Getting out of the residential area was the easy part.
I want to believe there were no creatures around because almost no one lives here.
The other option is that the "white friends" have already swept through everything that moved…
In fact, I saw pools of fresh blood on the street. Yeah, maybe moving isn't such a bad idea.
Beyond my zone, the city is an all-you-can-eat disaster buffet: half-collapsed buildings, shattered storefronts, and everything decorated with streaks of blood that look like they were painted by an abstract artist in a delirious state.
Not a single human body in sight. Which means: someone ate them.
Instead, there are weird critters in droves.
Giant cockroaches, dogs bloated like gym balls, cats that look like malnourished tigers, birds the size of cheap drones, and rodents that should have never left the sewer.
The standard fauna of the new normal.
On the news, they say the army is suppressing all this, but according to my sources (the city's rat kids), there isn't a single green helmet for miles.
The only certain thing is that most civilians ran towards those so-called "safe zones."
"Safe zones"... a nice marketing name.
Those who arrived on time are probably chewing on stale bread behind fences. Those who didn't… all-you-can-eat buffet.
By the way: the news crews never get out of the helicopter, do they?
The only ones you see fighting are isolated cops against critters too big for their handguns, civilians with garden machetes, and humans against humans over bags of rice.
Lovely view.
In the outlying districts: no army, no police.
Paradoxically, that's where the rat kids are safest.
—["Helpaaaaaa, gyaaaa, please gyaaaaaaaa!"]
A scream cut through my thoughts.
I looked towards the avenue: a man was being dragged by the leg by a giant rat.
Giant by rat standards: like a large dog, whiskers wet with blood and yellowish eyes fixed on its prey.
The guy was a mess, flesh torn open in several places—probably courtesy of the same rat.
But I can't help but notice that his injuries aren't actually that serious, not to the point of being overpowered by a single rat.
Smells like a trap. And not exactly the trap of a clever rat.
["Please, kid, help me…"] —he begged me.
I looked at him for a second and then raised my gaze to the rat.
Our eyes met. It wasn't hostility, but rather, an awkward recognition.
I gave a slight nod; the rat responded with a short squeak, almost a greeting.
Then it continued dragging its prey without bothering me.
["Wait! Help me!"] —the man sobbed.
Help you? And how does that benefit me?
Even if I believed your little act for a miserable second, Mr. "Fresh Meat": this isn't my territory.
I'm not going to meddle in another hunter's business.
I'm a rat kid with principles.
And to top it off… you're not even a woman. You expect me to risk my life for free?
The rat kid doesn't negotiate like that.
As for your true intentions, the rat kid doesn't care.
["Now then, should I stop by city hall to complain on my way home?"]
Now I have to walk the whole way because the damn public transport isn't working. Can you believe this shit?
A fucking apocalypse and everyone slacks off.
Damn public inefficiency.
The path remained just as picturesque: cockroaches fighting overdeveloped cats, mosquitoes piercing dogs like straws with legs, giant grasshoppers landing inches from me.
Me?
Dodge, hide, keep moving. That's my style.
In anime, the journey to the shelter is always adorned with cherry blossom petals.
I get radioactive bugs. Pure elitism.
Then it appeared.
A chicken.
A giant one.
Almost two meters tall, feathers ruffled, eyes red like headlights.
If KFC saw this, they'd be rubbing their hands together already.
The chicken spotted me and cackled, then charged in my direction.
["…Seriously? A chicken?"] —I muttered, backing away.
I jump out of the way with a clumsy but effective leap.
I rolled to the side; the rush of its wings grazed my back.
["Damn you, KFC, I'll turn you into a family meal."]
Cursing the rude bird, I pulled out the kitchen knife and lunged at its side, stabbing with force.
It bounced off….
The damn cheap knife didn't even harm a feather. I'm never buying anything made in China again.
"Kuuu!"
["Mister Chicken… GUKKK!"]
The chicken, apparently annoyed by my comment (or because I tried to stab it, who knows), turned and launched a peck that forced me to use my forearm as a shield. The impact left my arm tingling up to my shoulder and sent me stumbling back.
[KU KU KU]
The damn chicken started to cackle while bobbing its head up and down.
It was obviously mocking me.
But it quickly charged again.
[KUUUUUUU]
It screamed with a frantic charge.
["Laugh at this."]
I said as I readied my air rifle, aimed, and shot its left eye.
[KUUUUUUUUUUU]
The stupid bird shrieked in pain but immediately flew into a rage and charged again.
[KU KUUUUUUUUU]
["Don't you squawk at me!"]
I dodged its charge and, of course, shot its other eye.
[KUUUUUUUUUUUUU]
["kekeke, stupid food. GYAAAAA"]
I mocked the chicken, but the bastard kept charging and almost ran me over.
Then it entered a state of blind rage (literally).
Blind and furious, it began to destroy everything around it, flapping its wings like a tornado of feathers and blood. I didn't stick around to watch: I ran for my life while the bird crashed into posts and walls.
["You're lucky I'm not hungry. Another day, maybe I'll come back and turn you into a kebab."]
I said and ran without looking back.
["I'm definitely telling the Rat Kid Network about this when I get home."]
-------------------------
JOURNAL ENTRY NO: 356
SCIENTIFIC NAME: Gallus ferox
REGIONAL ALIASES:
Venezuela / Colombia (Rural Areas): Gallo de Pelea (Fighting Cock)
American Midwest: Cornfield Strider
Nickname: End of the World KFC
NICKNAME (ASTRAD): Barnyard T-Rex
📊 THREAT ASSESSMENT
CLASSIFICATION: TERRITORIALIS
They rarely move after making a nest with their mates. The number can vary as can the size of the nest. They will still move if resources in the nest begin to run low.
DANGER LEVEL: ORANGE (Severe)
A textbook example of a 3-star threat and the official graduation exam for any rookie. It's a "kill or be killed" situation through and through: its short-range strength and speed are overwhelming, and missing your shot or letting it get close is a death sentence. The difference, as always, is your gear. Bare-handed, you're dead. With a firearm, it becomes a trophy and dinner. Think of it this way: it's a bull with feathers, less patience, and a beak designed for perforation.
AGGRESSIVENESS LEVEL: TERRITORIAL
It doesn't hate you personally; it just hates that you're breathing its air. It will attack any intruder in its nest or feeding area without warning or provocation. It doesn't negotiate, it's not intimidated; it just wants you out, preferably in several pieces.
🧬 COMBAT FILE (TL;DR)
TYPE: Beast
AFFINITY: Earth / Physical
🎯 PRIMARY WEAKNESSES:
Exposed vital points (eyes), Sudden, metallic noises (disorientation), Low-traction surfaces (ice, mud, wet pavement).
📌 KEY STRENGTHS:
High-impact charge, Piercing beak (perforates light sheet metal), Explosive leap to close distances.
📚 ORIGINS AND COMPARATIVE MYTHOLOGY
Paleontology: It is a clear descendant of the prehistoric "Terror Birds" (Phorusrhacidae). It's a living fossil that decided extinction was optional. Its hunting method and bone structure are nearly identical.
Zoology: Its kick and aggressiveness are reminiscent of the modern cassowary, considered one of the world's most dangerous birds. The Gallus ferox is, essentially, a cassowary with a severe inferiority complex and access to steroids.
Gamer Culture: It's the classic "Axe Beak" from fantasy bestiaries. A non-magical but physically formidable enemy, designed to punish low-level adventurers who stray too far from the main path.
Astrad's Analysis: People argue if it's attracted to red objects. No, you idiot, it's not a bull. It's attracted to you moving like scared prey. It doesn't give a shit about the color of your discount t-shirt as long as you still have a pulse.
📝 DETAILED ANALYSIS
PHYSICAL AND SENSORY DESCRIPTION:
A flightless terrestrial bird of alarming proportions, reaching up to 2.3 meters in height. Its body is a mass of pectoral muscle and legs that function like pistons.
The plumage, in shades of brown and ochre, is dense and matted, offering surprising resistance to superficial cuts. Its reptilian-looking head moves with quick, erratic spasms, and its orange eyes are devoid of any emotion beyond a predatory fury. The thick, sharp beak is its primary weapon.
It emits a pungent odor of a damp chicken coop, wet feathers, and the metallic tang of blood. The sound of its claws scraping on asphalt is unmistakable.
BEHAVIOR AND ECOLOGY:
It establishes its nest in abandoned buildings or areas of dense vegetation within a territory that can span several square kilometers. It is an aggressive omnivore that devours everything from grain and garbage to small animals or careless survivors.
It is not a pursuit hunter; its tactic is ambush and an explosion of violence. It remains hidden until the intruder is at an optimal distance (10-15 meters) and then launches a short, brutal charge or an explosive leap. If the prey survives the initial attack and escapes its "red zone," the bird usually loses interest, returning to its lookout post.
☣️ PROTOCOLS
RECOMMENDED ENCOUNTER PROTOCOL:
DO:
Keep your distance.
If you are in its territory, move slowly and predictably.
If you don't have firearms, aim for the eyes with whatever you have.
Bang metal objects together to create a sharp noise that will disorient it for a few crucial seconds.
DON'T:
Try to feed or "tame" it.
Run in a panic at close range (this triggers its finishing instinct).
Engage it with melee weapons unless you have no other choice and your will is in order.
FIELD REPORT (Incident Report from a Delivery Run - Rural Zone 7):
"A delivery guy in a rural town was on his route on a desolate road. He claims the bird appeared out of nowhere and leaped at him from the thick woods, pecked the motorcycle's trunk, and knocked it over. He was saved because the bike's alarm went off on impact; taking advantage of the chicken's disorientation from the noise, he got his bike and took off. The delivery guy gained an anecdote and a phobia."
🎤 ASTRAD'S NOTES (THE ONLY SHIT THAT MATTERS):
"Gallus ferox." Sounds like a Roman gladiator, but in hick Latin, it just means "fierce chicken." And it is. It's proof that evolution sometimes gets drunk and designs with its elbows. The apocalypse took away our fast-food restaurants, but in exchange, it gave us the KFC that eats you.
This is a Barnyard T-Rex.
The fucking "Gear Check" of Level 1.
The mini-boss the designer puts in to make sure you didn't show up in your underwear.
It has two attacks in its rotation: 'Charge with Stun' and 'Peck with Bleed DoT'. End of story. It has no other mechanics. It doesn't need them, because it will probably kill you with the first one.
Without a weapon, your combat plan boils down to "I hope it trips." And to the geniuses who suggest hunting it for a feast: sure, go ahead. But just know that to roast a two-meter chicken, you first have to be the bait. Good luck trying to pluck something that uses your intestines as a necklace.
< Chat Channel: #Rat_Kid_Network >
(After Astrad returned home)
RatKid1: [Attachment: Gallus_ferox_N356.pdf] If you see a chicken the size of your ego, aim for the eye.
RatKid2: LOL, a chicken attacked you? Rat Leader, confirmed: you're farm lunch.
RatKid6: I don't like KFC, can we grill it?
RatKid4: Missing data: safe distance, peck angle, post-charge recovery time. Update the file when you can. (lol)
RatKid8: Serious question: is it good with BBQ sauce? (lol).
RatKid3: Don't underestimate large birds. I've seen cassowaries break ribs. Good job with the eye.
RatKid10: We're forgetting the important thing: Rat Leader was almost killed by a chicken. (lol)
RatKid2: (lol)
RatKid4: (lol)
RatKid6: (lol)
RatKid8: (lol)
RatKid1: You sons of bitches.