Chapter 1: A Mouth Like a Sewer Grate and a Head Full of Rocks

Su Ian Hoo was, by any reasonable metric, completely and utterly unemployable.

It wasn't for a lack of trying. She’d tried. Oh, how she’d tried. The resume she’d cobbled together on the library computer was a masterpiece of half-truths and desperate optimism. But it was no match for the sheer, unadulterated force of her personality.

“Miss Hoo,” the manager at the last café had said, his face a mask of pained patience, “telling a customer that their latte art looks like a ‘sad, deflating balloon animal’ is not considered ‘constructive feedback’.”

Her response—something along the lines of, “Well, maybe if they didn’t have the taste buds of a concussed goat, they wouldn’t order a pumpkin spice latte in July”—had been the final nail in that particular coffin. Her record for lasting at a part-time job was a glorious six weeks at a call center, a feat achieved only by taping her own mouth shut and communicating via aggressive, furious typing.

The problem, as Su saw it, wasn’t her. It was the world. The world was soft. It was full of people who needed everything sugar-coated, who couldn’t handle a simple, blunt truth. She hadn't been born this way. The orphanage had been a brutal, Darwinian playground. If you didn't learn to push back twice as hard, with words sharper than any shiv, you got eaten alive. Her mouth was her survival mechanism. It just happened to be a mechanism that was spectacularly ill-suited to the modern service economy.

So, when she saw the slightly faded, slightly damp flyer tacked to the community board—HELP WANTED: CITY ZOO. GENERAL MAINTENANCE. APPLY WITHIN.—a tiny, stupid spark of hope flickered in her chest.

Animals, she thought, trudging towards the zoo gates. They don’t give a shit about your tone. They won’t file a complaint with HR if you tell them their mating call sounds pathetic. This… this could work.

The interview was conducted by a man who looked as tired as the elephants probably felt. He barely looked up from his clipboard. “Position’s for enclosure cleaning. We start early. It’s messy. Pay is crap. You in?”

Finally, Su thought. A man who speaks her language. “Where do I sign?”

That’s how she found herself at 6 AM the next morning, clad in oversized green coveralls, clutching a rake and a shovel, and staring into the gilded cage of what the sign called ‘The Resplendent Pavilion.’ Home to a handful of peacocks who strutted around like they owned the place and the dirt it was built on.

Alright, you over-glorified turkeys, she mused, unlocking the gate. Let’s get this over with. You shit, I shovel. It’s a beautiful, simple relationship.

For the first hour, it was. The peacocks ignored her. She ignored them. It was blissful. She raked up feathers, scooped up… well, peacock shit, and hosed down the faux-rock formations. It was mindless, physical work. The kind that didn’t require her to smile or say “have a nice day.” It was perfect.

And then she met him.

One peacock, larger and more vibrantly blue than the others, seemed to take a personal, profound offense to her presence. Wherever she went, he was there. If she raked a patch of dirt smooth, he would immediately strut over and scratch it up. If she filled a bucket with waste, he’d knock it over with a dismissive flick of his train.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me. You’re the HOA president of the bird world, aren’t you? A real piece of work. Just let me clean your damn palace, you feathered bastard.

She tried to shoo him away with a wave of her rake. He puffed his chest out and let out a screech that sounded like a rusty gate being murdered.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re very scary,” she muttered, turning her back on him to hose down a stubborn patch of guano.

That was her mistake.

She felt a sharp, painful yank on the back of her coveralls. The bird had her overalls in his beak and was pulling with surprising strength.

ARE YOU FOR REAL?! DID YOU JUST GOOSE ME, YOU CREEP?!

She spun around, ripping her clothing free. “What is your problem, you moody, walking rug?!”

The peacock just stared her down, its beady eyes full of what she could only describe as pure, avian contempt. It started pacing back and forth in front of her, blocking her path, its long tail feathers dragging through the mud she’d just cleaned.

The spark of anger, always smoldering just beneath her surface, caught flame. The careful control she’d been maintaining—the ‘shut up and shovel’ mantra she’d been repeating in her head—shattered.

“You think you’re so special, don’t you?” she snarled, dropping her rake and planting her hands on her hips. “Just because you’ve got a fancy-ass tail you can fan out? Big deal! You know what that looks like? A toddler threw up a bag of Skittles on a funeral plume! It’s tacky! And that sound you make? My dude, it sounds like a cat getting its tail stuck in a garbage disposal. It’s not a majestic call, it’s a cry for help! You’re just a glorified pigeon with a bad attitude and a god complex! I’ve met rocks with more charisma than you, you useless, high-maintenance feather duster!”

She was panting, her face flushed. She’d let it all out. Every ounce of frustration from a lifetime of being too much and not enough, all directed at one supremely unlucky peacock.

The bird had gone completely still.

It stopped its pacing. It lowered its head. And then, it looked directly at her.

And it spoke.

Its beak didn’t move, but a voice, ancient, raspy, and dripping with a fury that mirrored her own, echoed directly inside her skull.

“You wretched, noisy little hairless ape.”

Su froze. Her brain short-circuited. Did I just have a stroke? Is this what a stroke feels like? Heat exhaustion?

“You dare?” the voice thundered in her mind. “You, who live in your concrete boxes, who poison the very air and water, who cage us for your amusement? You think my life is good? You think this gilded prison is a privilege?”

“I… you… you’re talking,” Su stammer, taking a step back. “Birds can’t talk.”

“I am no mere bird, you ignorant child! I am Resplendent Feather, Last Scion of the Sky-Dancer Clan, cursed to this pathetic, flightless form by a trickster spirit a hundred of your lifetimes ago! And for your insolence… for your foul, sewer-grate of a mouth…”

The peacock—Resplendent Feather—puffed up, his feathers vibrating with a strange, shimmering energy.

“You think my existence is so simple? So easy? Then you shall have a taste of it! Let us see how your sharp tongue serves you when you are the one in the cage, deemed nothing more than a pretty spectacle!”

“Wait, what? No, hold on—” Su started, but it was too late.

The peacock let out a final, earth-shaking screech and launched itself at her face. A blur of blue and green and furious, beady eyes filled her vision. A sharp, bony foot connected with her forehead with a sickening thwack.

“OW, YOU SON OF A—!”

She stumbled backward, her foot slipping on a pile of wet, peacock-shaped betrayal. The world tilted. Her head connected with the sharp edge of the faux-rock watering trough with a crack that echoed louder than any peacock’s cry.

Then, nothing. Just a profound, silent, and very dark blankness.

---

The first thing she was aware of was a sound. A high-pitched, incessant, chirping noise. It was grating. Annoying.

Ugh… my head… what the hell… did that little shit actually…

She forced her eyes open. The world was a blur of green and brown. She was lying on her back. She tried to sit up, but her body felt… strange. Heavy. Unbalanced.

And then, a rectangle of shimmering, golden light materialized in the air directly in front of her face. It was ornate, bordered with what looked like glowing peacock feathers. Words began to scroll across it in a fancy, almost mocking script.

<< WELCOME, SPECKLESS PEACOCK >>

Su Ian Hoo, former orphan, perpetual job-loser, and recent victim of avian assault, stared at the message.

Her brain, her beautiful, sharp, utterly miserable brain, could only formulate one coherent thought, which she tried to scream but only managed a strangled squawk.

…Speckless? SPECKLESS?! THAT’S THE BEST YOU COULD DO, YOU GRAMMATICALLY-CHALLENGED FEATHERED FUCK?!