Backstory

The Misguided Missile is a chicken that behaves like a jet plane with the decision-making skills of a potato. The potato, to be clear, is in charge. It was loaded into a launch tube one windy afternoon, given a button it was told not to press, and immediately pressed it. Nobody who witnessed the launch has agreed to describe the aftermath, but the farm’s radar has never recovered its sense of humour.

Fast as hell, dumb as bricks. It screams across the field at speeds that make the other chickens duck, steered by a navigation system that one disgraced technician described as “a potato that took a class.” It does not dodge. It does not aim. It goes, and whatever is in front of it when the fuel runs out is what it hits — a tower, a wall, a cluster of its own allies, the farm door, or, on its proudest day, absolutely nothing at all.

It explodes on impact, which is the only part of its behaviour that is completely reliable. The farm’s only comfort is that its aim is so bad it frequently performs crowd control on the flock’s behalf. The missile does not know this. The missile does not know anything. It is very fast, and it is very free.