The first time it happened nobody was quite sure what to think of the limos full of gangster chickens flooding into every entrance of the club, purposefully throwing their rose colored sunglasses down onto the damp pavement, the murmuration was clucking excitedly to one another in anticipation of the bloodbath that was soon to follow.

Someone had fatefully crossed the powerful cabal of chickenbot timeship pilots and so was about to die a gruesome death of a thousand cuts as their titanium beaks and talons shredded the flesh from their bones.

Room by room the chickenbots stalk their victim through the clubs complex maze of rooms, quietly surging through the hotel restaurant and into one of the many exclusive luxury private rooms upstairs. By repeatedly jumping back into spacetime, through methodical trial and error, they found the exact moment in time when their prey made the decision to wrong them, leaving him only moments to contemplate the implications of his unfortunate act of defiance.