It watches through their eyes. Every sound they hear, every scent they smelled, it was all filtered into this spirit born of their minds. Not everyone’s, of course, but most peoples. It was far from the only one flitting between minds, too. Billions of things like it crawled over the world, coalescing and falling apart every second. A single mind could create thousands of it, unaware of what it was doing. This one thought itself a good one. Most everyone in the world thought themselves a good one, so why shouldn’t it?

	It wanders across the minds of the world. Many were trapped in the fragmented sensations their minds were digesting and matching to expectations built throughout the day. Some would startle as unexpected ideas bumped into one another, but that was the nature of sleep. The awake ones were far safer to explore. A bad dream might gobble him up or worse. An awake mind was only focused on what it could actually percieve, both internally and externally. It could just be a stray thought in the head of whoever.

	Night was supposed to be dangerous, but most who were out and about right now were more self-concerned than predatory. Even the animals were more concerned with avoiding people than with filling their bellies. And in jumping between the minds, it finds an oddity.

	Prescott was far too young to be out this late. The crow was dressed darkly, his black jeans and t-shirt leaving him an easily visible silhouette in the light of the full moon. He felt so naughty, wandering through the park so long after his own parents had gone to bed. The young bird felt so brave  in the cool night air, like nothing could stop him. He’d tricked his mom and dad into thinking he was at home, but instead he was going to his friend’s house for an impromptu sleepover. Prescott yawns, but is nonetheless eager to see his friend’s face when he shows up at the other boy’s window.

	But everyone knew what happened to cubs when they went out after dark. And it pained the stray thought to think that so many wonderful people could be so wrong about what they knew. The general public, at least, understood what would happen next.

	So, it guides the little crow bare-clawed feet to where it needs him to be. Those shadows are darker than the rest. Is that a bush or a dog? Vampires were hiding in those trees. The thought let the cub know whatever would get the avian out of the park. Maybe it would be best to just take the street? No, too many people might see him and call the cops. It would be better to take the alleys. Quicker, too. Prescott’s ambling little steps are easy to guide, the bird too young and too new to really question his instincts the way an adult would. 

	Finding someone else had been harder. People were scarce at these hours, even people with the instincts it needed them to have. It was hardly surprised. With most cubs being at home at night, wanting to have sex with them was hardly a good reason to prowl the streets then. Nevertheless, it does find some close by. There were three of them traveling together, too drunk for the bartender to let them have their keys. They’d traded them for a trio of shots. Guiding them was easy, though. The biggest of which would chase whatever thought he was having in the moment.

	So, when they meet in the alley a mere block from the bar, all the thought has to suggest is how easy it would be to get away with it, that the darkness would hide their actions. The men are quick to corner the little bird. It’s easy to surround him and pin him back against the fence. It watches through unsteady eyes as the heavy hand that pushed the deep black bird back into the rough wood grabs at his collar. Feels the strength in the muscles, unnoticed by their true owner, as it roughly pulls the shirt off. The ripping sound as the Bandit Bunny shirt catches on the back of the crow’s head is a delight it shares with the owner. A loss the boy would remember every time he saw the show. Spread out through their heads in this moment, he can feel how their heartbeats quicken, all four of them. 

	It felt good.

	“Please,” the bird says, and it can feel more of it’s kind being born, joining with it. The loose thought swells in complexity. The men’s drunken lust as they hold the cub in place together, the bird’s fear as they reach down to rip the shorts apart, the overwhelming laughter as they do so. The idea reshapes itself as it feels the results of it’s choices. The smallest of the three men, a goat with rough fingers, toys with the boy’s now-exposed cloaca. It rubs against the smooth, round entrance and the pleasure that was lost to fear finds it’s way to the idea. Two fingers reach in, pulling a small cock out that finds the men laughing and joking again. The joy of finding out those you care about would happily join you in your darkest desires. It would seem it had gotten lucky with these three.

	The joy does little to stifle the awkwardness as it urges out the cock of the most pliable of the three, a dog big enough that not a one of them had believed his lies about being a purebred. The embarrassment had been palpable to him growing up. Anyone married to a Clydesdale would be the butt of jokes, his own mother included. A useless feeling compared to the intoxicating rush it was getting from the moment. It plucks the thought from the dog as well to help focus it, but leaves a shame that would drive it to seek yet more power over the little bird. 

	There’s no verbal invitation given, but it’s quickly known that the others are to join in. The bird’s pleading is silenced quickly and without any sort of control from the idea. It’s a fear felt by the rat holding the beak shut. Something the idea didn’t want, but useful in the moment. Most people thought these men fearless monsters hiding in the shadows. At once they were impossibly scary and pitifully weak. It could use that, chasing the feelings they were making in this moment. 

	It plays them like a jaunty tune. The goat’s interest in the young penis of the bird is the thing born the most out of empathy. He wants to feel the crow cum into his mouth, a desire born from some memory of his youth stoked even higher by the sight of the rest of the group joining him in teasing the little body. Feeling how the thin cone pulses as he continues to rub it is what drives him to lean down and lick at the tip. He’ll feel the worst of them all after this. The rat cares only for the high that power over this body gets him. It can feel how the excitement in him grows even by holding the bird’s beak shut. The thought of taking the bird with them someplace safe so that they can play longer is another one it has to stifle. That went against the ideas plans. When the dog starts to line himself up with the bird’s little cloaca, it’s driven by a pure, untempered lust that clouds his thoughts as much as any amount of booze. A delightful cocktail of feelings fills the idea and feeds the rush it’s been feeling for this whole affair.

	The entry of the dog’s thick meat into the bird’s body threatens to split the three men’s groupthink. It’s the sound of the bird’s desperate caw, caught in it’s beak by the fearful rat’s hands. The goat has the greatest shift, but the thought has enough power now to stifle it and bring him in line with the rest. His hunger is still for some aspect of the bird’s pleasure, but the empathy is pushed down for now. Only excitement fills his head, watching how the humanoid member plows into the small form. The other two are encouraged to talk more, words poured into their head to soothe the goat’s trepidation without them knowing.

	“Oh yeah, you love it. You want this dick!”

	“Look, his pecker’s twitching! What a slut. I’ll bet we have him begging for it by the time the night’s up.”

	“He’s wet as hell in here. I’ll take your bet and raise that we leave this slut with a few new fetishes at least.”

	“You gonna cum for us, baby bird?”

	The bird only seemed to have one thought on repeat in his head. On the other side of this fence was a family and he hoped that they would hear the men and how they teased and cajoled him while pain shot through his body. It’s shutting out a treacherous pleasure. One that would save it the effort of being subtle with the goat. The bird was much too far-gone to know what he should actually be thinking in the moment anyway. So, it pushes that pleasure to the front of the bird’s mind and feels the thoughts of the sleeping family give way to a dull confusion. 

	“Did this little shit just ‘coo’? Like a fucking pigeon?”

	“I dated a pigeon. That’s how I know I’m doing this little whore right.”

	He had, the idea realizes with an utter satisfaction. The pride they all felt at making this little bird their toy was matched entirely in it’s own at how it was manipulating the men. It fed up into the thought, the act and the memory encoded into it’s being. It would join the hundreds of others that made it’s totality. This was new one, though.

	“Fuck, I’m about to nut!”

	The dog’s movements were growing even more erratic, the sheer pleasure pushing the thought free of the dog’s head. Not that it mattered any more. It had all confidence that they weren’t about to stop. It could even keep the bird going now, emphasizing more and more the little stain of pleasure that should have been hidden in all that pain. The fact that the pain was stopping it from reaching an apex was all the better for the thought. It could stick with the boy all night.

	And maybe for awhile after.