Cybee Cogsworth adjusted his brass mechanical arms and stared into the swirling portal before him. His whiskers twitched with anger. Someone had pushed him into the Rabbit Hole months ago, and he would find them. No matter how long it took or how deep he had to dig. The portal shimmered and faded, leaving him alone in the strange twisted landscape. Cybee's metal fingers clenched into fists. He needed a base, somewhere to plan and track his enemy. His large ears perked up as he spotted something half-buried in the dirt nearby. A clock face jutted from the ground, its hands stuck at 3:33. Gears and springs poked through the soil around it like strange flowers. The burrow beneath looked perfect. He dropped to his knees and pulled away chunks of earth. The space inside was small but protected. It would work as his headquarters while he hunted. Cybee climbed down into his new home and spread out on the floor. The ticking of broken gears surrounded him like a heartbeat. He pulled a torn piece of fabric from his coat pocket. The scrap had been in his hand when he fell through the portal. It was his only clue. His mechanical arms whirred softly as he held the fabric up to the dim light filtering through the clock face above. Someone out there knew what they had done to him. And Cybee would make sure they answered for it. Three days passed in the burrow. Cybee studied the fabric scrap until his eyes ached. He needed more information. He needed witnesses. The Rabbit Hole had to have others who saw things, who knew things. He climbed out of his headquarters and walked until he found a town square. A tall metal pole stood at the center, covered in old flyers and gears. Papers flapped in the wind, held in place by copper clips. Cybee pulled a fresh sheet from his coat and wrote in bold letters: LOOKING FOR INFORMATION ABOUT A PUSH. REWARD OFFERED. He pinned it to the pole with a gear from his pocket. His message joined dozens of others seeking help in this strange world. Cybee stepped back and looked at his notice. His mechanical hands clicked and whirred at his sides. This was just the beginning. He would search every corner of the Rabbit Hole. He would question every creature he met. The person who pushed him would not stay hidden forever. His large ears rotated, listening to the sounds of the square around him. Somewhere in this twisted place, his enemy was living their life. But not for long. Cybee would hunt them down, and when he found them, they would tell him why. A week passed with no responses to his flyer. Cybee returned to his burrow each night, frustrated and restless. He needed to be ready for when the information finally came. He needed to be strong enough to face whoever had done this to him. During one of his walks through the square, he spotted a merchant selling training equipment. A dummy made of brass gears and copper pipes caught his eye. Its chest was marked with dents from previous strikes. Cybee bought it with the last of his coins and dragged it back to his burrow. He set up the dummy outside the clock burrow entrance. His mechanical arms hummed as he raised them. The first punch landed with a metallic clang that echoed across the empty space. Then another. And another. Sweat dampened his fur as he struck the dummy over and over. His arms were weapons, but he needed to learn how to use them properly. Each hit sent vibrations up through his brass joints. He pictured the face of his enemy with every strike. The person who pushed him would not expect him to fight back. But Cybee would be ready. When the time came, he would stand face to face with them, and they would see what they had created. His training had begun, and his hunt would not end until justice was served.

Cybee's arms ached from days of training. The brass joints needed oil and adjustment. He couldn't fight his enemy with broken equipment. His burrow had tools, but his mechanical knowledge had limits. He needed help from someone who understood gears and steam. He climbed out of his burrow and walked toward the merchant district. The cobblestone paths twisted between buildings made of salvaged metal and wood. His large ears swiveled, catching fragments of conversation from passersby. After three blocks, he spotted a workshop with steam pouring from its chimney. A sign hung above the door showing crossed wrenches. Cybee pushed inside and explained his problem to the shopkeeper. The fox behind the counter examined his brass arms and quoted a price that made Cybee's stomach drop. He didn't have enough coins. The fox offered a trade instead: repair work in exchange for maintenance on his mechanical limbs. Cybee agreed and spent the afternoon hauling scrap metal and sorting bolts. His arms moved smoother by evening, the joints freshly oiled and tightened. On his way back to the burrow, Cybee stopped at a junk dealer's stall. Among the piles of broken gears and rusted springs, he found a glass lantern with a softly glowing mushroom trapped inside. The light was steady and didn't flicker like candles. He bought it and carried it home. Outside his burrow entrance, he also discovered a peculiar pile of cogs and wheels that someone had abandoned. The pieces fit together like a puzzle, creating a hollow space inside. Perfect for hiding his clues where rain and thieves couldn't reach them. He placed the fabric scrap inside the cogwheel container and sealed it shut. Back in his burrow, Cybee set up the mushroom lantern near his entrance. The soft glow lit the space around the clock face above. He pulled out three salvaged chairs and a wobbly desk he'd found days earlier. The furniture didn't match, but it would work for questioning witnesses. When someone finally responded to his flyer, he would have a proper place to meet them. His mechanical arms hummed quietly as he arranged the chairs. Everything was falling into place. He had training, working equipment, and a setup for gathering information. The hunt for his enemy was moving forward, one careful step at a time.

Cybee studied his map of the Rabbit Hole, tracing paths with a brass finger. The merchant district had given him tools and repairs, but he needed more. His enemy could be hiding anywhere in this twisted world. He rolled up the map and stepped out of his burrow into the morning fog. The air smelled of rust and wet earth. His mechanical arms clicked as he walked toward the western edge of town, where the buildings grew taller and stranger. After an hour of searching, he found what he needed: a library built inside a massive gear that rotated slowly on its axis. Inside, shelves spiraled upward filled with journals and maps left by other travelers. Cybee spent the day reading accounts of the Rabbit Hole's many districts. He learned about the Steam Gardens where information brokers gathered, and the Clockwork Market where witnesses traded secrets. Each location offered a new chance to find someone who had seen his enemy. He copied names and places onto spare paper, filling his pockets with leads. By sunset, he had a list of seven places to search. The Rabbit Hole was vast, but it wasn't endless. Somewhere in these twisted streets, his enemy had left a trail. The next morning, Cybee chose his first target: a tea shop called The Twisted Teacup. According to his notes, it sat inside a massive broken teacup tilted on its side. Steam pipes jutted from cracks in the porcelain walls. He found it after two hours of walking through cramped alleys. Inside, the curved walls created a cozy space filled with mismatched tables and chairs. A dozen creatures sat scattered around the room, sipping from cups and talking in low voices. Cybee ordered tea and found a seat near the center where he could hear multiple conversations. His large ears swiveled, catching fragments about missing items, strange portals, and suspicious strangers. One rat mentioned seeing someone fall through a portal three months ago near the clock tower. Cybee's brass fingers tightened around his cup. He listened for another hour, memorizing every detail. When he left, his list had grown to include two new witnesses and a location he hadn't known about. The Twisted Teacup had given him exactly what he needed. His enemy's trail was getting warmer. On his way back through the square, Cybee spotted something new on the metal pole. A wanted poster hung among the flyers, its edges decorated with gears and Victorian scrollwork. The face on the poster was someone he didn't recognize, but the text beneath caught his attention. The Rabbit Hole had a justice system. Someone tracked criminals here. Someone caught them. Cybee pulled out his notebook and wrote down the contact information listed at the bottom of the poster. If authorities existed in this world, they might have records of everyone who arrived through the portals. They might know who pushed him. His mechanical arms whirred as he tucked the notebook back into his coat. The Rabbit Hole wasn't just a prison anymore. It was a place with resources, with witnesses, with answers waiting to be found. Cybee walked back to his burrow with purpose in every step. His hunt had direction now, and every day brought him closer to the truth. The next morning, Cybee carried a strange device back to the square. He had found it in a junk shop the day before: a street speaker with weathered metal housing and a hand-crank on the side. The shopkeeper said it could broadcast his voice across several blocks. Cybee set it up near the metal pole where his original flyer still hung. He turned the crank until gears inside clicked into position, then spoke into the horn. His voice echoed through the streets, calling for witnesses to come forward with information about the push. He repeated his message three times, then waited. Within an hour, two creatures approached. One had seen a hooded figure near a portal entrance. The other remembered hearing an argument before someone fell through. Cybee wrote down every word in his notebook. The Rabbit Hole had given him tools, places to search, and ways to find the truth. His enemy had made a mistake pushing him into this world. Here, Cybee had everything he needed to hunt them down and make them answer for what they had done.

Cybee walked through the industrial quarter where metal towers leaned against each other like drunk giants. Smoke rose from chimneys built into the sides of massive rusted pipes. His mechanical arms hung at his sides, their brass joints catching the orange glow from furnaces. He had come here searching for more information about portal arrivals, but the district itself fascinated him. Workers hammered at metal sheets while steam hissed from valves overhead. A crane lifted scrap into a sorting facility shaped like an upturned hat. Everything here served a purpose, built from salvaged pieces and broken dreams. The Rabbit Hole wasn't just a prison. It was a living machine, grinding forward with everyone trapped inside it. He left the industrial quarter as the sun began to set. The path back toward the merchant district cut through a stretch of forest he hadn't noticed before. Trees grew between metal posts and rusted pipes, their roots wrapped around old machinery. One tree caught his attention. A thick vine climbed up its trunk in a spiral pattern. The vine's surface wasn't smooth like normal plants. Instead, it had ridges shaped like tiny cogs and wheels, each one connected to the next in an impossible chain. Cybee touched the vine with his brass fingers. The cog pattern felt real, not carved or painted. The Rabbit Hole grew things that matched its mechanical heart. Even nature here bent to fit the gears and steam. He pulled his hand away and kept walking. His enemy had pushed him into a world that changed everything it touched, but that same world was giving him tools to fight back. Tomorrow he would visit the Steam Gardens and search for more witnesses. Tonight, he would rest knowing the hunt continued. Deeper into the forest, Cybee found a clearing where flowers grew in neat rows. He stopped walking. Each flower had a clock face at its center, with tiny hands that ticked forward in perfect rhythm. The petals ranged from deep purple to bright yellow, but every center showed a different time. One flower read three o'clock. Another showed half past seven. Cybee crouched down and watched the second hands sweep across the clock faces. Time moved differently in the Rabbit Hole, stretched and bent like everything else here. These flowers marked moments that might never come again. He stood and brushed dirt from his coat. The Steam Gardens could wait one more day. He had leads to follow and witnesses to question. His enemy was somewhere in this twisted world, and these strange flowers reminded him that every second mattered. Cybee turned back toward his burrow, his mechanical arms humming softly as he walked through the darkening forest. The path led him back to the town square where the Temporal Steampunk Post stood tall at the center. Broken clocks decorated the metal structure from base to top, their hands frozen at different times. Directional arrows jutted out in all directions, each one pointing to a time rather than a place. A sign hung near the bottom that read "Even broken clocks are right twice a day." Cybee had passed this landmark dozens of times, but tonight it held new meaning. The clock-flowers in the forest tracked time that moved. These clocks marked time that had stopped. His life had stopped the moment someone pushed him through the portal. Now he was moving again, gathering clues and building a case against his enemy. Cybee looked up at the broken clock faces one more time, then headed toward his burrow. Tomorrow he would continue his hunt. Tonight, the Rabbit Hole had shown him that even broken things could serve a purpose.

Cybee's notebook now held thirty-two names and sixteen locations. He spread the pages across his workbench and organized them by district. Three witnesses had confirmed seeing a tall figure in a dark coat near the eastern portals two weeks before his arrival. Another had mentioned an argument near the clock tower on the day he fell through. His brass fingers traced connections between the accounts, drawing lines that formed a pattern. The tall figure had been seen in four different districts over the past month. Cybee copied the information onto a fresh map, marking each sighting with a red X. His enemy had a routine, a path they traveled regularly. Tomorrow he would stake out the location where three sightings overlapped. For the first time since arriving in the Rabbit Hole, he had more than hope—he had a real lead. He needed a better way to see the connections. Scattered papers and loose notes weren't enough anymore. Cybee spent the morning building a bulletin board from salvaged wood and brass fittings. He mounted it on his workbench, then pinned up his map at the center. Around it, he attached witness statements and timeline notes. Red string connected each piece of evidence, running from the map to the testimonies and back again. The board showed everything at once—locations, dates, descriptions. The pattern became clearer. His enemy moved through the eastern districts on a weekly schedule. Three witnesses had seen them near the same portal entrance on different days. Cybee stepped back and studied the web of string. The board proved his progress was real. By afternoon, he had organized his suspects into a filing cabinet he'd modified with brass gears on the drawers. Each drawer held papers about different people who might have pushed him. The top drawer contained his strongest leads—three names with matching descriptions. The middle drawers held witnesses who had seen suspicious activity but couldn't identify anyone. The bottom drawer was for dead ends he'd already ruled out. Cybee pulled open the top drawer and reviewed the three names again. One had been seen arguing near portals twice. Another had left town the day after Cybee arrived. The third matched the description from four different witnesses. He placed those papers in a decorative box on his workbench, its surface covered with gears and small compartments. This box held his confirmed clues, the pieces that fit together perfectly. Cybee sat down and opened his notebook to a fresh page. He wrote down the strongest suspect's name at the top, then listed every confirmed detail beneath it. Tall figure. Dark coat. Seen near eastern portals. Argued with someone at the clock tower. Left town briefly, then returned. The pieces locked together like the gears on his mechanical arms. Tomorrow he would stake out the overlapping location and wait. His enemy thought they were safe in the Rabbit Hole, hidden among the steam and rust. But Cybee had built his case piece by piece, and now it pointed directly at them. He closed the notebook and looked at his investigation board one more time. The red strings formed a web that led to the truth.