Welcome to… The neutral zone.

  “Please be patient, due to the increased immigration traffic there might be slight delays with processing your information. Kindly form an orderly queue along the Great Generica Firewalls and await your turn. Our border control mechanoids are working as fast as they can to accommodate everyone.” Said the voice of Martha, Generica Online’s overseer AI. Though just as before, the message did sound somehow devoid of life.

  "Eh probably it was prerecorded." Herman said to himself. After all, he shouldn't expect special treatment from the chief Generica AI just because he happened to die. In fact, he wasn't special in this regard at the least, judging by the enormous queue going along the towering firewall, separating the retirement world and the rest of the internet.

  “Ah well, I can stand in line for a few hours I guess. I did wait all my life for this, so what are a few hours more.” Herman again said to himself. For a moment he frowned as he noticed he did that allot these days. “Perhaps the solitude is getting to me?” He mused outloud. “Bah, ridiculous, I am perfectly sane. Yes I am, yes I am.” Herman said with a cheerful tone as he stepped off the spawn booth, oblivious to the weird glances from the people around him.

  "Hmm, let's see here…" Herman muttered as he took a look at the tiny piece of digital paper containing his current queue number, that had appeared in his front shirt pocket.

  "Your number issss… 9678…" Said the cheerful, squeaky voice of the paper slip.

  "NINE THOUSAND?!" Herman shouted in indignation.

  "And Six hundred seventy eight, smiley face (: " The squeaky and overly cheerful voice of the slip finished for him.

  "But that is almost 10 thousand people ahead of me! I will die of old age again before I get past the gates! I have to build my hut and get some fish before my family comes for visitation. I can't spend weeks just waiting in line here!”

  "Oh no no no, kind sir. What do you take us for, primordial toasters?" The paper slip said in indignation. “We pride ourselves with the accuracy and precise nature of our border control. No foreign substances or items are allowed in Generica. Thus our border control does a thorough search, combined with probing all the bodies sensitive areas."

  "So, like a drug test or something?" Herman hesitantly inquired.

  "Well… try again, think more: Alien abduction style."

  Herman shuttered at the thought of being probed, digital body or not. Still, he didn't miss the fact the tiny AI veered away from the topic of his wait time. "Just tell me how long do I have to wait to… be probed…"

  "That will be 10 years, 10 months and 9 hours."

  "10 YEARS!? Are you people insane!? 10 fucking years, what am I supposed to do till then?"

  The paper slip in his hands just shrugged noncommittally. “Have some of the complimentary chicken. It's free and plentiful for everyone in the queue.”

  Herman spared a glance at the tables with fried chicken spread at equal distances along the wall, as well as the countless chicken bones and other skeletal remains the people have carelessly thrown around the ground. “Eh, I will pass for now…” Herman replied, his distaste for littering visible even in the digital world.

  "Hey you! New guy, quiet down over there! The show is about the begin." Said a rude burly voice belonging to a fat man wearing a wife beater and a goatee.

  Herman pocketed the paper slip, then looked up the line where the rude fat man along with a bunch of other queue people cheered and hooted as if being at a football match. He followed their gazes, but couldn't quite figure out what the deal was. There was the stone brick fire wall, 500 meters away or so there were the techno sci-fi buildings of the rest of the internet. And in between, a neutral zone of desolated gray desert, containing the queue with retirement immigrants.

  Suddenly, the buildings on the side of the Internet bordering The Neutral Zone sprang to life, their garage doors rolling up. From them shot a variety of post apocalyptic vehicles, as if taken straight from the Mad Dax movies. Their occupants weren't that far off either. Dangling like chimps from the crude metal skeletons of their spiked cars. Rushing full speed at the Generica firewall gates.

  "Yeah! Go go go! Waghaha!" The onlookers around the fat man cheered. All the while exchanging waiting slips and betting on the outcome of the confrontation.

  Zzzap! Boom!

  Herman ducked just in time to avoid his head being taken off by a disruptor beam. He fell flat on the ground, making himself as smaller target as possible, all the while looking at the approaching barbarian horde. It spewed all sorts of techno sci-fi weapon discharges in the firewall’s direction. The mad internet drivers cackling and screaming like hyenas. Getting closer and closer to the gates.

  Then all of a sudden, the gates opened, revealing a tall woman in a raven helmet and black metallic armor, her dark purple cloak flowing behind her. Her expression was mysterious and determined, ready for battle. While her piercing green eyes looked ahead at the barbarian horde without fear, as if she was the heroine of some great mythical saga.

  However, her mysterious image of a badass, was somewhat distorted by her chosen mode of transportation… Arms spread wide apart, she levitated above the ground with grace. Although the four plump chickens clasping her arms were anything but graceful.

  Two at each hand, they desperately flapped their wings with surprising vigor. Throwing a miniaturized cloud of feathers and dust in their path, as well as the occasional clucking and other untranslatable chicken noises.

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  "Yaaaayyyy! Chicken Lady! Chicken Lady! Chicken Lady!" Chanted the small but vocal group of queue onlookers led by the fat man.

  "Gwahahah! I win I win! Pay up losers!" He guffawed with glee as he collected his earnings from his unlucky comrades.

  The said Chicken Lady paid them no mind though. Her entire concentration focused on the barbarian horde which had come to invade her home. She gracefully landed on the ground, assuming dramatic combat pose, while her feathery transports collapsed around her, gasping for air.

  Suddenly her serious badass look and demeanor shifted to one of concern.

  "Oh my gosh Mathilda, Margarita are you ok? Poor babies I am so sorry." The chicken lady said to the two most tired avians. "You too Masha and Mabel. All of you did an amazing job, great hero entrance." She continued, while petting and distributing treats to her exhausted sidekicks. After the short pause, she quickly went back in character. Assuming the dramatic pose and her mysterious challenging look.

  "Stay back, barbarians!" She boomed, her voice carrying along the neutral zone and the wild internet beyond. "Only the worthy are allowed to cross the Great Gates of Generica!"

  "Fuck you bitch!"

  "Yeah, go back to the kitchen where you belong!"

  "Make me a sandwich while you are at It!"

  "Hahahahah."

  The raider horde challenged, dismissing the woman standing in their way.

  "SO BE IT!" The feathery defender declared. Her eyes and hands flaring up with magical green energy. In a blink of an eye the desolate wasteland of the neutral zone sprang into life. Hundreds, no, thousands of chicken skeletons unearthed themselves from the sand. Their empty eye sockets lit with green necromantic light. The undead chicken army leaped for the raider vehicles. Clinging to the metal frames and pecking both the cars and their unfortunate occupants.

  "Gaah, get off me! Nooooo! Fuuuuuuuu!" And other various shouts, insults and pleads for mercy were heard from the now defeated internet pirates. A few of the cars did manage to crash head on at the fire walls, but the magical nature of the barriers fully negated any damage from the crude makeshift vehicles.

  "Retreat, retreeeeeat!" Shouted Chick_Slayer_69, aka: the pirate band leader.

  "We will be back!"

  Peck!

  "Aaargh! You hear me! One day we will breach the walls and…"

  Peck!

  "Generica will be for everyone!"

  Peck peck peck!!!

  "Aaaa!"

  And with that, the day was once again won, the sanctity of the Generica Online world preserved.

  "Yay!" The chicken lady jumped in the air with glee. Completely dropping her superhero persona. "We did great ladies. We are the BEST!" She happily squeaked.

  "Cluck cluck, chirp, squak purrr." The chickens responded, just as equally exited as their mistress.

  "I knew you would like it! Come on, let's go to the bakery. We have earned ourselves some treats.” She triumphantly declared, after which the mysterious woman and her entourage began to slowly walk away towards the gates.

  In the meantime, Herman finally stood up and padded the sand off his clothes. "Well that was certainly an unusual thing to see." He said to himself.

  "Mu grgh mu sdtu!…#$!." The paper slip in his pocket insistently mumbled.

  Herman ignored it, he was in no mood of being reminded exactly how long he had till his inevitable probing. He had other things on his mind. Mainly, when and how, would his bachelor son finally get a girlfriend.

  He was so consumed by his crusade that he spared no time for these things. All his life Herman harbored hope that, SOMETHING would happen, but now Herman was dead and that "something" never did happen. Perhaps it was time for him to give nature a little nudge? That chicken lady was exactly the same mix of crazy and weird as his son was. Perhaps he could introduce the two of them?

  With his mind made up, Herman hastily began to jog towards the gates, with the hope of somehow introducing himself without sounding like a complete weirdo. He had barely taken a few steps when he suddenly tripped, falling face first to the ground.

  "Well well well, what do we have here? A newbie trying to cut in line?" Said the rude Fatman from earlier, a mocking tone and a smirk on his face. "You know what we do with people like you around here?" He then dragged his thumb across his throat in the universal sign for death.

  "Heheheh" The rest of his lackeys mockingly laughed, surrounding the fallen man like feral wolves anticipating an easy prey.

  As Herman stood up and brushed himself off to face the leader, someone from behind kicked his knees, making him bend over backwards and this time fall on his back.

  "Buahaha."

  The group was ecstatic, like crazed hyenas. Hooting and mocking the fallen man as if it was the funniest thing in the universe. This time however, Herman did not try to rise. He just lay still on the ground akin to a corpse.

  "Hey boss, I think you broke him." Someone from the crowd chuckled.

  "Nah, he is okay, none of us can truly die here. He is just playing dead. Aren’t you newbie?" The Boss knelled down and gently patted Herman’s cheek. “Come on old man, just give us your paper slip and we will make your death quick.”

  Herman didn’t move or react to the provocation. He closed his eyes, letting the rush of memories wash over him. He had seen people like this his whole life. Every step, every corner, every community, they were always there.

  They were there when society collapsed, forcing him and his family to survive in a lawless world.

  They were there when nature finally gave up, and everything turned to ashes.

  They were there when… when his wife...

  And now… they were here.

  After a short awkward pause the group began to shift uncomfortably. This wasn't part of the script… The new guy should have been intimidated, begging or trying to run away, not just lying on his back as a puppet with his strings cut.

  Seeing that the situation was getting out of hand, the boss tried to put things back into order.

  "Ohh… the poor baby is going to cry, did we hurt your feelings, did we? Here let me help you out.” The fatman held out a razor-sharp, jagged piece of metal in one hand, moving it with practiced ease towards the downed mans neck.

  “Guys, check his pockets, he has to have the… ARGHGh!"

  Herman’s eyes snapped open, his arm shooting out with lightning speed to seize the fatman by the neck, squeezing him tightly.

  “G..get..h..HIm!" The boss managed to croak to his lackeys. However, before any of them could spring into action and help their leader.

  "Wraaa!" A feral cry left Herman’s throat. Tackling the burly man off him and pinning him down, continuously striking his face with two clenched fists.

  He just kept hitting and hitting the struggling leader, until the struggles eased up, then finally stopped all together. The boss’s body slumping down, his lifeless eyes staring up with horror at the feral man above him. Then, the body began to fade and eventually disappear in a cloud of pixels.

  Breathing heavily, and with a crazed look in his eyes, Herman looked around at the stunned lackeys surrounding him.

  "Who is next?" The man shouted.

  "No way, man, no way. This dude is insane. Crazy bastard!"

  "Quick, everyone. Report him. Yeah, let the mods ban him forever."

  Herman leaped towards the one who suggested that. But it was too late. He found himself frozen mid swing, his fist millimeters away from the lackey’s jaw.

  Then, a list of notifications clouded his vision.

  Someone has reported you.

  Someone has reported you.

  Someone has reported you, times 666.

  Threshold reached. Activity suspended.

  And with that Herman vanished into oblivion. Leaving only a cloud of pixels in his wake.