Chapter Text
For Parrotx2, returning to his small, carefully constructed wooden house felt like walking into a vault.
He didn't walk in alone. A sharp shove between his shoulder blades propelled him across the threshold. He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of his crafting table. He hadn't seen the guard, only felt the invisible pressure of their hand—a constant, grating reminder that even his shadow was monitored.
Wifies was already there.
He stood near the corner, beside the small, decorative indoor tree Parrotx2 had meticulously crafted—a cluster of oak logs and leaves intended to mimic a jungle canopy. Perched amidst the fake foliage was a flash of metallic gold and ruby red: the Golden Macaw.
Ouro, the bird was named, a birthday gift from Wifies himself, eight months prior.
Wifies looked up, his expression unreadable, a smooth façade of bored competence that never failed to make Parrotx2’s stomach knot. He wore a heavy, dark coat, and his fingers were currently idly tracing the polished surface of a discarded Ender chest, one Parrot was forced to empty upon arrieval in Paragon.
"You took a shortcut,” Wifies stated, his voice flat, devoid of question.
Parrotx2’s lungs felt starved for air. He was swaying, his heart hammering against his ribs in a chaotic, desperate rhythm. "Wifies, please. I just needed—"
"Needed to ensure your loyalty, maybe? Needed to test the parameters of the Obsidian walIs put around you?" Wifies pushed off the chest and took two slow steps toward the tree. "I thought we were past this, Px2."
The macaw, sensing the shift in the room's atmosphere, gave a soft, inquiring squawk and ruffled its brilliant canopy of feathers.
Wifies reached out. It wasn't a gentle hand. His fingers curled around the bird’s chest and legs, pulling it roughly from its perch. Ouro squawked in protest, snapping its curved beak uselessly at the air.
"No," Parrotx2 whispered, the sound catching in his throat, then louder, a sudden, desperate plea. "No! Don't touch him!"
Wifies held the bird up, presenting the vibrant creature like an accusation. His eyes—luminous and cold—fixed on Parrotx2.
"He's a constant, isn't he?" Wifies said, ignoring the panic. "A bright, noisy little beacon of what happens when you decide you like a place. When you decide you belong to someone."
Wifies’ grip tightened incrementally, and Ouro let out a sharp, high-pitched 'kree-eet!' of pain.
"I won't leave," Parrotx2 rushed forward, hands outstretched, careful not to touch Wifies. "I swear, I won't. I was—it was a mistake. I panicked. The SMP—"
"The SMP is fine," Wifies snapped, his tone dangerously placid. "It's predictable. You are the only unpredictable variable I currently have. And that cannot stand, Px2. Not now. Not when we're so close to putting this whole mess behind us. Not when I’ve worked so hard on your safety."
Wifies’ thumb found the base of the macaw’s tail feathers. Parrotx2’s body recoiled involuntarily as Wifies gave a quick, savage tug.
A cluster of long, stiff tail feathers—iridescent blue and green—came away with a dry, ripping sound.
Ouro shrieked, a terrified, uncontrolled noise that echoed off the wooden walls. The bird struggled violently, its claws scrabbling at Wifies' fingers, trying to achieve freedom.
"Stop it! Wifies, please, stop!" Parrotx2 was shaking now, tears blurring the edges of the room. This wasn't Wifies' typical, cold control; this was something more primal, more broken.
Wifies looked at the handful of feathers, then dropped them onto the floor without ceremony. He didn't look affected by the bird’s escalating distress.
"See, Px2?" Wifies’ voice was smooth, almost reassuring, a horrifying counterpoint to the scene. "We don't have to do this. We don't have to hurt him. I don't want to hurt him. But every time you walk away, I have to ensure you understand the cost of that selfishness."
The macaw tried to bite Wifies' hand. Wifies simply shifted his grip, pinning the head more securely.
Wifies reached for the wing. Parrotx2 collapsed onto his knees, scrambling closer. "Wifies, I’m begging you. He’s just a bird. He’s my bird. You gave him to me. I’m staying. I’m here. Look at me. I won’t move again."
Wifies didn't look at him. He was focused entirely on the bird, on the task of deconstruction. He found the secondary flight feathers—the brilliant gold ones that made Ouro so magnificent.
Wifies pulled. Not quickly this time, but with a horrifying, slow pressure. The keratin snapped. A wet, tearing sound followed as the quill ripped free from the follicle. A small drop of capillary blood bloomed on Wifies' pale skin.
The macaw’s shriek turned into a raw, choking noise of agony. It thrashed, beating its remaining feathers against Wifies' hand, its little body convulsing.
Parrotx2 covered his mouth, a desperate, choking sob tearing its way out. He couldn't move, couldn't act. His body was frozen in a sheath of terror, pinned by the horrifying intimacy of the violence.
"We just have to make sure you remember this feeling," Wifies continued, his voice a low, soothing monotone, almost talking to himself. He was the picture of gentle patience, even as his fingers deftly navigated the terrified, thrashing creature. "This hollow, sick feeling when something you love is struggling because you made a stupid choice. You put him in danger when you ran. You put us all in danger."
Another feather came out. Then another. And another.
Wifies was extracting the feathers with surgical precision, leaving patches of pink, inflamed skin exposed on the bird’s wings and chest. The bird was rapidly losing its ability to regulate motion, its movements becoming frantic, uncoordinated flutters of desperation. It looked less like a noble macaw and more like a mangled, fleshy doll.
The screams had settled into a steady, shuddering pant. The blood smeared on Wifies' hands was a stark, viscous red against the gold and red of the remaining plumage.
"This is love, my dear," Wifies said, looking finally at the man kneeling before him. His eyes were wide, unnervingly sincere. "I am anchoring you. I am providing you with certainty in an unstable world. We cannot afford mistakes. I cannot afford to lose you, not after everything."
He paused, holding the trembling creature aloft. Ouro was barely moving now, its breathing shallow, eyes wide and focused inward on the pain.
"Do you understand what happens if you leave again?" Wifies asked.
Parrotx2 could only shake his head weakly, tears streaming down his face, his voice stolen by terror and revulsion. He saw the cold, rational fear in Wifies' eyes—the deep, crippling dread of loneliness that fueled this meticulous cruelty. Wifies wasn't just trapping him; he was sacrificing a symbol of their connection to ensure the connection itself survived, twisted and sharp.
Wifies nodded, a gesture of profound disappointment. "Clearly, you don't. Still struggling for altitude, aren't you, you smart little thing?"
Wifies brought the bird closer to his chest. He still held it tightly, but his grip shifted. His hands wrapped around the macaw’s body, covering its chest and back entirely.
Ouro let out a final, faint, pitiful whimper.
Wifies tightened his grip slowly, deliberately.
Parrotx2 watched, unable to scream, unable to look away. He saw Wifies’ knuckles turn white as his massive hands squeezed the living creature between them.
A sickening crunch echoed quietly in the small room. It was the sound of its small, hollow bones fracturing under immense pressure.
The macaw seized violently once, its remaining feathers spiking outward. There was a sound like tearing fabric, muffled by Wifies’ heavy coat.
The high-pitched wails stopped. Instantly.
Wifies maintained the pressure for a full minute, his eyes closed for a brief, unsettling moment of concentration. Parrotx2 could hear only the frantic, gasping sounds he was making himself.
When Wifies finally opened his eyes, they were clear, the panic gone, replaced by a terrible, empty resolution.
He loosened his grip. The body of the golden macaw, now limp, collapsed, leaking dark venous blood onto Wifies’ coat. The small, magnificent creature was ruined, its neck slack, its eyes dull, fixed on nothing.
Wifies held the dead bird for one long second, a moment of distorted reverence over his handiwork.
Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed the small, broken corpse.
It landed heavily on the wooden floor directly in front of Parrotx2’s knees.
Parrotx2 stared down at the thing—a twisted wreck of Yellow, blue, green and crimson, slick with fresh blood.
"There," Wifies said, stepping away, wiping his bloody hands casually on his trousers. He looked genuinely relieved, as if a great, necessary burden had been lifted. "Now we can focus on stability. I've eliminated the distraction, Px2. We are focused entirely on you, aren't we?"
Wifies looked down at the shattered man kneeling amidst the spilled feathers of his dead pet.
"You won't leave again," Wifies stated, his voice ringing with absolute certainty.
Parrotx2 didn't speak. He reached out a trembling hand and slowly, reverently, touched the cold, wet remains of Ouro. The remaining golden feathers were sticky with the bird’s own internal fluid.
He looked up at Wifies, his eyes dull, stripped clean of defiance, hope, or even coherent thought. "Good," Wifies murmured, a flicker of genuine, misplaced warmth entering his voice. He reached down, brushing a lock of hair from Parrotx2’s forehead. "Now, let’s go. We have a lot of work to do ensuring your safety. Don't worry. Your'e safe now. Completely safe."
Wifies turned and walked toward the door, leaving Parrotx2 kneeling on the floor, trapped between the blood-soaked ruin of his gift and the small jungle tree, build by him, that had no more use.