Hackery Farms #0 - Echoes of a Father's Oink

Three years after his father's final livestream, Percy Jr. stood atop the muddy hill, tablet in hoof. Below, the animals stumbled through another attempted viral dance, just as they had in his father's day. Some things never changed at Hackery Farm.

Percy Sr. had been the star of the barnyard—a pig with a glossy coat and a mischievous glint in his eye. He sported a flamboyant, bleached mane—the result of Leonard, the farmer's son, attempting to woo Susan, the butcher's daughter. The plan failed spectacularly– Susan would never talk to Leonard again; but Percy wore the look with ironic pride.

He was the tech guru of the barnyard. With Wi-Fi reaching even the furthest pen, Percy orchestrated live-streamed mudslide competitions and viral pranks that always ended in chaos. Millions tuned in to watch the mayhem unfold. Petunia, his sweetheart, gazed at him with adoration, though she never quite grasped his obsession with the digital world.

One crisp morning, whispers of dread swept through the farm—the butcher was coming. The animals scattered like leaves in a storm. Feathers fluttered, hooves clattered, and the pungent smell of fear hung heavy.

Percy stood firm in the center of the pen, a sly grin playing on his snout. Petunia waddled over, her belly round with piglets, eyes wide with worry.

"Percy, please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Think of our babies. We need to hide."

He winked at her, tapping his tablet. "Don't you see, Petunia? This is our moment."

From behind a hay bale, Benny the Goat peered out, his beard tangled with straw. "You're nuttier than a squirrel's lunch, Percy! This isn't a game!"

Clara the Cow chewed her cud thoughtfully. "Oh dear, he's got that look again," she sighed. "Always the showman, never the survivor."

Percy hit the "Go Live" button. "Friends, followers, lend me your ears!" he proclaimed, his voice echoing through the barnyard and cyberspace. "Today, we make history!"

The butcher's truck rumbled up the dirt path, its engine sputtering like an old man's cough. The metallic clang of the gate swinging open sent a shiver through the hiding animals. In the live chat, a flood of shocked emojis and flashing alarms filled the screen.

As the butcher stepped into the pen, Percy strutted forward, his hooves leaving perfect imprints in the soft earth. He saluted smartly. "🫡," he said, eyes gleaming with mischief.

The butcher paused, knife in hand, eyebrow arched. "Well, aren't you a bold one?"

"🕊️," Percy replied, tilting his head—a symbol of peace.

"What's with the emojis, pig?" 

Percy grinned wider. ("Going viral beats going quietly.")

The butcher, unimpressed, led Percy away. The screen went dark as a chorus of gasps echoed from devices worldwide.

The story spread like wildfire. Humans argued across platforms—was he a hero or a fool? How had a pig mastered emoji-speak? The memes multiplied, the hashtags trended. #PigsInTech. #PercyVsButcher. #LastLivestream.

In the quiet of the barn, Petunia watched her tablet's screen flicker with tributes. Benny started a philosophical blog in Percy's honor that no one quite understood. Clara hosted daily moo-ditation sessions dedicated to his memory. The chickens attempted a memorial dance that ended, as always, in feathers and squawks.

Months later, amidst the falling leaves, Percy Jr. was born—a spitting image of his father, right down to the mischievous twinkle. Petunia watched him grow, her heart catching whenever he picked up a tablet or started organizing the younger animals for "content."

She saw Percy Sr. in every livestream idea, every digital scheme, and worried quietly.