Reason 5: Fried Chicken That Isn't Crispy!

It was just a normal factory visit, he thought. The machines seemed to work just fine. Boxes of fried chicken were moving along a conveyor belt and the people working here didn't seem out of the ordinary. There was only one strange element to all of this, it wasn't even something major, the corpse of Chucken Freide was just laying in the middle of the entrance. This was totally normal, yepp, nothing's out of the ordinary here.

"Turn on the emergency protection!", it was the same woman who had screamed: "there's been a murder", she had short black hair and was wearing brown trousers with a white t-shirt. Suddenly, a big man hit a big red button. The whole building started shaking and what seemed like large metal plates blocked the windows, exits and everything else that wasn't inside the factory.

Is this really only a fried chicken factory? He noticed that there were four other people standing around the area of the corpse. Excluding himself and the now diseased Chucken Freide, there was the woman who had screamed, the big man who for some reason seemed familiar, a short person with red hair and someone in a black coat with equally as black shades. Everything was apparent to him know, this was a murder mystery!

"Did ya' see how this happened", the short person asked the woman who had screamed. "No, Rebecca, I'm just as clues as you" At closer inspection, there was no obvious reason for death, Chucken Freides tongue was hanging out of his mouth and the eyes were wide open. Yet, there was no blood or any bruises. What had happened here and who had done it?

"Excuse me, but who are you?", the guy with the black shades had been the first to notice Max's presence. "You don't work here... Don't tell me..." Max started to panic, N-no!, you've got it all wrong, I'm just on a factory visit" The man gave him a contemplative look, "there were no factory visits scheduled for today..." "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA", that was an accurate representation of Max's thought process right now. "He invited me personally", Max said as he pointed towards Mr. Freide. "Why would he invite an imbecile like you", it was the woman with short black hair who had joined their discussion.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA", while they were trying to dig out the truth about Max, he was having a little bit of a mental breakdown. "That's not a nice thing say, after all, I'm Mr. Freides long lost son" The woman with short black hair surprisingly enough wasn't laughing at the poor excuse he had just come up with, she seemed shocked. Her gaze, instead changed towards the corpse of Chucken Freide, she seemed angry with the dead body.

"He always was quite the ladies man, I'm not surprised that he would have tried to hide that fact from his wife" The man with black shades grabbed onto the screaming-woman's shoulder, Max quickly reached the conclusion that she had to be the aforementioned wife. "You have my condolences...", this wasn't what he had expected, although, what had he really been expecting?

The big man who had turned on the alarm started walking towards Max and he finally recognized him, it was the same man who had lead him to the job interview. Was he going to kill him?, he quickly found the answer to that question when the man grabbed onto his shoulder and nodded. Then walked back to the corner he had came from. No one seemed to notice, still, that didn't help him calm down. "Puffyplat, do you read me?", it was one of the interviewers who he had completely forgotten about. "Yeah, I can hear you", Max whispered.

"Have you been found out?!" He looked over at the big man and hesitated a bit, "... No, they haven't discovered me, actually, it seems as if someone else did the deed before me" he had no idea how this would all end, nevertheless, surviving was something he had always been good at. "okay, thanks for clearing up the situation, we heard how you avoided suspicion, you truly are a master", Max was now trying to decide if this was all a joke or if he truly had lost his semblance of sanity.

The short woman, whose name was Rebecca, walked up to the wife of Chucken Freide and asked a sensitive question, "are we really sure that he was murdered?" The wife turned her head around, her eyes had a look that screamed something like, "did you just say what I think you said!" The short woman swallowed and continued, "it's just that there's no evidence that he was murdered, maybe it was, you know... Suicide" The wife's eyes now had a look more akin to, "Huh, who do you think you're talking to, I'm an older lady who has just found here husband's dead body and you have the stomach to say that it was" "maybe" suicide!? I swear, you better start explaining yourself soon or this old lady's gonna' kick your ass!!" something like that was what it reminded him of.

He glanced over at the corpse of Chucken Freide to make his own evaluation. The body laid there, still, the tongue was hanging out of the mouth and the eyes blinked... The eyes blinked?, no one else seemed to notice anything strange, this must be the absolute proof that he was going completely mad. "Yeah, that must be it, haha-", the "corpse" blinked once again. "Woho!, I guess it must be the reflexes kicking in, of course, it has to be...", Chucken Freide had now made eye contact with him and was starting to sweat... Oh, I guess he really is alive, huh...

The art of fried chicken is not something that you should take lightly. It's something that we humans have seeked to master ever since we discovered the animal we call, our hearts desires. To fry the chicken or to not fry it, this has never been a question. The real question has always been, to fry the chicken or to not do so and die. Chucken Freide had come to this crossroad of choices and in his fear, had decided to walk backwards instead.

He just wanted to escape from it all, the only problem was that playing dead had proven to be a more difficult task than expected. Another man was currently staring at his sorry face, still, he appeared to be the only person who had noticed the sorry excuse that was his acting. Was this something good, or did it prove just how little he truly mattered to everyone he knew. The answer was an uncertain one, nevertheless, what the stranger said wasn't, "Hey, guys... I think he's alive"