4. The Wabbit and the Woollen Gun

The Wabbit defended his staycation valiantly. He slipped aboard the ferry and found a pleasant spot in the open - but he was surprised to hear Captain Jenny's voice issuing from loudspeakers. "Attention tourists. Belay falling overboard. There be monsters." The Wabbit was perplexed, but he swiped his wearable technology app and his fur gave him a hug. He sighed agreeably. His hearing seemed enhanced and spray sounded like gravel as the vessel cut through the water. Sensors activated in the Wabbit's shoulders. An electronic voice whispered. "Unknown enemy to the right." and plunged his paw into his fur. The Wabbit couldn't do a thing. His paw drew out a pistol made of wool and pointed it. The other paw moved like lightning and threw a steady stream of woollen bullets across the Wabbit's chest. The Wabbit loaded and fired. The weapon spat balls of scratchy wool at the unknown assailant and the air filled with rough fibres. The Wabbit heard a lengthy, itchy cry, followed by a splash, followed by a gurgle. The Wabbit's fur gave him another hug. Loudspeakers crackled and Jenny's voice spoke sternly. "Please don't feed the monsters, they get used to it." The Wabbit sat on a bench and fumbled for the app. He knew from his fur that this was the best holiday he'd ever had ...

3. The Wabbit's Wearable Technology

The Wabbit leaned on a fence and waited for the motor ferry that plied the river. His staycation was working. Just waiting in solitary silence placed the Wabbit in a state of near bliss. Even when he caught sight of Lapinette, she dutifully ignored him and he watched her skip along the riverside. The Wabbit breathed deeply and relaxed as people came and people went. But he heard something disturb the water and thought it might be a crane. So he turned and, to his annoyance, saw it was Skratch emerging from an early swim. The Wabbit fumbled in his fur and swiped his wearable technology app. The Wabbit's head reddened and his lettering changed. He wondered if it was enough and he swiped again. His head became rather hot. "Don't I know you?" asked Skratch, shaking water from his fur. "You look a bit like my friend, the Wabbit." The bottom half of the Wabbit's body rapidly became semi transparent but the Wabbit chose to ignore it. Instead, he spoke in a husky voice. "I am one long lost distant cousin of the Wabbit. I am coming from Wabbitland." Skratch smiled. "Pleased to meet you. I'm going to a film festival about lost boys flying kites. I can get you in free." "Uh, uh" said the Wabbit and shook his head. "I want to be alone." Skratch looked down. "Very alone. You seem to be disappearing." The Wabbit fanned his face and puffed. "It is just a trick of the light."

2. The Wabbit and the Staycation

Lapinette's emergency whisky spread warmly through the Wabbit's fur. He steadied himself against a post and waved. "I like it here," thought the Wabbit. Lapinette had suggested a vacation and the Wabbit had joked. But he was struck by one of his more interesting ideas. "I'll have a vacation, but I'll stay right here." Lapinette was delighted and hopped off to the furdressers. The Wabbit clung to the post. The gentle sound of a small motor boat hung in air and vanished. The Wabbit felt soothed and basked in the sun. But his eyes followed Lapinette as she hopped into the distance and he knew the word would get round at speed. Soon, his whole team would pass by and everyone would wave. They would all ask how he was enjoying his vacation. The Wabbit was horrified but he felt a warm glow as the emergency whisky suggested another idea.  He was in a process of preparation for the Wearable Technology festival and for this he had developed a small wearable app which he called Wabstealth. Once activated, the Wabbit became to all intent and purposes, invisible. The Wabbit rummaged in his fur and swiped. His paw began to disappear but stopped when only half transparent. He waved the ghostly paw. The paw reappeared. Wabstealth had never been fully tested and was barely operational - but the emergency whisky thought otherwise. "I'll blend in," grinned the Wabbit.

1. The Wabbit and the Wistful Look

The Wabbit took a short hop and became lost in thought. His shoulder throbbed, Although the anti matter weave in his fur had given him protection, the bullet wound was still sore. The Wabbit felt he should never have taken a bullet at all. He should have paid attention. He should have been more careful. He should have foreseen everything. "Maybe," thought the Wabbit, "I'm getting past it." He ran his paw along the fence. The metal felt pleasantly warm in the sun and he left it there for a moment. Cares dropped away. Time melted. He was aware of something delicious in the air and savoured it. His mind returned to old adventures from the old days. They seemed clearer, simpler, more manageable. "A penny for them, Wabbit!" Lapinette hopped up the ramp and placed a paw on his. "I was thinking," murmured the Wabbit. It seemed to Lapinette that the Wabbit was always thinking, but his wistful look was unusual. The Wabbit turned and hugged Lapinette so hard he hurt his shoulder, but he tried not to show it. "Do you ever think of our old adventures?" he asked. Lapinette looked in her frock for her emergency whisky flask. "No. Too many new ones." The Wabbit smiled. "I was thinking I lost my edge." Lapinette found the flask and opened it. "You're as sharp as ever. Maybe you need a vacation?" The Wabbit thought of all the vacations he'd tried to take and suddenly grinned. "Do I have enough ammo?"

The Wabbit's Safe Adventure Caffè

The team assembled at the Safe House, glad of the warmth that wafted from the kitchen. The Wabbit rested his chin on a paw and smiled. Skratch thought he looked sad and threw a paw across his shoulder. "Now Wabbit, what was that for a kind of Adventure?" Lapinette raised her paw and asked a different question. "What did you do with the Tracker?" The Wabbit managed a shrug. "Nothing," he said, "he will henceforth be known as our Agent Three." Lapinette effected an extremely quizzical look and waited. "He's now my main tree in the forest," explained the Wabbit.  Lapinette sighed and pouted. "You're a very sinister Wabbit." Wabsworth wasn't satisfied with this at all. "But this was a very different kind of adventure." Skratch chuckled and patted the Wabbit's shoulder. "Ouch," said the Wabbit. "Sorry Wabbit," said Skratch, I though it had healed." "Oh, it was only a fur wound," smiled the Wabbit. Skratch raised his paw and launched his explanation. "It was an ambush adventure, a genre that ambushes other narratives like a thief in the night." Wabsworth looked at Skratch. "You're right," he said, "it was different. We didn't see the Tracker for a long time. He had to be drawn out and be ambushed instead." "Who tracks the Tracker?" nodded Lapinette sagely. She turned and gave Skratch a compelling look. "I didn't know you were following me until the last minute." "I'm a cat," shrugged Skratch.

9. The Wabbit and the Ethics of Guns

The Wabbit kept talking as he waited. The drop was in and the Wabbit was in charge but for how long? He was aware of his team and he knew they were all close. With sudden action the Wabbit somersaulted and threw his dirk. The Tracker flinched to the right as it shaved past his head. Then he heard the thud as it stuck in a branch above his head. It vibrated with a twanging sound that might have been amusing in other circumstances. Then it fell. There was a faint splat in the snow. "I was hoping for better than that," smiled the Wabbit. Wabsworth's voice called from the woods. "Everything OK, Commander?" The Wabbit called back. "Have you got the chainsaw?" "Right here," lied Wabsworth. The Wabbit stared at the Tracker and spoke to himself. "What the binky am I going to do with you?" Then he shouted. "Stand down or you're kindling!" The Tracker dropped his rifle and his branches sighed. "I was only doing my job." The Wabbit had a moment of clarity. "You're working for the the Agents of Rabit?" "Is that what they're called?" said the Tracker, "I really didn't like them." The Wabbit relaxed. "Not even their mothers like them." He leaned against a tree and spoke through his 28 teeth. "That's an unethical gun." It was the Tracker's turn to relax. "Do you know of an ethical one?"

8. The Wabbit and Wood for the Trees

The Wabbit had the drop on the Tracker and the Tracker knew it. The Wabbit's dirk dug into his neck but there was no blood. A drop of gooey amber liquid seeped down what looked like tree trunk shoulders. The Tracker was quiet for now and he waited. So did the Wabbit. But he was waiting because he hadn't a clue what to do next. The Wabbit consulted his teeth but his teeth were on edge and they ground like a sandblaster. "What am I going to do with you?" he wondered. "What do you propose to do?" echoed the Tracker. "I'll just hang on here, talking to myself," muttered the Wabbit. He chattered his teeth in a menacing manner. "You might take me down," said the Tracker, "but we have branches everywhere." The Wabbit thought about it. Close by in the forest, the team crept through the snow. "There he is," said Lapinette. "What shall we do?" asked Skratch. "He seems on top of things," said Wabsworth. With his free paw, the Wabbit searched in his fur. "What are you doing?" asked the Tracker. "I thought I had a saw with me," said the Wabbit, "... a chainsaw." The Tracker shuddered. "Maybe we could do a deal." Now the Wabbit's teeth relaxed. "Don't be a sap. Nothing you have could interest me." The Tracker swayed. "I can get you as much wood as you could ever gnaw." The Wabbit heard his team approaching and he smiled. "Looks like the wood is coming ..."

7. The Wabbit and the Foe in the Grass

The Wabbit got there first, but he had to think fast. He rummaged deep in his fur for some kind of weapon and at last his paw touched on a knife hilt. It was a ceremonial sgian dubh left over from the Clan MacRabbit annual picnic and the Wabbit thought it might do. He sliced at the grass. The dirk was more than sharp and the Wabbit's 28 teeth lined up for a scowl. "We kin get him down," said the teeth and the Wabbit agreed. He usually did. "It might be better to wait for the team," said an inner voice. "Opportunity," scowled his teeth. The Wabbit inched forward. The Tracker moved forward too and the grass swayed. The Wabbit suddenly lunged and plunged his dirk into the Tracker's back. Nothing happened. The Wabbit's scowl stretched wafer thin. He kicked the figure with stunning force. Nothing moved. The Wabbit shifted round and peered at the figure. It looked frozen solid - so the Wabbit slunk back into the grass. He flicked wood shavings from his dirk and then he shrugged. With lightning speed, the Wabbit lunged at the rifle, grabbed it and rolled. Birds squealed as the gun discharged. The Tracker stooped to retrieve his rifle and he swung and drew a bead on the Wabbit and fired. But there was no Wabbit there. The Tracker looked down at the empty hole in the snow. Then he felt something itchy. The Wabbit's dirk was pricking at his neck. "I'm in charge," said the Wabbit.

6. The Wabbit's Battle for the Snow

Bullets flew and scuffed up snow. The Wabbit and Wabsworth couldn't see a thing but they dived for the ground and threw the only ammunition they had. Snowballs rained. Lapinette jumped from the bridge and took the full force of a snowball. It had been a long trek through the snow and she stumbled. Thrown off balance, her snazer fired randomly into the sky. A cry of pain echoed from the woods accompanied by a brace of angry bullets. The Wabbit rolled away and crashed on Wabsworth's feet. "Whoof!" For an android, Wabsworth had a handy range of expressions. Snow scattered as they tangled. The bridge creaked suddenly, announcing the end of Skratch's measured pursuit. It was just in time - and he pounced in the air to deflect two more rounds. This time the cry was anguished and their adversary fell silent. "It doesn't like close up work," yelled the Wabbit and he stuck his head up. "But it's tough as old boots!" yelled Wabsworth. He pulled the Wabbit down and it wasn't a moment too soon. A bullet streaked past the Wabbit's ears and dug a deep hole in a rock. "I've got a plan," croaked the Wabbit. Wabsworth kept a foot on the Wabbit's chest and took a chance. He stood as tall as he could and made a circular motion with a single paw. Lapinette and Skratch vanished as quickly as they'd appeared. "Split up," hissed Wabsworth. There was no reply. The Wabbit was already on his way. 

5. The Wabbit and the M.I.Bullet

The Wabbit and Wabsworth were the worse for wear, but they trudged through the snow to low ground. A bridge beckoned. Wabsworth didn't like the look of it and the Wabbit even less. They scanned the territory. "Something over there," said Wabsworth, and he hopped out to make an inspection. He was quickly back. "Dead?" asked the Wabbit. "As dead as they come," said Wabsworth. The Wabbit held up a bullet. "There's another one here." Wabsworth brushed frost from his fur and adjusted his damaged ear. "It's a massacre." "This tracker is indiscriminate," sighed the Wabbit. Wabsworth looked everywhere he could. "Know who he is?" The Wabbit flipped the bullet in the air. "Whoever or whatever it is, this is the latest technology." Wabsworth growled. "By the look of our friend over there, I'd say we got off light." The Wabbit bent close to the snow and sniffed. His ears rotated a full 360 degrees. "It went that way." He held a paw level with the snow. "It's limping." Wabsworth stiffened. "I heard something." Somewhere in the monochrome landscape, there was a flash of red. "More company," said the Wabbit. Wabsworth flinched as the Wabbit's stomach grumbled loudly. "Got any food?" asked the Wabbit. Wabsworth rummaged in his coat. "Two Lurps and a frozen carrot." The Wabbit's stomach groaned. "Then we wait ..."

[LuRP: Long Range Patrol ration. MI: Multiple Impact]

4. Lapinette and the Whispering Tree

The Wabbit was missing so when radio contact failed, Lapinette armed herself to the teeth. The clearing looked clear and she paused by a big tree and listened. She heard a dull thud in the distance. Twigs cracked and snow crunched. She looked up through the branches. The sky looked like shards of breaking ice and she shivered as a wind chilled her fur. Lapinette had always respected trees. With trees you never knew and the branches of the big tree were swaying much too close. "Where on earth is the Wabbit?" murmured Lapinette. "Which one is he?" said a voice that came with a wind from the tree. Lapinette saw no harm in speaking. "The brown one." "There are two brown ones," said the voice. Lapinette's breath froze in the icy air. "How many altogether?" The voice seemed friendly. "Four, not counting you." Lapinette had an idea. "How many following?" The big tree swayed and the wind gusted sharp and cold. "Two, but one of them is a tracker." Lapinette slipped the safety catch on her automatic then glanced behind her - but there was nothing. She prodded the snow with a foot. "How far?" she thought. "Closer than you think," said the voice. A piece of tree bark dropped. Lapinette spotted a track in the snow that wound past the tree and over a knoll. "Thanks," she whispered." "Why are we whispering?" asked the voice ...

3. The Wabbit and the Ear in the Snow

The Wabbit fished gauze from his fur and dabbed at his wound. His radio had taken a bullet. It crackled loudly and the Wabbit stamped on it. He looked further and noticed something. It was unmistakably familiar and he took a closer look. One of Wabsworth's ears lay in the snow. Suddenly it twitched and spoke in the distinctive tone of Wabsworth's android voice. "Over here Commander." "Shsh .." hissed the Wabbit. He cast around. Beyond a snowdrift, he saw Wabsworth's other ear. He hoped it was still attached to his body. There was no sign of a Tracker. But that was a tracker's job and the Wabbit kept quiet. He lifted Wabsworth's ear and whispered. "Wabsworth, can you move?" There was a lengthy pause before an electronic voice said, "I'm stuck." "I'll get you," whispered the Wabbit, "radio silence." He started to hop but for every hop there was a deafening crunch. The forest seemed to answer. Branches crackled. A drip from melting ice sounded like a bullet and the Wabbit froze. He quietly dropped. With his belly on the snow, the Wabbit propelled himself like a bobsleigh. The ice was slippery now and he accelerated. He made headway but the drift loomed like an iceberg - and although he tried to brake, it made matters worse. He groaned as he hit the drift with his injured shoulder and the impact threw him high like a clay pigeon. For a moment he looked down at Wabsworth. Then the ground came up fast ...

2. The Wabbit and the Red Dot

The Wabbit forgot all about his dream. There had been a light fall of snow and the mountain park beckoned. He was due a free day, so he took it there and then. His tram rattled out to Sassi and soon he'd climbed the hill. The path wove its way along the slopes and the Wabbit happily hopped it. Everything was still and snow crunched under his paws. "Fresh mountain air," muttered the Wabbit. Suddenly his fur tickled and he rubbed a spot on his chest, but the itch got worse, so he looked down. It appeared to be a large red insect. He watched it jump around and tried several times to brush it away, but it stayed where it was. The Wabbit slapped a paw to his chest, but now the insect was on his paw. He pretended to stare at the trees and jumped quickly from side to side. "Exercise time!" shouted the Wabbit. Snow fell from a tree somewhere ahead. A branch cracked. The red dot vanished. The Wabbit waited and touched his paws a few times, then he started to jog. He weaved close to the edge of the hill and took a measured glance down. He paused. His ears swayed. Usually the forest was unnaturally silent, but there was something. He heard metal slide. With a sudden lurch, the Wabbit threw himself down the hill. A sharp blow to the shoulder propelled him towards a tree and he hit it with force. Snow fell all around him. The Wabbit stayed motionless but his eyes swiveled. There was something on the ground ...

1. The Wabbit and The Following

The Wabbit was describing a dream and Skratch the Cat could make neither head nor tail of it. "It was this big," said the Wabbit, "and it came slithering after me." Skratch did his best. "How did you feel in the dream?" "Uncomfortable," replied the Wabbit, rubbing at his fur. Skratch waited for more information. "Then a cat came," said the Wabbit, "and it followed the thing that was following me." "Did you recognise the cat?" asked Skratch. The Wabbit shrugged. "No, it was just a standard cat." Skratch's purr wavered slightly. "Then what?" "The cat suddenly jumped on the thing and ate it," shivered the Wabbit, "and it started to glow." Skratch began to feel itchy. "The cat or the thing?" He rubbed at his fur in several feline locations. "The cat glowed," said the Wabbit. Now an image formed in Skratch's mind. Shudders ran up and down his spine and he gritted his teeth. "It's a tracker," he grunted. "And it's coming." The Wabbit looked doubtful. "Coming for what?" Skratch sighed. "Coming for you, Wabbit." The Wabbit waved his paws around. He was suspicious of predictive dreams but he didn't discount them either. Skratch scratched his chest and the Wabbit followed his movements. "You seem to know more about this tracker than me, Skratch. What will it look like?" "Very credible," purred Skratch. "Credible as they come ..."

The Wabbit at the Adventure Caffè

The Wabbit tracked Skratch and Lapinette to a kiosk that catered for the soccer crowd. "Aha!" he murmured to himself. "I thought I'd never find the place." Skratch was delivering some kind of lecture with Lapinette in rapt attention. It was a lecture so passionate he'd heard it from the corner. "I'll ask the question!" interrupted the Wabbit. "So what was that for a gloomy sort of adventure?" Skratch turned and smiled. "I found it optimistic, Wabbit." Lapinette's paw hung artfully from the back of a chair. "I know exactly," she breathed. "It was a neo realist adventure." She paused for effect. "The camera is an idiot. It's what in front of it that counts." The Wabbit stared at Skratch. Skratch stretched and placed a paw across his chest. "Rossellini said that recognition of evil was a sign of hope." The Wabbit cast a scathing glance at the menu. "Then I hope there's a better caffè across the road." Everyone laughed. Lapinette stood and Skratch pulled back her chair. "Rossellini preferred not to work from a script," he purred. "Just like us," chirped the Wabbit. He made a move to leave, but Skratch wouldn't stop talking. "Rossellini used real people, not professional actors." "Just as we do!" repeated the Wabbit. "One more thing," said Skratch, "neo realism wasn't a genre. It was a cultural movement." Lapinette looked at the Wabbit and spoke in a husky Ingrid Bergman voice. "And so are we."