Scootaloo Works at KFC

The restaurant's interior was glad in grease stains from the recent explosion. There had been a fight, and Scootaloo was involved. He couldn't believe it. How could this be? How could his own employee — his favorite manager — fight?

He thought of Scootaloo as his own child. She was the chosen one — the Mighty Chickén. How — how could this have happened? It was preposterous! Velosaourous! Prepostervelosaourous! He didn't know what velosaourous meant, but he assumed was something like a dinosaur -- which is what she had become!

With all the strength and dexterity he could muster, Colonel Sanders dragged himself to the Golden Chicken Leg a foot away from him. He picked it up and looked into his gleaming reflexion. He admired its beauty -- even if the situation didn't call for it, he had to appreciate how well-craft it was. It was his -- or, well, Scootaloo's, to be exact. But he had it! Perhaps he is the one to make everything right? Perhaps Scootaloo is the false prophecy and he is the Mighty Chickén? Perhaps!

No. Again, he loved Scootaloo like his own child. He would adopt her the moment her parents died. He would not assume again that Scootaloo is a "false prophecy". It was unfair of him; unruly; impeccably arrogant. He had to understand why Scootaloo got into a fight.

He stared into his reflexion, hardly noticing the cracks in his blacked-framed glasses. He just wanted it to all be over with — for the fight to end. He had to understand. It was time to learn. With his last breath, he muttered, "Please... help me understand. Help me understand why I shouldn't fire her?"

The room was enveloped in a golden glow.