It’s true what they say about the devil you know. It’s easy to grow stagnant under oppression.
 
The prey of the world all grouped together in a teeming town of furry and feathery friends alike, thriving in safety, shutting out harsh natural hazards and hungry enemies. Roosting together, there was safety. Together, there was prosperity.
 
But hierarchies formed as hierarchies do, and one group of poultry faced persecution. Chickens were mocked. They were devalued. They were bullied and teased and unappreciated. The squirrels and rabbits tittered about the chickens’ weakness – odd, coming from rodents. Turkeys mocked their intelligence— even odder, coming from the dumbest creatures wearing feathers. The other birds chortled about the chickens’ flightless wings. Chickens began to lose their confidence and self-esteem, along with their place in society. They bent under the oppression.
 
But Andrew Beakley did no such thing. He knew the chickens had true potential. Beneath their feathers and wobbling red combs, he knew their chicken chests held hearts of fire. He gathered his fellow chickens, one and all, and proposed a solution.
 
“We know our worth,” he crowed, “We know our strength. It’s time we proved it to the world. Let’s leave and found our own village, where chickens will be appreciated and understood. We will be independent. Let us create our own prosperity!”
 
The rest of the villagers gathered to giggle and chuckle, even fully laugh, at the departing poultry. They assumed the chickens would come crawling back. They couldn’t have been more wrong.
 
Beakley led the chickens to a fertile area near a fruitful forest. They built grub ranches and corn farms. They built fences that almost stood up. They built homes that only blew away once a month. They began foraging and trekking farther than any could have imagined. And their new home was simply named— The Coop.
 
But they weren’t out of the woods yet. Their fellow prey weren’t the only creatures who underestimated them. There was a city of predators. The inhabitants of that city thought so little of the chickens and the Coop that they thought it would be easy to pick them apart for food and fun. Even if the chickens could face the weather and the wild, there were enemies to evade and defeat.
 
But Beakley would no longer be able to help.
 
The first winter, he caught the bird flu. But in his fever, he was shown a dream. When he awoke, he called to his bedside eleven chicks, his wards, all of different breeds and strengths, the strongest of the bunch.
 
“Before, my dream was but words,” he cawed hoarsely, “I wished to prove our strength in the face of hate and doubt... give chickens the confidence to live and live well. But now I have also seen a brighter future in my dreams.” The chicks, usually so loud, listened in solemn silence. “I saw the future, flawless and beautiful. A stable world, prepared for all hardships. Respect won. Predators defeated.” He leaned forward, feathers drooping. “You are the leaders I leave behind. Survive the year. And this future will be truth.” Falling back into the nest, he sighed. “Die, and this was all foolishness. Now, I go elsewhere. Perhaps there, I will finally fly.” And he breathed his last breath.
 
The chicks bowed their heads and when they lifted their eyes, they were filled with conviction.
They had to survive one year. Preferably longer.
Countless dangers.
It had begun.