Little Caesar dreamt that he was flying. He could feel a sense of weightlessness and the breeze that ruffled his hair and snapped at his toga. That’s strange, he thought. He had no recollection of falling asleep or even of going to bed.
Why was he dreaming?
It all had something to do with chickens, though he wasn’t sure why. Lots of chickens. Swarms of them swooping out of the darkness. The roar. The ferocious clucking. The sensation of running, and then blackness. That was all part of the dream too, wasn’t it? That he was attacked by those flying menaces?
Little Caesar felt himself hitting the ground.
I must have fallen out of bed, he thought a little sluggishly. That’s rather embarrassing. It was a good thing that he was alone in his tent…
He opened his eyes.
He wasn’t in his tent, and he wasn’t alone.
In fact, he was surrounded.
Little Caesar quickly sat up to take in his surroundings. He was in camp, but not his camp. Gradually, his eyes rested upon the stern continence of the Burger King. At his side was Prince Carl. The combined armies of Dryvthru formed a circle around the one-time leader of the rebellion.
“It was nice of you to drop by,” the King said wryly.
“How…?” Was all that Little Caesar could get out. Beside him, he heard groaning. Jersey Mike, Dunkin, and Krispin were also regaining consciousness.
“Aw man,” grunted Jersey Mike, rubbing his head. “What hit me?” He glanced around and took in his predicament. “What…Aw, ya gotta be kiddin’ me!”
Dunkin and Krispin merely whimpered.
“Our chickens did us the favor of transporting you here,” continued the King.
“I hope you had a chance to enjoy the trip,” added the Prince. “It may be the last thing you men enjoy for quite some time.”
As if to punctuate the point, a large, and rather mean-looking, chicken suddenly fluttered down into the circle and began to strut menacingly. The four villains jumped.
Little Caesar wasn’t quite sure, but he could have sworn that he heard the chicken growling.