Chapter 1: This chicken isn’t normal WIP
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Work in progress draft of A Beast Tamers Crazy Chicken by Leimrat. Originally posted on Leimrat.blogspot.com. Please do not repost.
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It’s early morning. The sun beast has woken and, with its scorching rays, painted the night sky amber. The egg layers—shocked, confused, and dramatic as ever—have decided to scream at the top of their tiny bird lungs to let me know it’s morning. Again.
“SKRAAAWWWWK-K-K-KKKRRZZZHHT!”
*sigh* Ugh.
Which, in early morning speak, translates to: “Damn it, Cluckers, shut up.”
Sitting up, I wrestle with the thought of letting the wild beasts take care of my little avian noise boxes. Imagining a steel-jawed fox chomping its stupid head off almost sends me back to dreamland—if it weren’t for the fresh wave of panicked bird shrieking.
“It’s tempting. Very tempting.”
With a groan, I finally hurl my legs out of bed. The price of those little mother cluckers echo in my drowsy brain.
I shuffle forward, eyes closed, trying to see how long I can go through the day without opening them. Maybe I’ll learn to farm in my sleep at this rate—
“OUCH!”
The crusty glue of sleep rips my eyelashes off as I blink and squint at my arch enemy: the dresser.
If it weren’t worth at least a dozen cluckers, I’d ask Dale to have his pig roast the thing. I swear I’ve seen Dutchess breathe fire.
Perched on top, rattling from my knee strike, is a massive mirror. Carved into the wooden frame above it reads: “My boy Steven.”
It always makes me think of Dad.
…I wish he was still around.
…
He would've killed Cluckers by now.
I snort a laugh and cough mid-chuckle, rubbing my greasy brown hair with one hand and staring at my sunburnt reflection.
Ding!
“Task complete: Hair brushed.”
The muffled voice of the Task Dungeon device drones from my pocket.
I fish out the little metal box—antenna, screen, rivets—and open the notification. The animated background shows a stone arch cut into a mountain, with a logo above:
Task Dungeon (pitchfork through the letters)
One task down. I don’t want to count how many left.
> Hair brushed +100 EXP
> Wash hands +100 EXP
> Brush teeth +150 EXP
> Morning pee +50 EXP
Nice. Almost Level 125.
At the bottom of the screen, a golden EXP bar gleams between Lvl 124 and a glorious expanding menu full of lucky draws, discount coupons, and other sweet, sweet reward systems.
Dad would’ve roasted me if he knew I needed a video game to get chores done. Though maybe he’d shut up if I came back with a truck load of coin and a barn that doesn’t leak.”
After a few more notifications, I make it to the kitchen in my semi-clean overalls—totally not covered in muck if you ignore the smell—and pour myself a bowl of Smiley Cat cereal. The orange box with the cool cat mascot has been my go-to breakfast since forever.
I plop down and turn on the news, only to catch the tail end of an ad. Groaning, I reach for the remote—then freeze when I catch the last few sentences:
“…so if you're a licensed beast tamer with a unique beast variant, come on down to Eclipse Research Center and you may just win the MILLION COIN PRIZE!”
*PFFFT— COUGH COUGH*
“HOW MUCH?!”
My eyes drift down to the overdue bills piles up infront of me, anyone who saw it would think I’m playing a knock-off version of Jenga.
I could be free of this place. Retire young. Build a barn. Buy premium cereal.
*Ding!*
“License accepted.”
*Ding!*
“Congratulations on reaching Level 125!”
*Ding!*
“Beast Tamer Mode unlocked.”
*Ding!*
“Switching to Beast Tamer Mode…”
“…Wait, wha—?”
*Ding!*
“Welcome Package received!”
Oh. A welcome package?
I lick my lips and whip open the rewards menu.
‘Welcome Package: Beast Tamer Beginner’
[Claim] | [Info]
CLAIM! I smash the button like my life depends on it. Please be discount coupons for Cool Cat cereal… Please. Daddy needs his stackables.
*Ding!*
“Package delivered.”
*SCREEEEEECH!*
The sound of tires skidding outside has me freezing mid-chew.
*Step. Step. Step. Step.*
*Step. Step. Step. Step.*
*KNOCK KNO–KNO–KNOCK KNOCK*
…
Not even three bites into my cereal and the world’s already demanding things from me.
I shuffle to the door, spoon dangling from my mouth like a domesticated raccoon. I already know who it is. Probably Dale, yelling about “Cluckers initiating air strikes on his clothesline” again.
I yank the door open, halfway into my usual:
“Look, if this is about the chicken that pecked your pork roast, I told you—”
I freeze.
It’s not Dale.
It’s a group of suits and sunglasses. All identical. One’s desperately trying to look casual while slapping a crooked, freshly printed Task Dungeon sticker onto the side of a matte black van. The logo is off-center and looks like it was drawn by a caffeinated toddler.
“…You’re not Dale.”
Clipboard Guy rushes forward, already sweating like I just accused him of treason.
“Greetings, citizen! You’ve been selected for a Welcome Package courtesy of the Task Dungeon Initiative™! Please sign here and do not question the van.”
I immediately question the van.
*SMASH!*
All of us whip our heads toward the kitchen and it’s smashed window.
Standing on the table, with a black triumphant claw dunked deep in my cereal bowl, is my demonic chicken: Cluckers.
Her lazy, deranged eyes drift vaguely in my direction—one might be staring at my soul, the other seems locked on the ceiling.
She slowly raises her wet, milk-dripping claw toward her open black beak.
This psycho is about to eat my cereal.
My free cereal.
“Sorry, I gotta… yeah.”
I scribble something across the clipboard—can’t read a single letter without squinting. If I could read fine print, I might’ve noticed the wall of legal jargon waving my privacy rights goodbye with a smiley face and a corporate signature.
But I can’t. So I don’t.
And now my wiry framed chicken is spooning cereal into her brown feathered face like a goblin god.
“CLUCKERS! STOP EATING MY CEREAL! I GOT THAT BOX FREE WITH TWENTY STACKED COUPONS!”
She spreads her massive wings and tenses up, one eye twitching toward the door and the other… possibly in another reality.
“SKRAAAWWWWK-K-K-KKKRRZZZHHT!”
“Not that way!”
I dive like a goalie, arms wide, but the bird flaps over me running towards-
“THE DOOR!!”
Clipboard Guy freezes. He’s staring into Cluckers’ crazy eyes like he’s seen the void staring back.
“D-JU—HAAARGH!”
He drops the box and slams the door shut just as Cluckers smacks into it.
*BANG!*
The door shakes. There’s a soggy claw-shaped dent in the wood, dripping milk.
The damn bird broke it. Again.
I pick myself off the floor, spit out my spoon, and sigh.
Yep. That’s the rest of my morning sorted.
At least there’s no blood this time.
*Ding!*
“Avian-type Beast registered.”
*Ding!*
“Congratulations on registering your first beast!”
[][][]——[][][]
“D-JU—HAAARGH!”
A matte black van idled in Steven’s driveway.
Inside, Marv typed furiously on a battered laptop in the passenger seat, squinting at the code.
“Done! Files downloaded to the database,” he grunted, scratching his grey mustache.
Before he could stretch, Lark reached across him and snatched the laptop.
“Why’d it take you so long? Gimme!”
Marv gave the pink haired girl a sour look. “Back in my day, this was top-of-the-line tech, y’know.”
“Yeah—like thirty years ago,” she mumbled, already pressing play on the footage from Grant’s glasses.
“Whoa! Did you see that stare-down? That’s one scary bird. Look at those eyes—it’s gotta be a psychic variant, right? How’d it even manage that?!”
From the driver’s seat, Tess running her fingers through her blond pony tail snorts. “More like psycho variant. Did you see the boss’s face? Lark, clip that and send it to me—I want blackmail leverage for overtime.”
Lark cut her off “Wait—pause! That claw strike… there’s some kinda white aura around it. Marv, do we have a better angle?”
Marv grumbled. “You’re lucky I got camera three to even sync. I’m doing the work of three people over here.”
He leaned out the window, watching Grant, their sweaty dark haired team lead, still standing awkwardly on the doorstep with the dented package.
Grant looked at the door.
Then at the doormat.
Then at the claw-marked dent in the panel.
“…Should I knock again?” he muttered, trying to flatten the crumpled corner of the box against his chest. It didn’t work.
Marv shouted from the window, “Boss! Tess is ready with the notification prompts. Do we tag it in the system? Lark says it’s a variant for sure.”
“I—TOLD YOU I DON’T INTERACT WITH THE BEASTS UP CLOSE!” Grant barked, red-faced with the lingering shame of being outmaneuvered by a chicken.
He sprinted back to the van, yanked open the rear doors, and climbed in with dramatic outrage.
“Marv! Some surveillance expert you are!”
“Hey, the feed worked—barely,” Marv muttered.
“Tess! Tag that feathered demon into the system. It’s clearly unregistered.”
“Already on it,” Tess said, thumbing out messages on a work phone. A moment later, Steven’s device lit up inside the house:
‘Avian-type Beast “Cluckers” registered.’
‘Congratulations on registering your first beast!’
Grant turned to Lark. “And you! Figure out what kind of attack that was. A mere chicken shouldn’t have that kind of aura.”
Lark beamed, flipping open her sparkly notebook—“MY DIARY” scrawled across the cover in glitter. It was plastered with ERC League stickers.
“Yes, boss! Its abilities have clearly mutated. Classic beast biology, I didn’t expect a farm bird to turn into a combat specialist, but—look!”
She handed him the notebook. Grant squinted at the labeled sketches and rapid-fire notes.
“We don’t have a stat code for ‘possibly cursed,’” he said flatly. “Put ‘erratic behavior.’ And why does it say Milky Aura?”
“Because of the glowing white claw!”
“That was milk, Lark. It stepped in milk.”
“Who's to say it didn’t enhance the strike?” she insisted. “I swear, It did glow.”
Grant pinched the bridge of his nose. “Whatever. Tess, is it all registered?”
“Yep!” she chirped. “Also, nice reflexes throwing the box, sir. How much overtime do I get if I don’t send the footage to the supervisor?”
“Tess, you’re this close to being fired.”
“Okay, boss,” she said, grinning.
[][][]——[][][]
Inside…
Sat at the dining table in the kitchen, while I’m holding the Task Dungeon devise level, is Cluckers licking her foot, her legs bound in loops of thick, un-peckable rope that took me way too long to figure out.
“Scanning…”
After the registration message popped up it said it needed a scan to continue. Although if I had a choice of what beast I’d pick it would be Essie, I love that damn cow.
“Scanning…”
That reminds me, I have to feed everyone still.
I wonder if pro-league beast masters have to do this kind of stuff too? I assume a game like this would perfectly reflect reality in every way, right?
“Scan-“
Scan complete!”
Finally!
On the screen the archway lights up and a digital version of Cluckers flies out with [Cluckers] above her head and a little golden V next to it.
Tapping it, a new screen appears.
Beast summary:
[] [] [] [] [] []
[Affiliation] Beast Taming License #31451
[Name] Cluckers (accepted)
[Age] 8 years
[Sex] Female
[type] Avian
[Stage] Base stage
[Variant Type] Psychic, Dark
[Temperament] Erratic Behavior
[Traits] Crazy Eyes
[Abilities] Milky Aura, Triumphant Claw. -Insufficient data for details-
[Description] A farm beast bred for combat and most likely cursed in the head.
-Notable Stats-
Insanity: A+
Uncanny evasion: B-
Peck velocity: A+
Friendliness: F
[Condition] …stable?
[] [] [] [] [] []
I look up at the freakish bird sucking its toes on my kitchen table like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Ahem.”
Cluckers paused, tongue still extended.
“B’kauk?”
Her eyes shifted—one dilating to follow a fly buzzing past, the other locked directly on him, trembling with quiet fury.
“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you!? You haven’t laid a single egg in months! What’ve you been doing out there?! Other than building your insanity stat like it’s a competition.”
She’s been like this for years. Useless for eggs. Aggressive with the cows. And now she’s apparently a psychic-dark combat variant with a stat sheet that reads like a medical diagnosis.
*Clap* “HEY! pay attention when I’m berating you!”
Her fly-following eye refocused on me. The other never stopped staring. It never blinked.
I sigh and scroll back through the summary.
Psychic? Aren’t they supposed to be… smart, for that? Like—don’t they read minds, levitate spoons, say cryptic things in your head?
Dark I get, I don’t even have to question it, I bet I’d find this thing performing dark rituals to the moon beast praying for the sun beast to never wake up.
I shiver.
“And what kind of stat page tracks insanity but not intelligence?”
I gloss over the A+ insanity stat for obvious reasons.
That peck speed though… what’s that even for?
“Cluckers peck!”
…
She didn’t move. Claw stuck in her mouth, she cocked her head to the side, confused.
Her scarier eye darts a few directions before focusing on the rope, while the other looks at me—then the rope—then back at me.
“No way. I’m not letting you go, not until I’ve locked away what’s left of the cereal!
Did you really have to tear the whole box apart?”
Cluckers says nothing. Her whole vibe says: Yes. Yes, I did.
I lean back in my chair, frowning “Okay… how do I test this without her cooperating”
*Ding!*
A notification lights up.
“New task: Raise your beasts friendliness stat!”
Task Manager
New Task: Raise your beast’s friendliness stat!
Your beast has low friendliness, which is likely to lead to uncooperative behavior. Raise the friendliness stat by 1 letter grade to maintain a stable relationship. A tamer and their beast should be the best of friends.
[Reward]
20 Smiley Cat discount coupons
I look at Cluckers.
…
I look at the task
…
Cluckers looks at the ceiling
“Nope. Not possible. A whole letter grade! Are you kidding me! We’ve been mortal enemies since I was ten!“
Even back when dad still run the farm he’s send me to deal with Cluckers.
*Ding!*
“Task updated!
[Reward]
40 Smiley cat discount coupons.”
…
That’s two free boxes.
…
…
“Hey Cluckers, buddy! Let’s get that rope off, huh? Your wings must be aching right“
She blinked
“I tell you what —if you do what I say for the next week I’ll give you a bowl of cereal! Got it?”
“B’kauk!!” She raised two claws—still in her mouth—and wiggled them.
“You already ate mine this morning. But fine—you’ll still get the bowls.”
“SKRAAAWWWWK!”
She launched up onto one foot and the ropes slid down like she’d never been tied! With a practiced hop, she flapped her wings and glided onto my shoulder, nuzzling my cheek in forced friendliness.
Reluctantly, I scratch her little crest—just like dad used to do.
*Ding!*
“ Friendliness upgrades from F- to F!”
Alright… time to see what milky aura actually does.
Back in the van, liaison agent Tess pumps her fist “manipulation successful!”
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Work in progress draft of A Beast Tamers Crazy Chicken by Leimrat. Originally posted on Leimrat.blogspot.com. Please do not repost.
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