Chapters 1-3: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/8658419/
Chapters 8-11: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/9356903/

Due to an uptick in interest in the adventures of Harry, the Incredible Hare, here are the next four chapters of his origin story. Take your choice: download the .docx, or read it here in tiny type with all the italics (that provide a great deal of nuance to the story) gone...

The Incredible Hare
By Joe Strike

Chapter 4
Collision Course

Professor Burnside felt particularly important right about now. Gorge Road was blocked by two police cars, their roof lights spinning and blinking as if a carnival were taking place. Police officers stood by their vehicles, turning back the crowds trying to visit the Gorge. Splashes of color flew across peoples’ faces. Abrupt, staticky police radio calls clashed against loud music pouring out of open car windows. At random moments, far-off flashes of lightning turned the trees into forbidding silhouettes against the sky. The entire scene had an urgent, giddy and slightly unreal air.

Burnside inched his car through the traffic. Night had fallen and he worried he would be late for his rehearsal. Still, all this hubbub, this foofaraw was for him and his science demonstration! The professor allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smile – which grew into a big goofy grin when the crowd began to recognize him. “There’s the professor…look, that’s him!” (The local newspaper and TV stations had been publicizing the event all week long.) The various murmurs grew into a chant. “Burnside! Burnside! BURNSIDE!”

The professor leaned out his open window and magnanimously waved to the onlookers. He beamed as the crowd cheered in response. Their cheers grew louder and louder – until he drove into one of the parked police cars.

CAR-RASH! The cheers were suddenly replaced by the sound of crunching metal. A moment of shocked silence followed, interrupted by a few isolated snickers. Fortunately, Burnside’s car had been barely crawling along; the damage was mainly to his pride and his left front fender. He noticed one of the police officers waking towards him. It was Jean ‘Smitty’ Smith, usually the town’s most easygoing law-enforcement official. She didn’t seem particularly easygoing at the moment. The professor began praying she wasn’t about to throw the cuffs on him; there was a TV show waiting for him, for goodness’ sake.

“Officer Smith, I’m terribly sorry, I’m running late for the –”

Her stern expression gave way to a friendly smile when she recognized Burnside. “Don’t give it a second thought professor, we’ll just bill you for the damage later. The show crew radioed us to let you through as soon as you arrived.” She called to one of her fellow officers. “Eddie, move your car – it’s the professor!”

Smitty climbed into her vehicle. “Professor, where’s that assistant of yours? You know you work him too hard.” She and Harold’s mom had been friends in college; now that he and Cindy were on their own she tried to keep a watchful eye on them from a distance.

“Hopper? Nonsense, woman – I’m giving his disorganized life structure. I’m teaching him the value of discipline and hard work – I’m a role model.” Burnside thought he saw Smitty roll her eyes as she backed out of his way. The crowd began cheering again as he drove up the hill. The professor waved without looking back, his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.

Chapter 5
Down in the Basement

For the third time since Burnside’s departure, Harold checked the building entrance to make sure it was still locked. (It was.) He headed to the laboratory and without turning on its lights, entered the room.

The dim light streaming in from the hallway barely illuminated the computers and test equipment filling the lab. The darkness posed no obstacle for Harold, who was familiar enough with the room to find his way through it with eyes closed. Light pouring out the lab’s windows after hours might attract unwanted attention.

Harold crouched down and opened the safe under the counter. The combination was the same as the lab’s zip code, which made it easy to remember.

The safe was empty except for a plastic case with the word PROTOTYPE written on top. Harold removed the container and closed the safe, then popped a pair of tiny hearing aid batteries out of a charger on the countertop.

Harold pocketed the batteries and headed towards his workspace, a converted storage closet (or as Burnside called it, Harold’s ‘alcove’) near the back of the building. He opened the bottom drawer of his file cabinet and removed a similar but smaller case from behind the last folder.

He looked at the locked door just across from his alcove. Well, he tried to rationalize, I did promise the professor I’d test the Brainstorm one last time…

Harold opened the door with one of the keys Burnside had given him. His shadow fell onto the first few basement steps before it was swallowed by darkness. He had been down these stairs a lot lately, but tonight they seemed spookier than usual. Harold pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath and turned on the light.

The staircase descended into a small room with cinderblock walls, a surprisingly tiny space barely larger than a closet. Apart from the stacked cartons at the bottom of the steps the room was completely empty.

Harold locked the door behind him and went downstairs. He picked up one of the cartons and tossed it aside. It was empty and all but weightless, in spite of the ‘HEAVY MACHINERY – DO NOT LIFT UNAIDED’ sign taped to it. The other cartons all bore the same message and were likewise empty. Harold had labeled and stacked them against that particular wall in case Burnside ever decided to visit the basement, which he never did.

In a few seconds the cartons were out of the way and the door they had been hiding stood in plain sight. For a second Harold thought about calling the experiment off… No! He wouldn’t let his nerves get the better of him. He had thought it all the way through. Nothing could possibly go wrong… could it?

Harold put his hand on the doorknob. Slowly, as if expecting the bogeyman to jump out and yell ‘boo!’ he opened the door to the sub-basement. The lights were already on and there wasn’t a bogeyman in sight.

This was the lab’s real basement. The tiny one Harold was standing in descended from the center of the sub-basement’s ceiling, held in place by a pair of girders running from wall to wall just underneath.

The staircase in front of Harold was twice as long as the one behind him and descended to the all but empty space below. Once upon a time a great deal of electronic equipment had filled the room. All that remained of them were a floor full of dark scuff marks and unused electrical outlets. An array of large machines still stood against the far wall, just beyond an oversized console lined with buttons, switches and gauges.

Next to the console was a small folding table and chair Harold had brought from home. In the center of the table stood a large metal cage, and in the center of the cage was a large white and cinnamon-colored rabbit.

The rabbit’s name was Fluffernutter.

Chapter 6
A Gorgeous Night

Professor Burnside drove his big car up Gorge Road. A thunderclap sounded somewhere in the distance. There was no sign of a TV crew anywhere. Burnside was wondering if he’d made a wrong turn when he noticed a bright glow through the trees ahead.

The road emerged into a clearing and ended in a parking lot. Beyond it were picnic tables, restrooms and a playground, then an open field leading up to the bridge spanning Gorgeous Gorge. Its official name was Harris Gorge, in honor of the first person to discover (and unfortunately fall into) the chasm. Its spectacular 50-mile view drew tourists from all over the country and quickly earned it its better-known nickname.

Cars no longer crossed the bridge when they came to it; years ago traffic had been re-routed onto a new ground-level highway, and tonight the bridge was the site of a live television broadcast.

Burnside pulled into the last empty parking space. He marveled at the beehive of activity in front of him. Huge floodlights were hanging from cranes, giving off enough light for a major league night game. Vans were parked everywhere, with thick black cables snaking between them. Men and women hurried back and forth, briefly talking with one another then separating to repeat the process with others. Workers carried and connected equipment with a combination of focus and nonchalance that said they’d done this hundreds of times before.

A lanky man with thinning hair and tired eyes approached Burnside. “Professor Burnside? I’m Charles Christopher, the show’s producer. So glad to have you with us.” He gave Burnside a weary smile and shook his hand.

Burnside felt a rare twinge of sympathy for someone else; Christopher seemed to have the weight of the world (or at least all of the equipment spread out in front of them) on his shoulders. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Christopher.”

“Please, call me Chris, everyone does,” he said. “But I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of time. If you come with me, Nicky wants to say hello before we prep you for the broadcast.”

“Nicky?” Burnside asked.

“Nicky Nesbitt, the show’s host,” responded Chris. “I used to host and produce back in the old days. Nicky took over on camera after I sold the show to the network. More seasoned talent, you know.” He took a wistful look at the activity surrounding them. “Things were a lot different back then…” Chris fell silent for a moment. “You’re not familiar with Nicky?” he finally asked Burnside. “He’s one of the best-known people on TV.”

“I’m afraid I don’t watch a lot of television, Mr. Christoph– Chris,” Burnside corrected himself. “But when I saw your show’s demonstration of centrifugal force a few months back, I said to myself, ‘now here’s a science program that knows how important it is to educate the public.’”

“Science program? Professor, I think you may have misunderst–”

“Is that the professor?” a hearty voice boomed out. “Professor Burnside, how are you doing, glad to see you.” An athletic-looking man with chiseled features and a politician’s smile was walking towards him, arm extended. He grabbed Burnside’s hand and squeezed hard, harder than the professor expected. Burnside grimaced and hoped the man would think he was smiling; he knew show business was no place for weaklings.

“Pleased to meet you Professor, I’m Nicky Nesbitt, host of America’s Most Dangerous Amateur Stunts.” Burnside chose not to admit he had never seen Nesbitt before and waited for the man to let go of his hand. “I can’t tell you how glad we are to have you here tonight,” Nesbitt continued. “The lawyers won’t let me.” Releasing his grip, Nesbitt delivered a friendly cuff to Burnside’s shoulder that stung nonetheless. “No, I’m just kidding, glad to have you aboard.”

Burnside smiled weakly, massaging his sore shoulder with his sore hand. “Not at all, the pleasure is mine. I just hope America is looking forward to my demonstration of the principle that –”

“That’s great professor,” Nesbitt enthused, “but we have to put you in your harness before we go live.”

“Harness?” Burnside asked. No one had mentioned anything about a harness before. He saw Chris take a half step back, his eyes downcast.

“For your own protection of course,” Nesbitt said, “for safety’s sake.”
Burnside swallowed. “Of course, for safety’s sake – you don’t want me falling off the bridge by mistake.”

“Oh no, not by mistake, absolutely not,” Nesbitt assured him. “You’re going to jump off, once we give you the word.”

Burnside tried to say ‘what?’, but only managed a tiny little squeak. “Nicky, I have to check the camera set-ups,” Chris said in a quiet voice. His eyes were focused on the electronic tablet in his hands. “Good luck Professor,” he added and walked away.

Nesbitt took no notice of Chris’s departure. “Professor, no one’s going to watch you throw a couple of rocks off the Gorge Bridge – that’s a big-time so what.”
Burnside tried to say they were spheres, not rocks, but Nesbitt was on a roll.

“The public wants to see thrills, danger. You know – people staring fate in the eye and saying, ‘go ahead, take your best shot.’” (But most of all, Nesbitt thought, they want to see people risking their lives just to be on TV.) “You want to prove that two bodies of different weight fall at the same speed. Take it from me, three bodies will be three times as interesting, especially when one of them is yours! This is your chance to put your lab – and yourself – on the map. Don’t throw it away. Isn’t it worth taking a risk or two to get the public’s attention? And if you don’t mind me reminding you, the money isn’t half bad either.”

Burnside stared at Nesbitt, speechless. Even so, Nesbitt could see the wheels turning in the professor’s head; if he listened closely, he could even hear them squeaking. Whew, he thought, Burnside’s taking the bait. The network wouldn’t like it if I let my closing stunt walk off the show. I’ve already used that back-up tape of college kids stuffing jellyfish into their underwear three times. Of course, I could blame it on Chris again. I just wish I could get him out of my hair once and for all…

Nesbitt turned his attention back to Burnside. “Don’t worry Professor. We’ve covered all the bases: five cameras on the bridge, three at the bottom of the gorge, even a ‘copter-cam – the whole shmeer and then some.” This information didn’t seem to reassure Burnside, so Nesbitt continued. “All our safety equipment is checked, double-checked and then checked again by seasoned professionals. I promise you, nothing is going to happen tonight. Nothing, except great television.”

Chapter 7
Once Upon a Rabbit

It all began the night Fluffernutter showed up on the Hopper doorstep. Harold was sitting in the kitchen, engrossed in a science journal when heard a strange noise. This was strange in itself; when Harold was reading it normally took a freight train passing by at close range to get his attention.

It was a quiet yet persistent scratching noise, a curious kind of sound that only something interesting could be making. Harold put his journal down and went into the living room. Cindy was sprawled on the couch, watching several planets exploding at top volume in one of her animé videos. Hyper-quantum bombs were detonating by the dozens, but the strange sound wasn’t coming from the TV set.

“Did you hear a noise?” Harold asked his sister.

“Of course I heard a noise; how could anyone not hear that? Don’t worry, the Brutarians won’t get away with it. Queen Valorica still has a few tricks up her sleeve.”

Harold shook his head. “No, not that. It’s a –” Just then he heard the sound again. It was coming from the front door. He put his hand on the doorknob, wondering for a moment how he could hear something so quiet over the din of Cindy’s movie.

Harold opened the door. No one was in sight. He felt something press lightly on his foot and looked down. A rabbit was staring up at him, its right front paw resting on the tip of his left shoe.

“Cindy, it’s –” Harold started to say. Before he could finish the rabbit skittered past him and jumped onto the couch next to his sister.

“Friend of yours, Harold?” The rabbit twitched its nose at Cindy. It was completely white except for a thatch of cinnamon-colored fur between its ears. Harold closed the door and walked over to the couch. “Never saw him before – honest.” He patted the cinnamon patch on the rabbit’s head and smiled; there was something comforting about the way its fur felt on his fingertips.

The rabbit slid out from under Harold’s hand, leapt over the back of the couch and headed into the kitchen. Harold and Cindy stared at each other, then followed suit.

The refrigerator door was wide open. The rabbit was standing on its hind legs at the open fridge as if he belonged there. His paws rested on the bottom shelf while he nibbled on a head of lettuce directly in front of him.

“Did you leave the door open?” Harold asked his sister.

“No, I closed it after I took my goop out – remember?” She pointed to a jar of marshmallow Fluff on the kitchen table. “I was going to make a sandwich when the show ended.” Another explosion sounded from the living room, followed by heroic yet ominous music. Cindy shrugged. “Sandwich time.” She went to the cupboard and took out a half-empty jar of peanut butter.

Harold put some lettuce in a plate for their guest while Cindy gathered up the rest of her sandwich fixings. She glanced at the head of lettuce her brother was returning to the refrigerator. “Y’know, I could’ve sworn that lettuce was way in the back of the fridge before that rabbit got here ... all wrapped up, too.”

Cindy went to work on her favorite post-animé snack. She spread the snowy white cream atop a slice of white bread. Next, she stuck a long-handled spoon into the peanut butter, scooped out a healthy dollop and snapped her wrist as if she were casting a fishing rod. The clump of peanut butter flew off the spoon and landed dead center atop the cream-covered bread.

Cindy was about to crown her creation with a second bread slice (she liked the bulge the peanut butter made in the middle of the sandwich) when she noticed something. “Check it out Harold – they’re both brown and white!” The peanut butter was more a dark gold and the rabbit’s patch a rusty brown. Even so, there was indeed a resemblance between the sandwich and the rabbit. “You’re a Fluffernutter, furball,” Cindy teased the animal. “Better stay away from sandwiches if you don’t want a bite taken out of you.” If rabbits were capable of giving dirty looks, Harold could’ve sworn his sister just got one.

The rabbit stuck around, and the name Fluffernutter – or ‘Fluff’ for short – stuck as well. As it turned out, Fluff’s arrival and his help-yourself dinner were just the tip of the iceberg lettuce…

At first, Harold and Cindy tried keeping Fluff in a cage at night. Harold carefully checked its door clasp to make sure it was securely shut, wished the rabbit goodnight and went to bed. The next morning his alarm clock buzzed at its usual time. Eyes closed and still half asleep, he fumbled for the clock’s snooze button – and his hand landed on Fluff’s fur.

Harold woke with a start. He looked at the night table next to his bed: Fluff was nowhere in sight. Harold put on his glasses and slid his feet into his bunny slippers. (Cindy had bought them as a joke the day after Fluff’s arrival, but Harold found them surprisingly comfortable and adopted them as his regular after-hours footwear.) Still groggy, he went into the living room. There was Fluff, curled up and apparently fast asleep in his locked cage. Harold shook his head and went to lie down again for a few minutes. An hour later he woke up late for school. Harold spent the rest of the day wondering whether or not he had dreamed the entire episode.

As it turned out, he wasn’t dreaming. Somehow Fluff had the uncanny ability to show up wherever and whenever he wanted, whether or not he was expected. He could vanish from sight for hours at a time then turn up as if he’d been there along. Cindy would see Fluff curled up on the sofa (always in the same spot on Harold’s squished cushion), then open the linen closet a few seconds later to discover him napping on the towels – or vice versa.

After a few such incidents, Harold and Cindy accepted Fluff’s comings and goings as a way of life. They didn’t think twice a few weeks later when an entire day went by without any sign of him. After a second Fluffless day however, they began to worry. The next afternoon ‘HAVE YOU SEEN THIS RABBIT?’ flyers dotted the neighborhood.

There were no callers. No one had seen Fluff. Harold was surprised at how much he missed the rabbit or the soft feel of fur under his fingers. Cindy tried to reassure him that while she missed their pet too, she had no doubt Fluff was fine wherever he was. “Face it Harold,” she said, “that rabbit hops to the beat of a different drummer.”

Monday afternoon Harold arrived at Burnside’s lab for his regular after school stint. He discovered Burnside in his office, pacing back and forth in front of his desk.

Harold stood in the doorway and watched. Burnside was always like this while in the throes of what he considered a brilliant idea. He finally noticed his assistant.

“Hopper – I just had a brilliant idea – a veritable brainstorm!”
It was the translator of course, or as the professor quickly dubbed it, the Burnside Brainstorm. Harold listened patiently as he described, redescribed and re-redescribed his concept for the Brainstorm.

Eventually, Burnside realized he was repeating himself. “Hopper – why are you standing there? I need you to find out everything you can about voice recognition and electronic translation – now, please!”

Harold left Burnside’s office and headed towards his alcove. He was about to sit down when he heard a familiar scratching noise coming from the lab’s rear exit a few feet away.

Harold froze in his tracks. He thought it couldn’t be, even as he knew without a doubt it was.

Harold opened the door and Fluffernutter leapt into the lab. The rabbit made a clumsy turn on the slippery floor and hopped towards Burnside’s office.

“Hopper – there’s something else I need you to research…” Harold heard the professor’s footsteps. In another second Burnside would be in the hall, demanding an explanation for the rabbit’s presence. He knew the professor would never believe it was Fluff’s idea; it would be a lot simpler to hide the animal for the time being. Harold scooped Fluff up, dropped him into one of his lab coat’s oversized pockets and tried unsuccessfully to look nonchalant for Burnside, who had just emerged from his office.

Fortunately, Burnside was oblivious to his assistant’s nervous demeanor or to the bottom of the lab coat bunched up behind his back. “Miniaturization Hopper, I almost forgot. Miniaturization is the key to the Brainstorm. We may even need to employ nanotechnology in order to realize my dream…” Harold listened as attentively as anyone could with a four pound ball of fur wiggling and bumping against their backside.

Burnside finished and waited for a response from Harold. “Well?” he finally asked.
“Uh, yes! Yes Professor, of course. Voice recognition and electronic translation.” He backed away from Burnside, trying to keep his bulging pocket out of sight. “And nanotechnology. I’ll start researching them right now.”

A dumbfounded Burnside stared down the hall. What could Hopper possibly be up to– The professor’s face suddenly lit up with an ‘a-ha!’ expression; another brilliant idea just occurred to him. Best to return to the office and write it down before it slipped away.

Harold sat down at his computer and connected to the internet. He reached into his lab coat pocket – no Fluff! Where was Fluff – Harold looked up; there was Fluff, peeking out from behind Harold’s computer monitor, his paws atop its screen. The rabbit was staring into his eyes as if he were trying to communicate via telepathy. “I wish I had a translator that could tell me what you’re thinking.” He began typing search words into the computer. “Nanotechnology… voice recognition… electronic translation…”

Harold stopped typing and looked at Fluff again. He had just had a brainstorm of his own. “Maybe I can make one…” Harold pushed his glasses toward the top of his nose and began typing again; it was time to launch an extra search or two. “Brain waves … cerebral scanning … bio-communication …”

To be continued