The Colonel

The Colonel mopped his brow, the journey had been long but he finally made it. He pulled out the gold watch Ray Krock had given him as a token of respect, however grudging. He had twelve hours until ‘Nuggets Are People Too’, a radical animal rights group makes good on their threat. He would not let that happen.

The view from the Col. Copter was breathtaking, green rolling hills that pop with verdant joy, Puget sound with its rhythmic waves lulling the good people of the Emerald City. As the Colonel lowered his craft onto the awaiting helipad atop the Space Needle he reflected on his life.

Being the best at what you do is a lonely place to be. When he was a boy it was so much simpler, he had an imaginary military rank and a recipe for some damn good chicken; traveling town to town feeding the hungry, now it was all board meetings and genetic engineering. With a sigh, he crossed the helipad and greeted his security team.

The cost of assembling the private army in his employ was no small amount, these were the most ruthless, efficient killing machines the world and all of its madness can create. They stood to attention radiating menace despite the chicken suits, paying these men to dress this way was no small cost either but if the Swiss Guard can be ridiculous and lethal so could they.

He greeted his Cock of the Walk, Gary, a man he had personally plucked from the slums of Lagos. He welcomed the Colonel with the customary ‘buk-buk’ and proceeded to run through the itinerary when suddenly a blade burst through his chest and his face went rigid. From behind, a Bantam officer the Colonel did not recognize pulled out the scimitar and dropped Gary in a heap of poultry.

The Colonel leaped with surprising grace at the attacking chicken man. With movements practiced and fluid, the Colonel quickly had the boy on the ground, dispatching him with a quick twist of the neck. Everything had happened so fast that he did not notice the crowd of chickens pointing guns at him. He glared at them.

A chicken man stepped forward and began pleading to the Colonel, ‘You don’t understand, NAPT has our families, it has to be this way.’

‘It’s treason then,’ with a deft motion the Colonel threw down his patented smoke bombs made with eleven herbs and spices. In the confusion and paprika dust, all a chicken man could see was the gleaming white suit of their employer dancing around them in a painful ballet.

With the wayward flock taken down, now a litter of wings and thighs twitching in agony, he entered his office, a vast throne room dedicated to his passionate love of chickens. The first impression one gets is of being inside an egg, an ornate, bejeweled egg. Busts of chickens of various breeds adorned the wall, the furniture stuffed with the finest of chicken down.

Flipping the head of a chicken statue revealed a bright red button, he pushed it without hesitation. As the foundation began to shift and the needle prepared for take-off he smelled a familiar smell. Fresh, never-frozen beef.

‘Hello Wendy,’ he said, turning to face her. Her bright red hair flowed gloriously down her shoulders.

‘Hello Harlan,’ she said, smiling confidently.

The Colonel poured himself a glass of chicken-flavored bourbon and drank deeply. It’s happening, he thought to himself. ‘If anyone was going to do it,’ he began, looking at her earnestly, ‘I’m glad it was you and not the clown.’

‘You know I always respected you, Harlan. It doesn't have to be this way, just give us the recipe.’

‘I can’t do that, Wendy. You know why.’

‘Some secrets need to be shared,’ Wendy served up a frosty smile. ‘It won’t matter in a few minutes anyway, my men at NAPT are in your system as we speak.’

‘Just one problem, Wendy, you release that recipe and I will detonate every chicken on this earth. Wipe the species off the map.’

Wendy’s icy stare melted, briefly. ‘You’re bluffing.’

‘Please, what do you think the secret ingredient is?’ Asked the Colonel, thoroughly enjoying every second of this. ‘I’ll tell you this, it’s highly volatile and incredibly addictive and if I press this button they will all die.’

‘You wouldn't,’ Wendy choked out.

As the Space Needle approached orbit he sighed at the beauty of this world. It was a good run.

With the press of a button, he initiated the catastrophic destruction of every chicken on the planet.

Wendy decided to stick to burgers.