Mecha-Chicken Race
Cluck, cluck, cluck.
“The chicken race is serious business,” the man said, slapping the Mecha-Chicken’s behind.
Cluck, cluck.
“Now,” he continued, “hop on that chicken and ride like the wind, jockey!” Then he left, onwards to repeat the same pep-talk to his other riders.
Kotopouli hesitantly put on her gear. Vest, breathing apparatus, sword and holster. “The chicken race is serious business,” she sighed to herself, repeating the man’s words.
She took a second to inspect her chicken. It couldn’t have been more of a piece of cluck. The chicken shook violently as its engine ran. Suddenly, she literally snatched a bolt that had shook loose and was flying in the air. She quickly leaned in and grabbed her multitool from her belt, a gift from her grandfather.
As she tigh
