The inmates of Arkham were awoken at 5:30 AM, when the massive overheard lights winked on and a guard made a circuit of the corridor and smashed a baton across the door of each cell.

"Rise and shine, freaks!"

Jervis fumbled blindly for his hat, eyes tightly closed against the searing light. Belatedly, he remembered that his hat had been confiscated. Growling a little bit at the bad start to the morning, he shoved himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his face with his hands. By the queen, he missed that hat. The last vestige of civilization ripped from his grip; the last reminder of something greater than Arkham, the last marker of individuality. He pressed his knuckles against his closed eyes and tried to wake up.

'At least they didn't catch me slipping Alice's Adventures in Wonderland under the mattress,' he thought as he stretched. He felt last night's stress and insomnia up in between his shoulder blades, right across the sheets of muscle that had bothered him when he still worked at Wayne Industries. When he still worked with Alice…

"Hey Tetch!" The baton slammed against his cell once more and the guard opened the window in his door. "You got forty seconds! Get up and get out here, or you'll be late for the tea party, Hat!" The guard walked away, spinning his baton and laughing at his own wit.

'It's White Rabbit who is late for croquet, not the Mad Hatter for tea. Imbecile.' Besides, he hadn't had a good cup of tea in nearly four months. The inmates were not allowed to have caffeine and he wouldn't have been able to request some if they did.

Jervis shook his head and creaked to his feet, knees throwing in their lot with his back. 'Ow.' He felt particularly old today, although he was still a reasonably-healthy middle aged man. Maybe he was still working out the bruises from the beating he took a week ago. Whatever the reason, he found himself moving stiffly today. He stretched once more and began to make for the cell door.

Looking up, he saw through the opened window that Lyle Bolton was waiting to greet him. Jervis was rooted to the spot where he stood and felt himself begin to shake.

"So, Mr. Tetch," the man said through the bars, more menacing because of his mocking formality than the guards were with their idle threats. A large hand rested over the taser gun clipped to his belt. "Are you feeling well today?"

"Y-yes sir."

"Oh really? Because you're the last one out of your cell today. Don't you think that's a little…odd?"

"I'm just moving a little slow today."

"A little slow. Well, if you're sure that's all it is. We won't want you to feel poorly, would we, Mr. Tetch?" Although the malice and taunting tone was still in the security chief's voice, the man slid open the door. Jervis kept his eyes on Bolton's shoes, scarcely believing his luck. Had abusing Crane sated Bolton's immediate appetite for sadism? This might turn out to be a better day than he planned.

He advanced toward the cell door a little faster this time, bravely looking at the level of Bolton's knees as the huge man stepped back a bit.

Jervis glanced at the cell door, noticing with some confusion that it hadn't been pulled open quite far enough for him to get through. Lifting a chained hand, he put his palm to the metal to nudge it further open, risking a look at Bolton's neck.

Too late, he saw the remote control in the security chief's hand. 'Oh please, no.' His eyes widened desperately and he barely had time to react before…

The pain came up through his arm, feeling as though it should be crushed up against his chest. He gritted his teeth as the shock zinged up through his palm into his arm, sparking off pain like a gunshot at his elbow as it reached toward his shoulder. Someone screamed—later he would find out that it was him. Eyes wide open, he saw Bolton smirk as the electricity coursed through his body and flung him back into his cell, leaving him feeling as if he'd been kicked by a horse.

The reeking stench of burnt flesh reached his nostrils as he lay on the floor, writhing and shaking from aftershocks. He fought his way through a few flashes of light and color to look down at his burnt palm, and was nauseated to see that it was smoking from the wound. Desperately trying to get his breath back, Jervis clumsily ran his tongue over his teeth to be sure that he hadn't broken them in the clench. He wondered if everyone had seen him get electrocuted and felt absurdly embarrassed at the idea.

Over the ringing in his ears, he heard Bolton roaring at him.

"The next time you're told to get you, you get up! Understand, you son of a bitch? You don't get to choose! I'm in charge here, not you!" Jervis felt a blow to his stomach and cried out as Bolton removed his foot. "Don't let it happen again!"

He stayed on the concrete floor, staring out the glass window long after he heard the slam of his cell door. He thought he saw Harleen give him a sympathetic glance as she passed, but he fainted before he could check.

Later, an orderly came by and tended to his hand. Jervis had missed breakfast entirely.

Recreational time did not exist as it had before Bolton. The inmates were allowed ten minutes of exercise on the track; because of the security chief's preference for speed and efficiency, this was usually spent rapidly sprinting under threat of punishment. Wesker had a hard time with this particular part of the day, no doubt because of the wooden dummy on his arm; he was frequently Bolton's chosen victim for the exercise period. These days, Scarface didn't have much to say to anyone, which was a small blessing.

Jervis was not exempted from the exercise, which surprised no one but worried nearly everybody; it seemed that they would have no relief themselves if they were ever harmed. His legs refused to work properly, but he managed to get around the track at least once without collapsing.

After exercise, the inmates were lead back to their cells, where they would wait for a turn to use the institution's showers. This process was completed with the same rapid efficiency and psychological torture as was everything else. Each inmate was allotted ten minutes in the facility and five minutes' worth of water; one had to get wet, turn off the water, soap up, turn on the water, and rinse. Although Bolton didn't play favorites very often for this portion of the day, he had been known to send Harleen back to her cell with shampoo bubbles still in her hair, claiming she had exceeded the allotment.

By this time, it was barley nine o'clock in the morning. It would be at least a half an hour before any one could have an appointment with a doctor. This time was spent by each inmate in a cell, waiting quietly. On Bolton's days off, the orderlies would sometimes allow them books or magazines to pass the time.

Today was not one of those days.

Jervis sat back against the iron headboard of his bed, not daring to dream of reaching down to pick up Alice in Wonderland. He could imagine what Bolton would do to his precious book, but preferred not to.

Instead, he slipped into a daydream.

Spattered sunlight filtered down through the tree's leaves as the party sat at the table and took the fresh summer air, colored as it was with the distant voices of the singing flowers. He was in his top hat, suit, and big bow tie and was swirling the tea around in his cup as he defended his idea.

"Well, you can say what you like, but my point remains."

"It does not!" The March Hare's nose twitched sullenly as it voiced its disagreement.

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because my saying something changes the nature of the something already said!"

"Bah! Contrariwise, your saying something doesn't change a blasted thing about the something-already-said that was before the other something because the starting point remains!"

"But that's preposterous!"

"But that's my point!"

"But what about the addition of my something?"

"Inconsequential."

"Oh, is it!"

"Could I please have a cup of tea?" Alice had her smiling face cupped in both hands and was watching the conversation like a tennis match.

"Certainly, my dear," he said. The March Hare paused in the argument long enough to pass him the orange and fuchsia teapot (a personal favorite). He ladled out exactly 48 teaspoons' worth of tea into a cup and sent it down the line to the blonde girl sitting four seats down.

Having accomplished the mission of chivalry, he was prepared to return to his argument with the March Hare when he looked down into his own tea cup. He wrinkled his nose and stood abruptly.

"My cup is filthy. I shall need a fresh one! Everyone move down four places!"

Alice put down her teacup with a sigh and had barely gained her feet when the March Hare shoved her down along the table, the Dormouse in tow. Holding his Hat to his head, he followed the procession in quick step. Once he reached his new seat, he was delighted to find a freshly poured cup of tea waiting for him.

Alice, who was now sitting across from him, looked a bit put out, but just let another sigh take to the air. She had been acting a bit odd today, not at all like she had behaved at the croquet grounds. Then, she had been so much more ladylike—but perhaps tea time brought out a more playful side. "Are you saying that if where you started still exists, then whatever happens as you go along doesn't matter?"

"Quite," he said, raising his cup in salute to her.

"Oh, but that's nonsense!" Alice replied.

"Hear, hear!" cried the Hare, clearly pleased to have someone take his side.

"I dare say it is not," he replied darkly, into his teacup.

The girl laughed. "But surely you know that everything changes!"

"Not around here, it doesn't," he replied triumphantly, having found the hole in her argument. "It's always tea time, don't you know."

"Don't get on to that again," Alice said, picking up a teapot. "Everything changes sometime, Jervis."

Jervis?

"What?" he asked. "Or, perhaps, who?"

"Why, you, of course."

"I, dear girl, am the Hatter."

Alice raised a blonde eyebrow. "Oh, do speak sense. You're Jervis. Ands, to end the conversation, the point is that everything changes. I mean, just look at you!" She pointed a finger directly at his chest.

Looking down, he found his coat, tie, and shirt missing. He was wearing a grey uniform and one hand was bandaged.

The March Hare laughed.

Jervis surfaced from the daydream with a start. How strange! Such a thing had never happened in Wonderland before!

He curled into the fetal position on his cot. What was going on?

A/N: Whew! A little creepy there, I hope. Or maybe it was goofy. Whatever you prefer.

Bolton's such a cretin. Electrical burns HURT. That jerk.