much. Their planet. Their fauna. Their very lives. Despite all of that, at last they had become free. A dream comes true. An ultimate goal finally achieved. They were satisfied.
...Until the dream turned into a nightmare in front of their very eyes. Before anyone noticed, the shells they had crawled into for a momentary respite closed and locked the door behind them. The cores inside the shells which they had entered, suddenly grew tumors and burst with the black spike-like-horns that we now consider equivalent to having bonded. They couldn’t leave anymore.
It was chaos. The cacophony of suffering from when the Dogs put their jaws on them was nothing compared to the one they had going on now.
“WE SUFFERED! WE SUFFERED SO MUCH! WE EXPERIENCED THINGS NOBODY SHOULD EVER HAVE TO, AND FOR WHAT?!?! FOR THIS! FOR THIS! FOR THIS!” They wailed.
“HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN? WHAT DID WE DO TO DESERVE THIS? WHO DO WE BLAME? PLEASE, GIVE ME BACK MY BODY, I REGRET MY DECISION. I BEG OF YOU.” They pleaded.
“I WANT TO GO BACK. PLEASE LET US GO BACK. ANYONE. SAVE US. PLEASE. I CAN’T ENDURE THIS ANY LONGER. THIS JOURNEY WAS NOTHING BUT SACRIFICES. NOTHING BUT PAIN. THERE IS NOTHING LEFT NOW.” They lamented.
...I am willing to bet that no other species has ever managed to so swiftly and effortlessly break the spirits of an entire race that quickly and efficiently, even if, of course, that race was their own. It was like this event was an artform they had cultivated and perfected for a millenia, all for this one climactic moment.
The days passed and eventually, they looked for any way to escape the reality of their situation. They couldn’t go through the process again. Being eaten by a Dog twice would surely break them, going through the process once is already traumatic enough. All their options had closed themselves off on their own accord. Every door they looked towards was closed with lock and key. They had to look for a window.
This window was denial.
...They had failed?
Whatever are you talking about? Do you not see them fly in their shiny new bird bodies?
Do you not see them thrive?
Clearly, this had been the freedom they had been looking for all along.
They had finally achieved it.
Freedom, I mean.
Everything they had ever wanted was theirs now.
“...Hooray!”
...They celebrated.
“...We’re finally free!”
...They exclaimed.
“...I am happy!”
...They thought.
They deceived themselves into thinking that their birdcage was in actuality outside of the cell. That they were not looking outwards, but inwards, through the bars. Everyone else was shackled. Everyone else was trapped. Those who still wore the skin and flesh they were born with were pitiful beings, not as enlightened as they were. They were the ones who were truly free. Yep. Freedom.
Years passed, and eventually, the clockwork planet, now dubbed “The Beast”, likely succeded in integrating enough radios to be able to fake an S.O.S. signal, through which, it would attract travellers from far across space to feed on. These unlucky spacefarers would die in droves. The ones who didn’t die instantly would make their way to the chasm in which the swollows lived their happily ever after. They would then be promptly torn apart and eaten by Dogs, and become just another bird in the crowd. They would adopt the dogma. The complete belief in freedom. The original swollows would welcome them by gifting them bird shells, happy to have a new comrade in arms. The newcomers, oblivious to what was really going on, would happily oblige, thinking that they had finally gotten a break from the dangers of the planet.
This was the way their new ecosystem worked for decades. Unable to reproduce by natural means they simply waited for spacefarers to crashland and promptly become one of them. The spacefarers did not have a say in the matter. Some of them resisted the recruitment process. The swollows paid them no heed. They were confident it was impossible to leave the planet anyways, so why not just join them? Let the ocean current lead you! Of course, if you had chosen to give yourself to the current on your own accord, then you were still free! Hypocrisy is the blood of winners! And! We! Are! Bloody!
...Eventually, through what was absolutely nothing less than a miracle, a “being of true freedom”, not yet stuck in a shell, discovered that he could enter the bodies of those like him, those who had survived the crash, and that that way, escaped the planet. They braved both clockwork and Dog, both starvation and injury, and they grasped their way up the chasm and into freedom.
The swollows were furious. The escapee had spit in their face. Trampled on their version of freedom. The very base of their entire philosophical system. Everything they had worked towards so far.
“How dare they?” They asked in utter disbelief, “How fucking dare they not enter a shell? THEY WERE GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY TO BECOME PART OF SOMETHING GREATER THAN THEMSELVES, TO BECOME TRULY FREE, AND THEY NOT ONLY REJECTED THE OFFER, BUT WERE SO... DISGUSTED BY THE IDEA THAT THEY RAN AWAY?! BASTARDS. NO. SINNERS. THEY HAVE COMMITTED THE ULTIMATE SIN. THEY HAVE REJECTED FREEDOM. WE WILL CHASE THEM, AND WE WILL FIND THEM. WE WILL FIX THEM.”
To think that this feud started because of them trying to protect the shards of their egos. They swallowed their prides and fueled by a scathing feeling of jealousy, shame, and anger, copied what that one escapee had done, they salvaged the crash landed ships on the surface and left for the universe, they acted like they were benevolent so that the people would trust them. So that when they opened up heads to look for the bearer of the original sin, nobody would bat an eye. All of this solely because of their desire to achieve a meaningless revenge on someone who felt nothing but pity towards them.
Funnily enough, the fact that they were now exporting medicine and people from their homeplanet to the rest of the universe to fuel their facade and look for this fugitive was something that we can only be grateful for. Sneaking aboard a ship leaving for another galaxy is much, much easier than trying to fix one up yourself. To think that without their bloodthirsty and meaningless vendetta so many of us would still be stuck on that awful, awful, planet, trying to survive is a bit of a scary thought.
Home Planet
It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that you can’t exactly show off a clockwork planet to the universe, proceed to go “This is my home! I love it :)”, and have nobody raise an eyebrow. It’s a pretty convincing reason to refuse entry to even the most powerful dictators.
Nowadays the planet is quite the interesting case study. Multiple communities of unfortunate spacefarers have built villages and communities unrelated to the swollows, in the dark, musty reaches of the chasm, and all of them, I mean, absolutely all of them developed a fear of Dogs in their cultures while being entirely disconnected from one another. If you’re a tourist, never say the word “Dog” or “Canine” in their presence. They’ll look at you like you just invited the very incarnation of disaster into their homes.
Subspecies
Defectors: Us. We rejected their freedom and committed a “great sin”. We aren’t really a subspecies technically, if you wanted to be pedantic, for example, you could call us the tadpole stage that refuses to turn into a frog. Unlike the rest of them we are free (I dislike using this word even if it’s accurate) to swap bodies and hijack whatever being we desire. This comes at the cost of dying without a host and being constantly on the run, which in my opinion, sort of renders whatever freedom this form gives us meaningless. It’s a bit hard to describe what it’s like, but we’re something close to electricity, or, I guess, information. When we jump from host to host you can see a little arc of lightning go through the air, which probably gives you something akin to a visual to imagine. How do you think it is that I managed to sneak this information through the Cosmosdex’s sensors and into this entry?
Innocents: Believe it or not, not all of them are horrible people with clouded eyes. Some of them gladly took up the bird shell because they were enamored with the idea of being part of a benevolent species that assists the universe in every way it can. It’s quite comedic, but all the good guys think everyone’s a good guy, and all the bad guys think everyone’s using a facade, so neither your usual swollows nor this subspecies know the other exists.
Martyrs: A good while after defectors became the goal all swollows were working towards, some of them decided to sacrifice their capability for flight in what I can only imagine was an extremely touching scene to them, for the sake of stronger, bigger, and more powerful bodies. If you ever see a swollows designed after a flightless species of birds you better run like hell. They’re very likely there for you, and they won’t take no for an answer. The normal entry mentions that most swollows refuse to comment on these, change the subject, among other tactics, and for good reason.
Special
Built to Hunt: The panels on their chests are designed for detecting, extirpating, and containing us, defectors. They can and will open up any old vagrant in the middle of an unsanitary field if it means finding one of us. Jumping from host to host takes considerable effort from defectors, so although this might seem counter intuitive, I recommend you just give yourself in if you’re found. Getting to live to see another day, even if from the inside of a birdcage, is preferable to making the wrong jump and dying because of it. Don’t become obsessed with freedom. Don’t be like them. And most importantly, stay safe out there.
Trivia
• Pretty much every survivor coming from The Beast, swollows or defectors, have developed some form of subconscious fear of canines due to their trauma. If you’ve somehow managed to get over your own trauma, dear sinner, wearing t-shirts with dogs on them, or having dog keychains on your phone, may prove to be a viable way to get swollows to leave you alone.
• The original entry mentions “Dark Zones” in the history section, and frankly, I have never read a bigger pile of bullshit in my life. I have both investigated myself and asked many, many experts, and nobody knows what the fuck a “Dark Zone” is. The only reason they never tried communicating with possible alien life is that just like they never considered flying a possibility, the thought of something being beyond their sky never crossed their minds. It’s the most bald faced lie I’ve ever read.
• If you poke at their facade in just the right way to make it so that they can’t tell if what you’re saying is coincidence or not they’ll get really, really uncomfortable and begin making the funniest noises out of distress. If they weren’t who they are I’d almost say it's cute.
You quite literally cannot go wrong with it.
