The Internet's Worst Chicken Flew into My Mouth

“Don't eat another one.” A young woman in a gray coat watched the crushed packet in his hand. Her face was paler than his rent notice. “That isn't a vitality factor,” she said. “It's looking for a host.” Chen Nuo looked down. The yellow chicken had grown to the size of his palm. It tapped its pot-lid helmet, and gold words returned. [FLAVOR LOAN ENDED.] [RIDDLE-HEART UNSOLVED. BACKLASH BEGINNING.] In the distance, a roast-chicken delivery van drove past. Chen Nuo's legs began to tremble again. He looked up. “Does being a host include roadside assistance?” The woman glanced at smoke rising from his ruined slippers. “Evidently not.”