Notes: Ok, let's see how this goes, getting back into the swing of things. This is just my own headcanon about the little monsters in this and how they came to be. This also may contain spoilers for the end of the game, so if you're not ready, don't read this. Obviously, I don't own these characters; they really belong to American McGee. Feel free to rate and review! :)
The Ruins were not always as they are now. The shambling, child-like creatures, covered in thick, black, oozing oil that permeated the very soil of Wonderland. With their cracked, white porcelain doll faces they were the singular versions of the parasite which had infected, no violated Alice's Wonderland like the dreaded Doctor Bumby had violated her memories, almost succeeding in stripping her of them. But in Alice's ignorance, she forgot about those who came before her, for she was not the "good" Doctor's first patient that he had robbed of their sanity.
This is their story, the story of the ones Alice couldn't save.
The insane children could never have held their stronghold at Fort Resistance for long. The Bitch Babies and other monstrosities took care of that. Sooner or later the ones before were driven into what they thought were the welcoming arms of the Dollmaker, minds shattered almost beyond belief from fighting. With his rhymes of trains and stars, shiny cars and the man in the moon, they were reassured, almost pacified against the apparent threat outside their doors that had been the only thing on their minds before.
Of course, they didn't realise the trap they were walking into. One by one, they succumbed and it was only when the porcelain was right over their tiny faces that the children knew it was too late. The Dollmaker made mockery of them, stringing them out on a conveyor belt that just kept going on and on into the darkness. Worse still were the ones who ended up in the pipe, before they were strung out like dirty linen. They were lifeless, condemned to lying on top of the bodies of their predecessors in one pile while they awaited the horror of corruption.
Yet more children kept coming. If more children came to Houndsditch home for Wayward Youth, the more children became insane in Wonderland. It didn't matter about the tyranny of the Red Queen anymore; she was a figment of a bygone age. There was a new rule in this Wonderland now. Once the Dollmaker had finished warping the insane children, he discarded them, flinging them out into the open space.
Everywhere they went the oil followed. Toxic, black and mixed with the blood, sweat and tears of children, it stemmed death and destruction wherever it went. While most of their sanity had been sapped from them, the insane children knew that they had to escape, had to go from this living hell. But it was too late. The oil, liquid hate, had consumed them. Cogs and gears got stuck in their flesh, like thorns protruding from a rose. Some of them got bogged down in Queensland, in the Deluded Depths or even the Hatter's domain.
Others weren't so lucky, getting stuck and forming clusters with other children over years and years, creating colossal ruins, so disgraced with themselves that they buried deep into the earth, only emerging when there was a threat. Some children simply melted, the residue sticking to the ground, the doll mask the only sign that there was ever anything human there.
The "lucky" ones got all the way up to the Vale of Tears. Their elation couldn't even be spoken but their joy turned to ash in their mouths when she came. Down in a ball of fire and white light through the sky came Alice. At first the ruins did not know what she was; it was only when the first one shrieked in agony, a child's pain, when she cut it down that they started to attack. Their futile attempts to slap the brave girl were nothing against the silver of her bloodied knife.
In time, Wonderland was cleansed and the ruins were no more. The Dollmaker's regime was abolished and Alice mish-mashed "Londerland" into being. Yet Alice never knew what lives she was taking to regain her state of mind. Innocents are often forgotten when history is written by the victors.
