You wanted a high-falutin' job in the city, but the rabbit farm had been in your family for generations, so you accepted your lot as a humble rabbit farmer, leading a quiet, pastoral lifestyle. Day in, day out, tending your flock with a gentle hand, just as your father before you, and his before him, and so on until the point about ancestry was driven home. Then, on a dark, lonely night, a mysterious - but ultimately probably not that clever - plot device struck. The next day you awoke to find that your incredibly cuddly herd of rabbits had begun to act strangely. With just exactly that much of a warning, they began to mutate, exposing all sorts of fangs and boils and nasty bits, and demonstrating their hunger for the flesh of their former fellow foragers. You calmly grabbed your shotgun and headed for the rabbit pen. You knew exactly what to do.