Fallen Earth's latest latest fiction entry, is the first part of a series called "A Gathering Storm", introducing us to a group of Techs in the town of Trader's Flat:

The rising sun tinted the landscape a soft golden-red.

Light flowed smoothly across the length and breadth of the Canyon territories, reflecting off distant structures and catching the eye in a simple, beautiful display of nature's purity. Those who were awake before the dawn, trader and raider alike, paused to glance over their shoulders and admire the sunrise before returning to their tasks.

In Trader's Flat, a town constructed at the crossroads of several highways that sliced asphalt scars across the forests, the light seemed to strike the awakening earth in a different way.

The first structure to be illuminated was the Iron Fort, which glowed as if studded with smoldering brimstone when the sunlight streamed over the tops of the trees. Below and beyond, residents of Trader's Flat looked over their shoulders not in admiration, but trepidation.

One man, however, was too distracted to bother with even a cursory glance at the rich color flooding across the world. He focused intently on the tiny device in front of him on the workbench, staring at the disassembled components through a magnifying glass connected to a spring-loaded metal arm. After a while, a soft sound from behind him shook the Tech out of his investigation and made him lean back in his chair.

"It's a surveillance device," he said without turning around. "Way more advanced than anything I've come across in a long time." The only reply was silence, which invited further explanation. "It's designed to transmit short distances with a fair bit of clarity. I couldn't even begin to tell you who built it. The only people I know who could really utilize something like this are other Techs. Or maybe those environmental-suit nutjobs, but they don't really give a damn about us unless we start shooting in town."

The Tech, a man named Clem Foster, rubbed his eyes with calloused fingers and spun the chair to face his guest. Slim and androgynous, garbed entirely in black kevlar and leather, the figure crossed its arms and tilted its head to one side in thought. A tight mask and dark goggles hid the figure's face, as always. Clem's eyes gravitated to the symbol on his guest's left shoulder, the upside-down L over a white rabbit. That's all he had ever known to identify the visitor as: Rabbit.

"Not that you're actually going to tell me, but am I going to get any hints as to where you found this?"

Rabbit's hip-shift and head-tilt seemed to say, "Are you joking?"

"Suit yourself," Clem said. "I don't mind helping you Enforcer-types, but when I see something like this I get a little scared, you know?" He scratched at his stubbly chin and yawned, then turned back to the device. "All the same, I'd like to take a look at this some more. Come back later today? I'm never at the top of my game when you wake me up at the ass-crack of dawn like this."

He heard only silence. Clem pivoted in his seat again and saw that Rabbit had already gone.

* * *

At a few minutes past noon, Rabbit stood in the cabin's doorway and stared at the dark stains on the floorboards. The crusty, dried blood had yet to be cleaned, though the bodies had been buried for several days. Six Enforcers had died here at this remote lodge, their position compromised by the surveillance device, leaving them easy prey for the CHOTA who had no doubt bought the information. The device had been discovered in the Black Hill operations room, which led to a near-panic about the security in the stronghold.

The prospect of a rogue Tech was troubling, Outsider involvement even more so. The latter almost never became involved in Canyon affairs outside of simply watching, though they were the nominal authority in Trader's Flat. Chances were they had not been made aware of the situation. Rabbit liked it better that way. Made the job easier.

It took a few hours to head back along the trails to Trader's Flat. More than long enough for the time Clem had requested. Slipping invisibly past the eyes of passersby and Outsider teams alike, Rabbit dropped through the hole in Clem's roof that made entry so easy.

Clem stood in the small kitchen, pouring some stale coffee into a mug, his back turned to Rabbit, who leaned silently in the doorway, arms crossed. When the Tech turned and caught sight of Rabbit, he yelped and dumped the coffee all over himself.

"What the hell is with you?" he demanded, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Rabbit responded with a shrug.

"You're going to give me a goddamn heart attack one day," Clem hissed. Still visibly irritated, but regaining control of himself, he went on. "I did a little more digging and asked Allie over at the compound." He paused to dab at the coffee all over his smock with a grease-stained rag. "Doesn't look good. It was a Tech that built it, all right, and I know that because Allie helped him. Plus I realize you Strike Team Gamma people are all secret-like, and don't get involved with things unless it's really serious, so now I have to start worrying. Hell, I'm probably the only guy in Trader's Flat that knows you even exist, outside your bosses."

Rabbit made a vague gesture and straightened up, taking a few steps forward towards Clem. The Tech froze, lump in his throat, suddenly trembling--but to his great relief, Rabbit reached out and merely clasped his shoulder, nodding a thank you. Clem relaxed a little.

"Look, Allie's a good kid," he said, finally taking a breath. "She probably didn't know any better. Her boyfriend doesn't like you Enforcers much, though, and he's the one who put the thing togeth- where are you going? Wait!"

But Rabbit was already out the door.

* * *

The ramshackle residence had started out as an office in the Tech compound of Trader's Flat. A simple cot pushed up against the far wall, covered with rumpled and dingy sheets, served as the bedroom. Diagrams and sketches of devices Rabbit couldn't identify papered the walls, and books on electronics and engineering lay stacked on a small desk.

Flipping open one of the covers, the Enforcer noted that the pages were frequently dogeared and coffee-stained. Allie's boyfriend had been busy.

Stooping to open some of the desk drawers, Rabbit emptied their contents and gave them a quick once-over. More books, mostly, in addition to a few stashed granola bars and a paper bag of soggy peppermint candies. Instant coffee spilled out of a poorly-sealed plastic bag and made Rabbit's nose wrinkle from the smell. Still, nothing incriminating here. Crouched and pensive, Rabbit looked around the room for any missed details, until something on the gypsum-tiled ceiling sprang out.

Rabbit stood on the desk and pushed up one of the tiles. A tiny clinking noise sounded out as the tile nudged something stashed in the ceiling, and Rabbit's probing hand came back with a small burlap bag. A few tugs of the string that held it closed revealed the contents as a sizable number of chips of various denominations, and a small, folded sheet of paper.

The paper simply read, "Thanks for your help. - B."

Setting the bag and the note onto the desk, the Enforcer turned to survey the room again.

At that moment, footsteps began approaching from outside the office, and Rabbit flattened against the wall behind the door, leaving the ransacked belongings where they were.

A weaselish man carrying a heavy canvas bag full of scavenged parts shouldered open the door and walked in. It only took a moment for him to notice the disarray of his living space, but a gloved hand closed over his mouth before he could swear.

Rabbit quietly pushed the door shut with one foot, and the blossom of pain on the man's throat--caused by the point of Rabbit's hideously sharp knife--cut short any struggle he might have put up.

Rabbit prodded the salvage and pointed to the desk. Together, they shuffled over to it and the man set the bag down, then wisely kept his hands up. "What do you want from me?" he managed in a hushed tone.

Rabbit spun the man and pushed him backward into the desk chair. He was thin and a little scruffy, like most of the Techs here in Trader's Flat. His short-sleeved dress shirt was remarkably clean and fresh, suffering from only an odd smudge of grease here and there. Rabbit lifted the bag of chips from the desk and shook it pointedly in front of him.

"Take it, just don't hurt me!" The man yelped as the knife landed point-first in the chair between his quivering legs. Rabbit produced a second blade, picked up the note that had accompanied the hidden bag of chips, and dangled the paper in front of the Tech's nose.

A slow look of horror and realization crept over his face, which made Rabbit grin beneath the face-concealing mask. "L-look," the man stammered, "it was just payment for services. I built a radio transmitter for Bosman, I had no idea what it was for! You can't ask those guys questions! You just can't!"

The tip of the second knife came to rest alongside the Tech's eye and traced a delicate line down his cheek and onto his jugular. "Please don't! I don't want to die!"

Rabbit sighed and flipped the second knife end over end into the air. The Tech's eyes followed it, misdirected, so that he didn't notice as Rabbit pulled the first blade from the chair and used its hilt to crack him across the temple. Stowing both knives away and hoisting the limp Tech over a shoulder, Rabbit walked over to the cot and laid him carefully out onto it, even going so far as to pull a comfortable sheet over him.

A few minutes later, Rabbit had returned everything to its place: drawers settled back into the desk, the bag of chips returned to its place in the ceiling. The only signs of Rabbit's entry and presence were the tiny nick in the seat of the chair and the swelling lump on the Tech's head.

Clem was right. As far as the public was concerned, Strike Team Gamma did not exist. Rabbit made sure to reinforce this belief before slipping out of the compound and off towards the Traveler encampment.

The Traveler encampment, and Bosman.

Rabbit grinned beneath the mask. It was time for some...correctional behavior.

TO BE CONTINUED