The film was nearly finished and the Wabbit and Lapinette joined Wabsworth on location. "Just a few pick-ups," murmured the Wabbit, who was producing. Some of the cast cavorted around in their costumes and make up. Everything seemed chaotic but was all going ahead according to plan. "Where's our director, Skratch?" asked Lapinette. "He's with the second unit," smiled Wabsworth, "He couldn't bear to leave it alone." Lapinette giggled. A zombie touched the Wabbit on the shoulder and he jumped. "Do you think the audience will get the inference that it's the tourists who are the zombies?" he said. Lapinette advised him not to care. "Leave that to Skratch to analyse." Wabsworth waved to the camera crew. "Do you think it will win any awards?" The Wabbit was horrified. "I certainly hope not." Silence ensued. "That's the spirit Commander," shrugged Wabsworth, "That's for the cinephiles." The sun beat down on Rome. It was only May but the Wabbit considered changing his fur for something more tropical. "I know a bar near here," he said. "Wabbit it's only 9.30 am," gasped Lapinette. "I'm Scottish," said the Wabbit. "We don't have rules about drinking." Wabsworth shrugged. "I'll join you." Being an android, he had tuned his algorithms to synthesise alcohol at any time. "Where is this bar?" asked Lapinette. But the Wabbit was already on his way and so they fell in behind him.
