The Pre-Prologue

Wonderland isn't what it used to be. The world is a dark place, and though we've managed to build portals between here and the Otherplace, it doesn't matter where you are. Safety is an issue now. I've lived between Wonderland and the Otherplace since I was young. I remember the first merry times I met the Cheshire Cat, the Mad Hatter. It was all so innocent back then. It's different now. Things are dangerous. The world has turned upside down, and for once, Wonderland seems to be the more sane of the two places. My name is Alice Liddell, and I am a revolutionary, and a fighter too. With the use of my handguns, Mystery and Romance, and of course, my trusty SMG, Disaster, I will continue to fight. When I'm out of bullets, you'll see me with sword and shield. I'm a survivor. I'm a winner. Nothing can stop me now. I will have my vengeance.

"`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe."

The Coma

Mother was an inventor, however, since I was born in the 1800s, many of her creations really didn't have much meaning to the general scientific community. Father was a brain surgeon. Or at least, he liked to think he was. In truth, he was a professor at an academy, dissecting brains and performing lobotomies before future generations of geniuses could crack the code that was neuroscience. Mother and Father, of course, were geniuses in their own rites, but nothing could have prepared them for the events that would take place during my childhood. When I was young, I fell down a rabbit hole. You may be familiar with my tale. I, through my extraplanar and extralinear travels, have discovered that I had, in the past, a sort of following. The truth is, unlike the story goes, I didn't actually wake (at least, not right away) from my little slumber at the very end of the odd trip into the place known as Wonderland. Instead, I stayed asleep.

Father's work changed to the study of dreams, in his mad effort to attempt to decide what was keeping me in the trance for so long. He lost his job at the academy- his theories were crackpot, at best. Mother worked day and night, tirelessly attempting to discover how she might reach into my consciousness, and let me know that my nap was taking far too long entirely. In the meantime, I grew strong within the world of Wonderland. I learned to fight with sword and shield, and eventually came to have a quick enough wit to combat against even the Caterpillar and all of his nonsense. Much time was spent there, until one day... I simply woke up. I just so happened to rise from this slumber on the same fateful day that my parent's work all came to an alarming peak.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

The Time Machine

Mother had incorrectly calculated certain equations, thinking she had cracked the code necessary to make the leap back and forth between a person's consciousness. Instead of seeping into my mind, she had essentially ripped a hole in the very fabric of time. In her and my father's attempts to... stitch, for lack of a better word, that time-space hole closed, they built a device that could not only close the hole... but reopen it at will. This was, of course, what made me rise from my blessed sleep, my blessed time alone in Wonderland. As you would have it, the early models of this device were rather loud to operate. It must have just startled me awake.

Of course, news of the young lady who had fallen asleep when she was twelve, and woke again when she was seventeen, spread across the medical field like wildfire. My parents did all they could to attempt to hide the technology that they had created, knowing the whole while that such a creation could be used instead as a weapon. My mother formed a theory that if anything was meddled with in the past or the future, the consequences would be dire. As luck would have it, she was right all along.

A psychiatrist was assigned to me, to take record of all the strange things that I had to say. Many people thought I had simply lost my mind along the way out of what they called a 'coma', but I assure you, I had not. Despite my sanity, I began to be called 'Mad Alice'. I didn't mind so much... it gave me a warm feeling that reminded me much of my time at the Tea Parties I'd once attended so often. Eventually I came to realize that whatever had happened must have been a dream. My parents, of course, were grateful. So grateful, in fact, that eventually, the Psychiatrist, a certain M. Thompson, ended up becoming a key part of the eventual collapse of the world as I'd known it.

Thompson began to work with my parents, once they revealed to him the Timehopper, as they'd so lovingly begun to call it. I was, for the most part, kept out of the work, as my father was concerned that any further trauma to my brain would send me back into the madness they thought I'd come clean of. I would still like to know, quite frankly, why my parents of all people thought I was mad, though their invention had been something pulled from science-fiction itself. Unfortunately, Thompson was not the trusted individual we had thought him to be. One day, Father came home with a panicked expression. Men from the government had come to take the machine, at his workplace. It seemed that Thompson had loosened his lips, aiming to gain a pretty penny. Mother took our Timehopper, and though, in the past, she'd urged us never to use it to change events dramatically, claimed that the future was the only safe place for us... that they would not find us there.

And so we hopped... to the twenty-second century, as far as we could from those who had hunted us down so eagerly. We were lucky- M. Thompson was not. Upon arrival in our home, no evidence of us or the Timehopper were found. He was put in a madhouse for it, I think.

"He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought -
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought."

The Twenty-Second

Time travel, in itself, is a very disconcerting, unappealing activity in the whole, if you ask my honest, humble opinion, and I would very much like to not take part in it ever again. Symptoms include itching fingers, headaches, nausea, and muscle pain. For the first several days after our arrival in the new time, my whole family and I were ill. We were quick about making ourselves seem as one in the new society we lived in. Father, the blessed old man, had at least remembered to bring our life savings with us. I wonder now what the banker back in the 1800's must have thought at that withdrawal. I also wonder what that old-time currency collector must have thought when the three of us arrived, looking like we'd walked out of a play, up to his door with such a large sum of money. I suppose it doesn't really matter now. I was placed in a junior college, Mother got a job as a pharmacist, and Father finally became the brain surgeon he'd always wanted to be. Somehow, they'd falsified enough documents to make themselves seem as if we'd all been in this century. Sometimes, I wonder if they'd a mind-controlling device in their array of inventions, but that would be rather whimsical, wouldn't it? In the mean time, of course, they continued their work on the machine. We moved to a place in what was called the 'suburbs'. I did not like it, the house was small, and as I remember, always smelled of curry.

I came to dislike curry with a passion.

Everything about this new time was strange. The clothing most people wore was odd, and despite mother and father's pleading with me, I refused to wear anything but the fashions of the time we had escaped. I seemed to garner much attention for doing so, and my clothing was often referred to as 'gothic' or 'lolita'. While I understand, thanks to the "internet" what these words are, I still do not entirely understand what the purpose of these titles had been, but now that the world is burning... I am not entirely sure it matters. Then again, not a whole lot seems to matter now. Idle thoughts, to be sure. I had many thoughts during the times living in those suburbs. I watched what was called the television, and I listened to the radio, despite my friends from the school thinking it was odd for me to own such a device, and not an mp3 player of some sort. I began to believe that something was very wrong with the time we had come to. Aside from being so full of odd new technologies, it was full of greed, hate, and war, much more than I had remembered as a child. But of course, I could never express this. We could never tell anyone who we truly were, at any cost. Or at least... I had thought there was no cost.

Eventually, my parents too fell to the evil corruption and greed that seemed to hold the time in its grasp. I didn't really think it was so bad at first, but with time, it became more clear. They revealed their invention to the scientific community, claiming, of course, (for our safety, father said,) that it was a new invention. At least they'd been smart enough to do so. It bought them a little more time. They were soon praised as some of the greatest scientists of the age, for their outstanding and revolutionary scientific success. We moved from the suburbs to a large house, where I saw less and less of them every day. They were working tirelessly on the next step.

"And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!"

The Downfall

In the nights following, I began to have vivid dreams. In these dreams, I'd hear voices... They were the voices of those I had known in Wonderland. Or at least, I was certain it was them. Night by night these voices got louder, and I grew to understand what they were saying more and more. Beware. Fight. Survive. Beware. Fight. Survive. Perhaps my parents did not notice, but I began to, in a way, go slightly mad all over again. But instead of letting it take a toll on my health, instead of saying a word... I began to train. I had seen enough movies by now to be inspired. I learned to use a gun, and learned to fight with my fists. My friends, few as they were, seemed to take an interest in the activities alongside me, which, perhaps, was what kept me in the clear for so long. When my mother asked me why I was so keen on going to the shooting range so often, I told her I was considering joining the Air Force. She and father were quite proud of me- so were the parents of my friends, except for Beatrice's. Beatrice's parents were hippies, as I recall.

While I trained tirelessly, my parents worked tirelessly. Every day they grew closer to their breakthrough. Every now and then, one of them would show their sweat-covered face in the kitchen, rambling about things I could only dream of understanding someday. I understand these things now, for I have read their journals. Had I known what these two had been up to... had I had the foresight... I might have tried to talk some sense into them. Then again... I don't think there was enough sense in the world to be had.

One day, they completed their work. It was a device, quite similar to the Timehopper. This one, however, could do something far more sinister. This new device, inspired by my comatose state hundreds of years ago, could rip holes in something other than time. It could rip a hole through space as we know it. For now, it could only get a person from point A to point B. It was, again, a revolutionary technology. I began to see it everywhere. People would teleport themselves to school. They'd teleport themselves to work. They'd teleport themselves to and from countries across the globe. But of course... humankind was greedy in this twenty-second century. They could not accept this as enough.

The government, the very government we'd fled from, took on my parents to improve the Transport Device. And so they did. After four more years, on the eve of my twenty-first birthday... or at least, what we were calling my twenty-first birthday... I'm not sure how old I can be considered, with so much time-travel in my past... In any case, it was the eve of my twenty-first birthday. On that day, the next evolution of the device that ultimately brought about the end was developed. Now, the Transport Device could not only take a person between places in the known world... It could take a person between the very fabric of space- to planes and dimensions previously unexplored by our own.

To be sure, at first, it was a wonderful discovery. Hundreds, if not thousands, (maybe even millions) of new species were discovered, new stories, new people, new technologies, and new medicines. Discovery had become the name of this century... we were now living in what scholars were calling the Second Age of Discovery. An elite portion of the military was created; called The Exploration Front; their mission to, as their name suggested, explore these new places. Things changed at home too. My parents were now incredibly wealthy, and once more we moved, to an even larger home. I had begun to become unattached to other humans, I found the constant loss of those near to me quite dull. I grew hard and perhaps cold towards others in the process. I felt in my gut the whole time that something was very, very wrong. After two months of good... the bad finally came.

Explorers set their sights on a new plane. The Inter-Planar Transport Device, or the IPTD, as the scientific community shortened it to, had lead the way to a stark place. Astronomers suggested that perhaps it was a distant planet in some undiscovered galaxy. In this place, there were humans, like us, struggling to survive while an evil corporation ruled over them. The discovery of such a horrible place was quick to finds its way to the media, and there was an outcry from various social justice groups to attempt to help these people. Wars were suggested, as governments refused to send aid to these other humans, claiming that any sort of change in the fabric of the planes could be devastating. This was, obviously, a lie, as previously, we had done nothing but trade between the planes. The people, however, were gullible, and bought the lies- hook, line, and sinker.

The Explorers now changed their mission. Their goal was to find and attempt to close any ports to the planes and dimensions that had such dystopian settings. Unfortunately, they were unskilled in this sort of work, as the technology was so new. The more the portals were opened by the ITPD Scientists, the more dystopias they discovered. Eventually, there was too much of it for them to hold back. The planes had, for the first time, started to seep into ours.

It started with extra-planar bandit raids from Pandora, the place we'd originally turned our heads away from. In their rage at our blatant refusal to help them, they turned on us, using a vast array of weaponry and magics that we had long forgotten how to defend ourselves against in this pseudo-utopia we'd thought we'd formed. One particular bandit raid opened up the portal to a world of horrific creatures, beasts that devastated cities, leveling anything in their path. It was odd. I quite remember one of those beasts being referred to as "Clover." From what I could see, and it wasn't much, on the television, Clover was nowhere near as cute as the name was. I wonder why that memory is so vivid.

In an attempt to neutralize the beasts that had come, scientists began working on an airborne virus they hoped would only effect those beasts, using pathogens we as humans were certain we'd a resistance to.

We were wrong.

"One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back."

The Great Collapse

Now, Earth is all but destroyed. The major countries have fallen. Bandits overrun the place, both from our world, and from the now gaping portals that have no scientists left to protect them. The Explorers have been eliminated. The Infected roam the streets, slowly killing off those not strong enough to withstand them. Monsters, perhaps even demons, from the other planes now roam alongside them. There is one government- The Syndicate- that rules over those of use who survive; but they are a corrupt people. I have spent the rest of my twenty-first year attempting to find ways to fight back. Just a month ago... I found what I needed.

In my searches, I returned to the place I lived when the Downfall had taken place. It was nearly rubble... but I was able to locate the stairway down to the laboratory. There it was- the prototype to the IPTD. At first, I didn't know what to do with it. I slept, that night, in my old bed. If, of course, you could call it sleep, clutching an SMG to your chest, ears keen to detect the faintest shuffle... the quietest groan of an Infected... the smallest rustle of a creature. Eventually, however, I did sleep, and in my sleep, I recalled Wonderland. It was a long shot, to be sure... but I had to be sure. I forced myself awake, and used the machine, and to my very luck... it worked. To my dismay, it seemed that things had crumbled inside of Wonderland itself... they too were faced with evil within; the corruption of the universe, the imbalance, all of it, had effected the place that had once been so colorful and bright. There were, of course, like me, survivors. And now, we stand as The Resistance.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy."

The Resistance

The people of Earth, and of Wonderland, and truly, of the other planes as well, are being kept as practical slaves to The Syndicate. Those who don't know how to use a gun are practically bait for the Infected, and for the Creatures... and perhaps, even to starvation. It is cruel. It is unusual. My parents, as I have discovered, were eventually killed for their refusal to make any further improvements on the IPTD. In my heart, I feel a constant ache. I wish to right all the wrongs that have been done to this world. I wish for vengeance against those who treat these people of Earth, of Wonderland, and of the other planes, poorly. I wish for vengeance for my parents- foolish though they were. The Resistance now actively accepts those willing to fight for good, for a brighter future. I, alongside Mystery, Romance, and Disaster, lead the Resistance. We will prevail. Earth will not shatter.

"`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe."