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ChickenRoad is a barnyard heartbeat in a single hop. A small chicken, eyes sharp, stands before a patchwork of sealed squares. Some hide warm gold; others, a sudden end.
You shape the risk. A whisper of traps for a soft strut, or a field crowded with teeth for a prize that climbs with every dodged bite.
Hop. Square turns—safe. Hop. Safe. The winnings swell. One button pulses: “Grab.” Hit it and the chicken darts back, full. Wait, and the next square bursts into down and silence.
Cluck. Straw. Pulse. Then the field lies quiet, waiting for the next feathered dare.
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