Off the grid in rural Georgia, Rabbit tilted his metal ears for a better signal—but heard nothing.

“What if he got abducted again?” Rabbit whispered as the sun went down.

Bear adjusted his machine-gun arms. “Fox can handle himself.”

Bear never seemed phased and his cool, calm and collectedness made Rabbit all the more skittish. Fifty paces out from an old two-story plantation house, they waited. Watching. Oak trees loomed over them, darkening with the sky. The white building looked abandoned. No different than the other Harris houses around the state. But Fox convinced them this was the right place: the perilous site of the savage man behind animation.

Rabbit titled his ears again. Only crickets mixed with voices in his head and a thumping heart. He stepped away from Bear. Fallen leaves ruffled under his furry feet. Why didn’t Dr. Harris give him paw pads instead? If “enhancement” was truly the goal, why not some extra cushion? Cybernetic ears can’t much help sore hocks.

“Rabbit …” called Bear, crouched behind a red buckeye.

Rabbit ignored him as he crept closer to the house. No lights on. No movement. No sign of Fox.

“I say we abort,” said Rabbit.

“And leave Fox out here?”

“Fox can handle himself. Ain’t that what you said?” Rabbit pointed to the patches of pink light peeking through the canopy. “And the longer we camp out here, the more we endangering ourselves.”

Bear aimed his Gatling arm at the compound, scanning the perimeter. “All I know is we a unit. And we can’t leave Fox behind. If the sun go down and I go with it, so be it.”

Easy for him to talk. Bear was animated with massive arm-cannons. Rabbit’s ears were made for snooping, not shooting. Listening to a drumroll of gunfire while he bled out on plantation grounds didn’t sound appealing in the least. No, Rabbit didn’t sign up for that. He most definitely didn’t choose to be animated. When the three of them broke out of the lab, they did choose to form a unit—the Bionic Reconnaissance Extraction and Recovery (B.R.E.R.) unit—and they vowed to track down their abductor. But that was six months ago. After hitting up twelve Harris houses and coming up empty, Rabbit figured it was high time to stop hopping around blind.

“Bear, you do what you gotta do,” said Rabbit. “I’m out.”

Rabbit scampered away from the house. Bear moved to block him. Rabbit tried to scoot around the big, black mammal, but froze.

And turned around, ears swiveling. “What was that?”

Bear aimed his right arm at the shrubbery. “Rabbit, you might wanna duck.”

“No, wait!” Rabbit pulled down Bear’s arm as Fox burst through the thicket.

“What the hell, Fox?” said Bear. “You almost got your fur blasted off.”

“You saw something?” Rabbit asked.

Fox nodded, but couldn’t talk yet. He hunched over, his breath recoiled. His eyes glowed green, modded with goggles that gave him enhanced vision.

“I …” Fox held up a paw for more time. Finally, he said: “I couldn’t get inside. All the entryways, they covered in tar.”

“Tar?” said Bear.

“Almost got stuck myself.” Fox pointed to Rabbit. “You should go.”

“Why me?”

“You got the hops,” said Fox. “You can jump right over the pits.”

Rabbit couldn’t believe this. He turned to Bear, who shrugged. Rabbit looked at the house. Something felt off about this whole situation. Fox could be telling stories. Maybe he was in on it all this time, and now he wanted to set Rabbit up.

“I’m not hearing nothing from inside,” said Rabbit.

Fox used a leathery leaf to wipe the tar off each foot. “I heard something.”

“But did you see him?” said Rabbit.

“He in there,” said Fox, “trust me.”

Rabbit’s ears flattened.

Fox scowled. “You think I’m telling stories?” 

Rabbit said nothing.

Fox looked at Bear, then back at Rabbit. “Have you forgotten what he did to us?”

“I ain’t forgot,” said Rabbit. “But we been on the hunt for months looking for this man—”

“And I told you we found him!” said Fox.

“Shhh!” said Bear, and for a moment, only the crickets could be heard. Bear sighed and turned to Rabbit. “Look, I know you tired, Rabbit. Hell, I’m tired too, but we can’t just quit, not now, not when we this close. What if he’s kidnapped more animals? What if they up in there right now?”

The scene oozed in Rabbit’s mind: animals, big and small, strapped to metal tables in a bright, white lab as squealing devices outfitted the sedated creatures with cybernetic parts.

Rabbit shuddered.

Bear held up his arms. “We got your back, Rabbit.”

Rabbit eyed the house. “If I’m not back in fifteen, don’t come in after me.”

***

Fox wasn’t lying about the tar. It was yucky, mucky, all over the windowsills, smeared across the floor by every door. Clearly, this pungent paint job was meant to keep something out—or keep something from getting out.

The sun was a sliver away from sleep. Rabbit moved in shadows, one step at a time out of caution, plus he still wasn’t used to hauling mechanical pounds around. The house looked bigger up close, its Doric columns guarding dirty, crumbling walls. Was this the right place? It wasn’t like Rabbit got a good look at the exterior before. He was minding his forest business when hunters trapped him. Next thing he knew Rabbit woke up lightheaded, fur clumped with dried blood. And when he escaped, he didn’t even think about looking back.

And what was he doing now? Looking for revenge? Trying to save some animals he never met? Nobody saved Rabbit when he got trapped and separated from his family. Nobody saved Rabbit when he was getting mutilated. Nobody saved Rabbit.

Fox had suggested the back door. But why should Rabbit trust Fox? Just because they went through the same traumatic trapped-kidnapped-and-forced-to-undergo-bionic-body-modification-against-their-will-near-death experience didn’t mean they should automatically be on the same page. But the front door was too risky, the windows too exposed, so the back it was.

Rabbit used a branch to crack it open. More tar oozed out. He glanced around. Maybe with a running start he might clear this makeshift pit. Rabbit walked backwards, counting one, two, three, all the way to thirteen steps.

Took a big breath.

Then ran.

Hopped.

And flew over the tar.

“What if there’s a trap waiting on the other side?” he said to himself.

But the thought came too late. Rabbit couldn’t turn around in midair. He was up there forever, but landed finally on his sore hocks on the floor inside. Scooted to the wall, ears shifting every which way. Did someone hear him? He sniffed whiffs of mildew and mothballs. Walls blank, rooms occupied by outdated furniture. But no evidence of human presence. Except…

Rabbit pressed his ear to the floor. There it was: a muted squealing. His heart banged inside his furry chest. Rabbit scooted forward, reminding himself to breathe, breathe, breathe as flashes flooded his brain: bright lights, jagged knives, a sticky floor matted in red fur, a team in surgical masks and the pale, portly leader of the predators, who the rest of them referred to as Dr. Harris.

He covered his mouth against the urge to vomit. Why was he doing this? Why should he risk what was left of his life? Or maybe he didn’t deserve to live after being so foolish to get abducted. If only he was smarter, if only he was stronger, if only he was a little faster, he never would’ve ended up in this mess.

“No wonder they call it a harebrained scheme,” said Rabbit to himself.

But he kept on, letting his ears lead the way. The squealing sound grew louder and louder, stealing saliva from Rabbit’s mouth. He paused. Looked behind him, his eyes wide black puddles. The back door was still open. He could make a run for it and never look back. 

But he kept on. 

Don’t run, Rabbit.

One trembling furry foot in front of the other. 

Slow and steady, Rabbit.

He slunk by more rooms full of shadows and empty picture frames.

Be cool, calm and collected, Rabbit.

But Rabbit could never be stoic like Bear. Or crafty like Fox. Rabbit was jumpy. Rabbit was anxious. Rabbit was Rabbit. And by now his so-called unit was probably long gone.

Closer to the end of the hall, the mothball stench yielded to a different smell. Not entrails. Not blood. Paper. It didn’t make sense till Rabbit came to the last room: a library, lit by lanterns. A man in a surgical mask stood before the squealing machine—a bloodless animal-free box with a stack of books feeding into one side and strands of colorful yarn drooling out the other.

Rabbit froze—and the man spotted him.

“Oh, dear Rabbit!” he said. “You gave me a fright.”

Rabbit stepped into the flickering light. “We been looking everywhere for you.”

“Pardon me?”

Rabbit had no plan, but sat upright, front paws ready to box. “Many animals were harmed.”

The man frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You will pay for your crimes, Dr. Harris.”

The man cackled. “Me? Ha! I could only dream,” he said. “I am not Dr. Harris.”

“Stop telling stories,” said Rabbit. “I remember your face. I remember …”

The man pulled his mask down. Was it him? “I work for him, yes, but I am Dr. Spinner.” He walked to Rabbit, squatted and smiled. “And you, my little furry friend, are famous!”

***

Rabbit couldn’t believe his metal ears.

Dr. Spinner was going on and on about the joy Rabbit brought to the world. How Dr. Harris was convinced he failed when the animals he was treating either died or fled. How the government ended the super-soldier contract, disavowing all knowledge of the animation program.

“But in his mournful state, Dr. Harris revisited his notes to see where exactly he went wrong.” Dr. Spinner yanked volumes from shelves. “And in those thoroughgoing reports he discovered a new calling. If he couldn’t change the world by force, surely he would change it by farce!”

With a book in hand, Dr. Spinner dashed over to Rabbit. He flipped through pages of text with vibrant images of rabbits and foxes and bears. 

“Your legacy lives on, my furry friend,” said Dr. Spinner.

Rabbit pointed to a picture of a rabbit. “That ain’t me.”

“Of course it is! Look, you’ve got the same little nose, the same bright eyes. Of course, the ears aren’t the same—Dr. Harris didn’t wish to disturb young readers—but these delightful tales about you have become so popular that Dr. Harris chose to convert them into clothes for children to wear, ergo …” Dr. Spinner motioned to the machine, still slurping in books and spitting out yarn. 

Was it the man’s story or the constant squealing that nauseated Rabbit? 

“He stole my ears.” Rabbit felt a burning in his throat. “He stole my whole life!”

“Stole is such a barbaric word,” said Dr. Spinner. “Was he inspired by you? Positively. Did he learn from you? Indubitably. But look at you: You lack the opposable thumbs to write anything down. All Dr. Harris did was record his observations, to preserve what truth he could.”

“Those stories aren’t the truth!” Rabbit knocked a book to the floor, pushed through pages. “Where’s the part where I was abducted and drugged? Where’s all the blood? This is a lie!”

“I’m tickled pink you care so much about authenticity.” Dr. Spinner caught Rabbit off guard and snatched him up by the scruff. “Now I can make a special edition, one-of-a-kind, truly authentic piece for the Remus collection.”

Rabbit thought about kicking. Rabbit thought about screaming. But last time he tried these things, he ended up with cropped ears. So instead, he pretended to faint.

“Well,” said Dr. Spinner. “I expected you to put up more of a fight. No matter.”

Dr. Spinner shut off the machine. He removed the books from the feeder and strapped Rabbit down, feet first, with knotted rope. Rabbit hoped the man wouldn’t see the hairs standing on their ends. He had to act fast, but didn’t know how. What would Bear do? What would Fox do?

“Don’t you worry, my furry friend,” said Dr. Spinner. “I just want your little rabbit feet to make a lucky sweater for my son. What’s left of you will be free to go.”

He switched on the machine. The squealing almost made Rabbit jump. Dr. Spinner pressed Rabbit’s shoulders, pushing him into the box. What would Rabbit do? Right as he was almost there, Rabbit leaned forward, jabbing one of his ears into feeder.

Dr. Spinner jumped back. “What in God’s name?”

The machine tried to eat the ear, but the metallic material jammed the gears. Smoke erupted. The squealing reached a high pitch before shutting off completely, but now Dr. Spinner was the one squealing: “My yarn machine!”

Rabbit pulled his head back, his metal ear all dented and deformed. He chewed on the rope and broke free as Dr. Spinner lunged at him. 

“You little fool!”

Rabbit jumped. He hopped through the strands. Enraged, Dr. Spinner followed him, but tripped on the yarn. Tangled up, he stumbled into the wall, knocked over a lantern, igniting a fire.

“No, no, not the books,” he said. “Not the precious books!”

Rabbit still felt his head rattling. Which way did he come in? He darted down the hall as Dr. Spinner chased him. The back door was still open. Rabbit ran, ran, ran.

Took a big breath.

Hopped.

Flew over the tar.

And landed right in Bear’s outstretched machine-gun arms.

“I gotcha,” said Bear.

“He’s right behind me!” said Rabbit.

Right behind him, Dr. Spinner shot through the hall, but forgot about the tar and slipped.

“Don’t trip,” said Bear. “Fox handled that.”

Dr. Spinner came sliding out the door and stopped on the grass, covered in the sticky substance. He tried to get up, but fell down. He crawled out of the pit and as soon as he did, there was a snap. A rope net sprang up from the earth, suspending Dr. Spinner in the air.

Bear put Rabbit down. Fox emerged from behind the massive oak. The trio stood together and stared at the trapped and flailing man covered in tar.

“People are expecting my shipments.” Dr. Spinner sputtered from his perch. “They’ll come looking for me and when they do you’re all gonna suffer, do you read me? You’re all dead!”

Bear lifted one of his arms. “Shut your mouth or I’ll give you a new one!”

Dr. Spinner shut his mouth. 

Rabbit never saw Bear get that provoked before.

“That’s not Dr. Harris,” said Fox.

“No, it’s not.” Rabbit glared at Dr. Spinner. “But he can lead us to him.”

“Us?” Bear inspected Rabbit’s mangled ear. “Does that mean you riding with the unit?”

“If this whole tar situation taught me anything,” said Rabbit, “we have to stick together to survive.”

“Right on,” said Fox tapping his goggles. “I’m seeing a bright future ahead of us.”

“Me too,” said Bear.

“Me three,” said Rabbit.

The unit turned to watch as flames gnawed the white building, devouring the Doric columns and bringing the old two-story plantation house to its knees.