Hey, look everybody, Shade’s not dead! I give you Chapter 2 of The Chicken Thing . . . though I feel it’s rather under par, I’m utterly sick of editing things, so here it is. It’s rather short . . . hopefully the next one shall be longer . . . Enjoy . . .

Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Josh climbed to his feet in an attempt to stop laughing. He failed as the chicken ran screaming by again, and collapsed back onto the deck.

The sudden absence of sound alerted him to the presence of a ship, as the force needed to protect such ships when they traveled through hyperspace created a vacuum. He placed a hand on the railing and peered up at the sky to see a neon-blue wreck of a cruiser descending toward him. Bits of metal were falling from it, and the he was nearly brained by what looked like the flight modulator.

'Wait a minute . . . the flight modulator?!' he thought, jumping aside as the cruiser plummeted to the ground, completely shattering the landing gear. He ducked as a wheel flew by his head to smash something within the recesses of his house - probably his vid screen.

The ship was a hideous shade of blue - the sort that made his teeth hurt - and looked rather like a very small child's drawing of a spaceship. It had various pointed bits that looked both dangerous and ready to fall off, and Josh got the feeling that he could get tetanus from just looking at it.

A door slid open smoothly, with the stereotypical mystical hum, or tried to. The effect was rather spoiled by a rusted squeal and the sounds of someone cursing. It stopped sliding and then flew off, propelled by a vicious kick. Grizund Damathcorp stood there, glowering at the crumpled mess of her door.

"Aw, shit," she muttered, then turned and noticed Josh. She surreptitiously straightened her uniform, reached behind her into the ship, pulled out an extremely unattractive cap, pushed back her hair, and smashed the cap onto her head. He stared, one eyebrow raised, when she tripped over the doorframe and toppled to the ground.

"Hey you," she called, voice muffled by the dirt she was lying in, "are you Joshua Threnick?" She sat, tried dusting off her shirt, then gave up and stood, thrusting a clipboard in his general direction. "Sign this and get on the ship."

"What? I don't even know who you are!" Josh backed fearfully away from the clipboard. "If this is about my lack of chicken hunting, I was going to do it today, really!"

Grizund sighed angrily, pushed the hair back from her face again, and shoved the board into his hands.

"Just read the stupid thing, I haven't got all day. My idiot partner just got herself arrested by the Thurian monks, and if I don't get there soon, she'll be vaporized. Read it, sign it, then get on the damn ship." She crossed her arms and stood, tapping her foot impatiently as he scanned the papers. Her hair fell into her face and she glared at it, then pushed it back again.

"I don't remember entering any contest . . . and where is Gitle, anyway? Say, you're not from that Confederation thingie, are you?" He stared accusingly. She shook her head.

"No, I'm the interplanetary delivery service," she said, motioning to the hideous uniform and cap. "I've been sent to deliver you to Gitle, so get on the ship." Grizund jammed a thumb in the direction of her flying blue trash heap, and then pushed her hair back yet again.

"Do you want a rubber band or something?" The look on her face stopped him. "Oh . . . all right. I don't have anything better to do." He scribbled something illegible and walked over to the ship, then hauled himself into the doorway. "Say, aren't these things supposed to have walkways that extend out? Look, here's a switch marked 'Walkway'. Why didn't you use it?" He pressed the button as Grizund lunged for his feet, yelling "Don't touch it!"

A strangled clanking could be heard from the ship, then a rusted length of steel shot out of a slit near the bottom of the doorway, bounced off the ground, and kapanged its way into the sky, landing neatly on the remains of the door. Grizund slapped herself in the forehead, then turned to glare at Josh.

"Great, now I have to get THAT fixed too. You stupid meddling deliveries . . ." Here she trailed off into an unintelligible stream of crude language, stopping only to glare pointedly at him. She hopped off of the doorway, stomped over to her door and lifted it, then brought it back and cautiously leaned it on the edge of the ship. Once more storming away from the ship to obtain the twisted remains of her walkway, she came back and shoved it into the slit, causing more of the ship's interior to groan in complaint. Grizund kicked it in response, grabbed the door and dragged it so it lined up with the doorway, then jumped and pulled it up with her. Holding the handle on the inside, she reached around behind Josh and pulled a roll of silver tape.

"Tear me off a piece," she panted, taking the proffered chunk, then taping the door to the ship with it. Within five minutes, the door had effectively been taped onto the ship. Josh stared incredulously.

"We're going through space with THAT?!" he squeaked, looking faint.

"Yeah. Why are you worried? Duct tape's the strongest thing in the universe, has been for thousands of years. What?" He was gaping open-mouthed at her. Grizund sighed, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and walked to the front of her ship, pressing buttons and pulling switches seemingly randomly as she went.

The ship made various take-off noises.

"What about your flight modulator and landing gear?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"What about them?"

"They're currently strewn all across my yard! A person can get in serious trouble with a mess like that about! Besides, how are you supposed to fly this thing without them?"

She shot him an exasperated look.

"Landing gear is for sissies. That and any star pilot worth his language always has several flight modulators hooked up. You need to stop panicking and sit down somewhere; the g-forces in this baby are pretty strong."

Josh looked around for a safe-looking seat and found none with anything even remotely resembling a seat belt. He tentatively tried to brush a crumpled mass of burger wrappers off of an object that sort of looked like a chair, but stopped when it growled at him and decided to sit in a corner.

"Where are the restraints?"

"Stop asking stupid questions. You can obviously see that there aren't any, and I'm not going to get any just so you can feel safe. The J'Cron will be displeased if you are mentally damaged, so quit freaking out and sit down."

"The what?"

"The J'Cron of Gitle needs test subjects, and your name was randomly picked, so I was sent to deliver you to her."

"What is she going to do to me?!"

"I don't know, probably poke you with things and see if you can eat acid. That's what happened last time."

"You can't bring me there! That's like sending an innocent human being to a horrible death! You, you're killing off your own species!"

"Look, Josh, I'm the delivery person. I don't ask questions, I deliver requested items. For the last time, sit down!"

He continued protesting, quieting only after she threw a broken-off switch in the general direction of the whining. She looked surprised when she found it had hit him, then shrugged and turned back to the controls.

Minax sat in her cell, idly kicking her feet against the floor. Where was Grizund? She should have been there hours ago - her bad-tempered partner always showed up just in time to save Minax from being vaporized, slaughtered, or dropped into boiling oil. Always. Minax, being the brainless git she was, was still fairly unconcerned.

She lay back on the bed and began drumming her feet on the walls. This behavior was rewarded by a glare from her guard, who snapped, "Stop the noise!" She stopped for a few minutes, then began again. This time she earned a prod from the guard's spear.

The guard was nervous. He'd only begun being a guard a few days ago and still hadn't mastered the techniques of barking out commands, frightening prisoners, and generally looking fierce. He tried to glare forcefully at the prisoner, but it didn't work. She should have been cowering on the floor, afraid to make a sound. Instead, she was relaxed and seemingly in a good mood. Minax started to whistle, and the guard promptly rattled the bars with his spear in what he clearly thought was a threatening manner.

The fact that Minax was ignoring his attempts at command rather bothered him. He surreptitiously sneaked a glance at her, then committed a smart about face and pulled out a battered book. Become a Primitive, Pathetically Stupid Guard - The Easy Way! proclaimed the front, with pictures of buff, strong, confident-looking men with spears glowering at small runty prisoners who were shaking. The guard turned to chapter three - The Glower.

The Glower is a move that any guard worth his spear can and should pull off as often as humanly possible. It effectively conveys the following information to said prisoner: 1. I am in charge here. 2. You are nothing more than a quivering pile of meat. 3. I am not afraid to do something to you that involves a lot of pain and the loss of your life. 4. Cower!

The Glower is performed by combining the techniques of the previous two chapters - looming and threatening spear waving. First, you must loom as high as possible over your prisoner. Second, narrow your eyes and scowl fiercely. Third, wave your spear in a manner that tells them that you would love nothing more than to ram it through their lungs.

If you cannot pull off the Glower, you will essentially become a failure as a guard. Your only option is to become the sort of guard that sleeps right next to the prisoner, with the keys hanging from a hook on your belt. This is not effective guarding, but you will always be able to find employment from Dark Lords, as they want the heroes to escape without too much fuss.

The chapter went on to describe appropriate situations in which the glower could be used and how to use it to intimidate impressionable dictators. The guard felt a twinge of despair when he read this - somehow, he didn't think he was quite made out to be mean and threatening and would end up as one of the sleeping guards. He coughed in what he hoped was a frightening manner, slipped the book back inside his armor, and turned around quickly. Minax was looking quizzically at him, head slightly cocked like a stupid puppy.

He glowered. She cocked her head further. He straightened up and tried to look official. More of the head cocking. He sighed.

"Look, do you think I'm frightening?"

"What?"

"Do I seem to be a very threatening sort of guard? I mean, do you cower in fear at the thought of my glower?"

"Let me see it again," requested Minax. The guard complied, adding some of his most threatening and fearful spear waving for good measure.

"Well? Does it strike fear into your very soul?"

"Mmm, afraid not."

The guard wilted. "I try so hard to do this job, but I'm not cut out for it," he sobbed. Minax felt vaguely alarmed. This was not the way guards and prisoners acted, at least in her experience. Her guards usually became fed up with her antics and left the room, not break down and start babbling. She became aware of heat behind her and turned around to see that the cell wall was melting. Grizund, no doubt, finally here to rescue her. When the molten rock cooled somewhat, she could see the familiar hideous cap and uniform and began sliding innocently towards them.

"Er . . . it was sort of threatening . . .?" she ventured as she slipped through the hole and away with Grizund. He brightened instantly.

"Really? You think so? Oh, this is excellent!" he crowed, looking jubilant. "Here, I'm going to do it again! Hey, where'd you go?" he asked, looking around for her. His bright mood died. Now he'd be the one to be vaporized, as the monks had been just about ready to do it to Minax and would be disappointed if they couldn't kill someone. He sighed. At least he wouldn't have to live to be a shoddy guard . . .