The war between the Terrans and VERS lay on a standstill, with millions lost to what should have amounted to small arguments. But the world does not let a rude word stay as it is, turning that hostility from the tongue into fury on the battlefield. Countries perish over a word. Civilizations fall from a social faux pas. These tragedies happen in the world at every moment, and any way to stop the madness cannot be brought through rational discussions. Irrationality cannot be countered by formulas or structure, but by the very madness such irrationality boils down to. Only then can the dilemma of warfare be cracked open.
Two young pilots from each side, Inaho Kaizuka and Slaine Troyard, stood with their faces directly at each other in a dark corner of the Earth. This was the moment that could alter the future humanity had given itself.
"An ace pilot?!" Slaine said. "How the Hell could someone not old enough to drive anger the Martians this much?"
"When has age defined the abilities of a combatant?" Inaho said with nary a movement from his face. "Remember how past wars were fought with young men in the middle of pubescence."
"Yes, but you… you managed to kill some men 2 or 3 times your age. What kind of soldier are—"
Before Slaine could finish his sentence, a rumbling sensation thrust forth in his body. Various hormones were acting to give this boy pain in his sphincter.
"Not now!" he screamed in his head. The body was too weak to hold it in for this match. Stronger men could have withheld that struggle, but he was neither strong nor a man. The feeling extinguished all logic from Slaine's being, forcing him to unzip and drop his pants down, revealing hairless, slender legs that could rival the beauty of most women, and squat like a chambermaid. Inaho stared in blank confusion as his enemy looked as if he was publicly defecating, but that would be too simple. Instead, Slaine's smooth anus released a large, speckled, oval-shaped object onto the ground. It fell to the floor, without a crack or any sign of damage. Slaine relaxed, taking seconds until realizing what he had just done in front of Inaho.
"Oh look," Inaho said. "An egg."
Slaine gasped, unable to say anything before trying to recompose himself. He could not show weakness to the enemy. He had to make at least a decent façade of sportsmanship in this moment of release.
"After all this time," Slaine said. "Somebody knows my secret."
"I do not understand what you mean by—"
"I'm half-chicken… on my mother's side. There, are you happy to figure out who I truly am?!"
The memories surged back to Slaine's consciousness as he slowly relived the shame of being a mutant. That one talk with his father on a stark night when he revealed what Slaine's true lineage was.
"I'm so sorry," his father said. "Oh God, what kind of man am I?"
"Daddy, what's wrong?"
"'Daddy.' Jesus, you couldn't twist the knife any further, could ya?!"
"I-I'm sorry."
"No, don't be sorry. It's all my fault! If you had any other father, you'd have nothing to be sorry about. You could have a happy family, with no questions about where the Hell you came from. But instead of that, you're stuck with me, the chicken-lover."
Mr. Troyard was a depraved young man, always sodomizing any hen he could find. Normal women could never do it for him. Only the rich cloacae of a chicken enriched his daily routine. It offered reliable durability while coming from a creature too dumb to say no to Troyard. For him, these birds were heaven incarnate. Some of his best memories came from eating out a surprised chicken while the rest of the flock stared in animalistic confusion, letting his tongue slither down their intestines back and forth until the chicken would crave to be beheaded already. He thought he could act this way without repercussions, because a chicken would never be able to confess to its master. Those delusions were broken when he went into a chicken coop one night and discovered a baby with his hair, his eyes, and the faint smell of birdfeed.
That became his desire to leave Earth for Mars, not for politics or honor, but to escape a society that would shame his half-chicken son. Surely, Martians would see through such depravities and welcome the boy as one of them, but they could never view the boy as a regular human. He could live amongst the other Martians, with only a few instances of bullying such as having a beak glued to his mouth, but the rest of VERS cast discerning eyes and an eternal realization that he simply should not be. His existence symbolized horror for the human race, horror over mankind's foray into evolution.
The lost Princess Allusia discovered his vice, and wished to establish peace between Earth and Mars in the hopes that this new race of Chickenmen could open up new potentials for both worlds. They will serve as the symbolic phoenix, ushering in an era of peace through fusing sentient beings with domesticated livestock. This would become the ultimate way to prove there was understanding between Earth and Mars, that if a man could love a chicken, then these two planets could surely get along. Sadly, the military realized how stupid that sounded and tried to murder her before such a future could even dream to be realized.
"And now you know," Slaine said. "You know I'm a mistake that never should have come in this world."
"Is that so?" Inaho asked. "Because your talents interest me."
Slaine's expression turned sour. "Wait, what do you mean by talents?"
"I like eggs."
"…okay, what of it?"
"No, I really like eggs. Eggs are my reason for existing. The very concept of eggs fuels my actions, on the battlefield and at the kitchen."
"…you're shitting me."
"And your egg must become my latest delicacy."
"You mean?"
"I want to cook it."
"B-but, we're alone here. There's no way to c-cook anything for miles!"
"The lack of a grill is no concern, for your derriere will suffice."
Inaho grabbed Slaine, forcing him on all fours as the scared chicken-boy could do nothing to fight back. Inaho focused on the boy's buttocks, examining the white texture and spotless cheeks. Just as Slaine was able to relax, he felt a huge sting coming from his buttcheeks. Inaho had slapped his ass with gusto, and he kept on doing so with each hit harder than the previous one. Slaine wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so much, but to do that would only pour salt on the mental wounds he had suffered at this moment. The slaps became faster with each strike, turning Slaine's ass into a scarlet ground that would look no different from the land of Mars. Once Inaho was finished, Slaine burst out a whimper. His behind ached and throbbed. But most importantly, it became hot.
"Now the butt is hot enough to fry the egg," Inaho said as he took Slaine's egg and cracked it in two with the smallest touch of his hands. He poured the egg's fluids onto Slaine's ass, with steam rising forth as soon as the two subjects touched each other. The buttcheeks' temperature quickly solidified the egg, with the yolk becoming a perfect circle amongst the freshly fried whites. Inaho had hoped to scramble the egg or do something experimental, but the lack of kitchen utensils prevented him from accomplishing anything but a regular over easy egg. Next time, he thought to himself.
As the egg finished cooking, it slid off Slaine's ass and dropped onto Inaho's hands. He savored the touch, with constant thoughts rushing into his mind as to what this concoction could do to his tongue.
"A-are you done?" Slaine asked. "Because this is the second most horrifying thing that's ever happened to me."
"Yes, it is done."
Inaho took a chunk of the egg and swallowed it without biting, patting Slaine's head for a satisfactory egg. To poach such a rare subject cast an even rarer smile on Inaho's face. Slaine involuntarily becoming a benedict to his nation proved fruitful, boiling down to a net plus for the ace pilot and an omen let to prosper. Bedeviled this action may be, Inaho's mind considered this all a good day's work. The Sun will rise to his side in this event, and no enemies to pickle the night away. He hoped that this experiment would be the first of many, as he had always wanted a live subject for his egg escapades.
When Slaine tried to pull his pants back up, Inaho slammed him to the ground.
"Enough!" Slaine yelled. "Let me go!"
"More," Inaho said. "More."
LET BREAKFAST BE DONE, THOUGH THE EGGSHELLS FALL.