The Wabbit crept along one of the corridors. It was lined with tape recorders and the many headphones and no microphones were a giveaway. "These aren't for listening to Spitify." The Wabbit always mispronounced things and he wasn't going to change. "This is a surveillance operation," he muttered. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper that echoed down the corridor. He picked up a pair of headphones and examined it. He was puzzled. It was the only pair that was new. A tape recorder began to hum. Spools began turn. He held a speaker up to one ear. He heard voices from a different control room and could catch fragments of an unknown foreign language. He pulled up a metal chair and using the word recognition system implanted in his ears, he concentrated. There were three voices talking about an attack on the Department of Wabbit Affairs. For a moment he thought he recognised the signature accents of the Agents of Rabit. It was when he realised it wasn't a foreign language at all. They were talking in code. He shook his head. He wasn't going to crack it there and then. He dug in his fur and pulled out his automatic. The safety catch on his old gun had broken off so he had to remember to switch this one to fire. He sneaked along the corridor towards what seemed like the entrance to a large bunker area. Saw bright lights and concrete. Heard more voices. He flattened his back against a wall, gripped his automatic - and waited.
