A.W.G.C.
He is not running away. He simply has somewhere to be. The geese disagree, at volume, with paperwork.
A side-scrolling chase where the man being chased never once looks back. You jump, you duck, you keep going, and behind you an entire bureaucracy insists this is a pursuit.
The geese carry the case against him in luggage. As the run goes on they put it down, piece by piece — and the lighter they get, the more of him you can see. Nothing about him changes. Only what is visible does.
Has somewhere to be
White robe, royal purple sash, riding a grey donkey at an unhurried walk. His face is never shown — the upper half stays in shadow, and only a small knowing smile catches the light. Who he is, the game declines to confirm until the very end.
Bureaucratic pursuit
White geese in ill-fitting black suits and crooked ties, brown leather aviator caps with goggles, and overstuffed satchels haemorrhaging documents. Frantic, self-important, absolutely certain. They carry the baggage — and they drop it.