The Chicken Conspiracy for free will.

CW: Contains themes and/or references to violence, shooting, drugging, and mind control

Every story needs a hero, but they also need a villain. I know what I'm doing is right, even if others think I’m a troublemaker. I am the hero no one asked for—the bad guy to the bad guys.

No one can know. It would be too contradictory. They won't understand.

I work at a lab and find out they’re putting small traces of drugs in people's food. The drug makes people more agreeable and obedient. The pitch was that we’d never have war again—but that was a lie. They just want more control over people. They want to take away free will. It's wrong. It was a good idea with a bad intention.

Larry disappeared from my department—I think they got rid of him. He was a good guy. He probably spoke up about what was happening. Larry was such a do-gooder; he probably couldn’t help himself—he was the guy who paid parking tickets and let old ladies sit first. His desk was cleaned up like he was never even there, but I look at the pencil case he gave me. I don't even use pencil cases, but I guess it was the thought that counted.

So now I have to work behind the scenes, or I'll end up like Larry.

I can’t get to the food packaging area—they’d see me. There are cameras everywhere. I'm only allowed in the lab’s quality control department. My only chance of stopping them is by hijacking the delivery trucks. Hopefully, I can do enough damage to the company for them to shut down.

Right now, I’m hiding in the bushes. The trucks drive random routes, but I know where this one is going. From a little hill, I see the delivery truck turning onto the road.

In the darkness, I fumble through the bushes and step into the road.

The driver panics and slams on the brakes when he sees my shotgun. The universal language is understood. He looks confused but obeys, getting out of the truck at the gesture of my weapon.

My vigilante attire is... questionable. It’s not every day you get hijacked by someone in a chicken costume with a shotgun. Yes, a chicken costume.

Unorthodox, but you can’t see a person’s height, gender, or build. I change costumes every time. That way, they might think it’s a group or gang, not one person. The first time, I wore all black, but it made me an obvious target. My cousin runs a costume rental, and that’s how the idea was born.

The truck driver isn’t the stereotypical type. No baseball cap, flannel shirt, or mustache—he’s a young guy with spiky hair and a rock band T-shirt. A slight smile breaks through his nerves.

"What does the chicken say when he crosses the road?" he asks, trying not to laugh. He’s nervous.

But then—he moves too quickly. The kid pulls a gun.

"Drop the gun, Chicken!"

Oh no. The company has decided to go the defense route.

"Drop the gun or I will shoot!"

A realization hits me hard in that moment. If I back down, this madness will continue, and no one will stop the company. I close my eyes and pull the trigger with a heavy heart. The kid doesn’t deserve to die. But maybe they drugged him too. Maybe he’s just another pawn on the company's chessboard. Too greedy or too afraid to stop the wrong they’re doing they drugged him.

A loud shot echoes through the night—followed by another.

He shot me. Pain tears through my shoulder. I feel too flustered to look at the kid, but I should have. Another shot fires and hits the ground not far from my feet. I run to the side of the road and take cover in the bushes. This is why you should actually not shoot with your eyes closed - not recommended.

I have to get out of here, but I can't let the truck get away. I have to stand my ground. With a deep breath and a quick prayer, I lean around the corner, aim and fire. Damn I don't want to kill anyone. He two more shots in return. "Kid! Do you have any idea what you are doing?!" I reload again. Never thought I would shoot the thing, but thank goodness I brought bullets, but I only have one round left. The kid has two rounds left.

"I'm doing my job asshole!" I did my job in the lab, and I understand that sometimes it's not that simple. Maybe I can talk him out of it.

"Kid, they are poisoning people with those food! They are drugging people to make them more obedient!"

"I don't believe you! That's bullshit!"

"It's the truth! Do you really want to be part of that! Taking away people free will?!"

"You sound like one of those crazy people that believe there's aliens or something!"

"Did you eat any of those food, Kid?"

"I'm not going to say no to free cookies?!"

I swear under my breath. He leaves me no choice. I come out from around the corner and shoot - he shoots back, and I dodge. I put in my last round.

I take off the chicken mask and extend it around the corner. He shoots his last bullet through the mask. I put back on the mask with a neat hole through the forehead and charge at the kid before he can reload another round. The kid brings the magazine to the clock, but I shoot it out his hands. The shot gun pellets sprinkle his hands with blood. He shouts in pain.

"I'm sorry Kid!" I shoot again and this time he doesn't move again.

The truck is set ablaze—cookies, crackers, crisps, all laced with obedience. The flames engulf the truck, and I feel a great bitterness wash over me. I just wanted to work in a lab. Clearly the other three I have burned did not bother them too much.

Red blood begins to soak the white chicken costume, a grotesque compliment to the chicken head mask. I stumble through the bushes toward my car.

The adrenaline fades, and the pain intensifies. My shoulder is just grazed, but damn it still hurts.

I have to go to work tomorrow and show face. They’re not giving up—and neither should I. I can’t let them get away with this.

I tear off the chicken mask. My cheeks are damp—not from sweat, but from tears. That was a close call.

I can’t stop now. I’ve gone too far. I took an innocent life that has been brainwashed. The unfortunate fact remains that I took life. Another fact comes to mind. No one deserves to be brainwashed. I am doing this of my own free will and others deserve to have theirs. I have to bind my shoulder and go to the office like nothing happened. Next time it's the dinosaur costumes turn.