(A/n: Yes, yes. I know. I've been doing re-writes like crazy. But not to worry! Once I've gotten over the Doctor's stupidity this will be finished before you know it. Then I can get back to WDDM. Sorry to those readers...it's in the improvement process at the moment. Anywho...

Disclaimer: I do not own anything but Jack, Lucky, Roc, Terrell...a few things actually. Anything you recognize I have no claim to. There.

On With the Fic!

Oh, What a Way to Begin this Ending

This place was not always so desolate, so decayed, so full of disease and despair (yay for d's!). Once it was the charm of Wonderland. The Realm of Clubs, affectionately dubbed Roc by the citizens, was a mirror to the modern world.

The citizens of Roc had, at one time, prided themselves on keeping and adapting to the very best of modern cultures, fashions, ideas, religions, architecture, cuisine, music, art….the whole of the modern world. A person from Earth, or 'reality', could step in from a city(depending on where they WERE and where they come out) and not notice a bit that they were where they should not be until they saw how the Laws of Wonderland do not necessarily include the Laws of Nature.

Oh, the wonders! The island, Roc, used to be huge and bright and full of clean air and light and sun and rain and snow and whatever else Mother Nature felt like throwing. The mind-blowing novelties never ceased, and the rural communities never let the delicious edible plants and meats, all made better by the latest of technologies and techniques of course, end either; even though they produced only a quarter of all of Wonderland's food, they took pride in their work. Across the great bridge modeled after San Francisco's Golden Gate went the goods and back across came what the island could not procure itself. Roc had been considered an emerald on that seemingly endless expanse of blue. And then…it came.

Everyone was afraid. Everyone had very good reasons. The guardian, the Ace of Clubs, had vanished. None knew where or when he had gone. He simply was. The Ace simply was not there to hold back those with evil intentions; nor was he there to lead home the innocently lost.

Roc began to crumble on the physical plain and the metaphorical one. The bridge fell into the ocean. Boats could go no further than five hundred feet out before dropping anchor of their own accord. The mainland was too far to see as even a tiny line on the horizon at noon. Planes and other flying devices would mysteriously turn a complete one hundred and eighty degrees despite the pilots' best efforts at the same point the boats stopped. Something had placed an invisible wall between them and the rest of their home. The people of Roc had been cut off from Wonderland. It was at this realization that the gateway into Earth slammed shut with an audible 'boom'.

Disease and illnesses began to ravage humans, plants, and animals alike. Soil, air, and water were filled with pollution, poisoning the body and weakening the immune system. Organs could not fight off symptoms of the smallest of things, like the common cold, resulting in a wave of heart, kidney, and liver failure (1). Panic set in, hospitals overflowed. The city became crowded with refugees from the several small communities providing what little food they could. A false messiah came to them in the form of Rotti Largo and his bloodsucking business name GeneCo.

But only one would witness the most horrible thing of all. He would watch the decay, the gradual downward spiral, mourn as Wonderland's people forgot Wonderland, and would not be able to help the fact that what he saw….was time flying by. Literally. In the span of one year on Earth, the date on Roc had gone from 1993 to 2040. To those who knew it, it meant only one thing. The Ace of Clubs had fallen into a time-rift. Now that time slowed back to a normal pace, the Ace had come through the other side.

And so that one man spent the next seventeen years searching. He searched for the Ace, and helped the poor souls he saw forget this awful place; even if it was only for a moment. These were not his most important missions, however. Innocents were few and far in-between, but this man, who was commanded long ago to keep the timeline, had sharp eyes and ears. Very little could escape his notice.

An abandoned warehouse on the edge of "Sanitarium Isle's" largest cemetery(opposite the old money district), now warm and hospitable and far from abandoned, filled with laughter and song and the voices of the island's most unfortunate; there is nothing sadder than a child left to face the world alone.

Through the empty alleyways and streets, just before dawn made its murky debut, a sharp whistle echoed. In quick succession it went high and then low nearly indistinguishable from a bird's call. When the sound reached the ears of the little rat of a man sent to deliver a message to Graverobber, he stood stock-still. He strained his ears, hoping for some kind of warning. Unsurprisingly, one never came. The messenger squeaked and spun away, nearly falling over, when a large hand clamped onto his shoulder.

"Bloody 'ell Graverobber! Do ya 'ave ta give a bloke a heart attack?" The tiny messenger squeaked indignantly in a heavy cockney accent, but Graverobber only laughed in his deep baritone.

"Oh come now. T'was only a bit of fun." He smirked wickedly, Zydrate blue eyes narrowed with mischief. "What has my favorite runner (2) got for me now?"

The tiny man straightened his jacket with jerky, angry motions. He didn't dare try to talk-back though. The Graverobber might have a sense of humor, but there was a reason Graverobber's business was done solo (not that anyone knew why). If the man gave the Graverobber any reason at all to ruffle feathers at the meeting (other than the usual reasons that is) he'd be short a few layers of skin on his back.

"Meetin's at 8:00 tonight. If you're interested, that is. No skin off my back if you don't show your face." Graverobber raised an eyebrow. They both knew that wasn't true. "Mind you, Mister Campbell gets mighty disappointed when you don't show. And when I say disappointed I mean off-'is-rockuh insane."

The runner began to head back down the street, throwing comments over his shoulder as he went, occasionally shaking his head and throwing a palm through the air. "But go on then. Sod off and disappear for all I care. By the way, Sir Rawlins is wantin' to speak wiff you afters."

The Graverobber couldn't help but chuckle at the man's retreating back. That was why the man was Grave's favorite runner. No fear. Visibly at least. Nothing but cheek and sarcasm at the surface.

But for now, he had more important things to worry about. Turning to face the way he came, the Graverobber gave three whistles. Each started high then went low, the next one being lower than the first, and so on. Once he'd heard an answering whistle, the opposite of his, he nodded and headed into the cemetery. Graverobber walked straight ahead, paying only enough attention to duck under searchlights and jump tombs and fallen headstones.

As he moved through, and the GeneCops moved out with the dim light of morning ('Idiots. Can't operate without orders'), Graverobber's thoughts wandered aimlessly, not going in any particular direction, until he focused on the actual task at hand.

'There is no way the kid's going to agree to come with me.'

'Of course not,' he argued with himself. 'You did do a fine job of scaring her away.'

'I meant to scare her so she would go HOME. Not get a taste of the world and let herself be lured out for more.'

'Yeah, and look how that worked out. Her father dead, god-mother gone, Amber Sweet most likely after her…'

'OKAY…I get it. Damn it, I should have just taken her straight home and given her a lecture or some shit.'

'That's what I said, but did you listen? Noooo, of course not.'

'That's not the-…'

He paused, mid-step, for half a moment and listened carefully. Nothing made a sound but the wind rustling the leaves of the few trees. The tiny 'clink' of rock falling onto rock didn't repeat. Perhaps a rat…He continued his musings.

'Look, that's not the point. The point is that Shiloh Wallace is pure as the driven snow and incredibly naïve and alone in an incredibly dangerous city. She's innocent and…and it would be a terrible shame if someone killed her or her innocence. I have to find her, and fast. There's no telling what the bratty trio will do.'

'And I suppose it has absolutely nothing to do with thinking for a few seconds the kid was your big sis.'

'Nothing at all. I don't need to think about things like that right now.'

'Hmmm…fine, but the subject is not going in the attic to collect dust. And what about our stalker? Wouldn't it be really bad to lead him to Shiloh's house?'

'Why the Hell do you think I'm headed in to a crypt?'

Graverobber had already opened it and moved underground into the space, lighting old, but still functional, torches as he went. He scowled and grumbled in annoyance of the small detour. Despite his grievances, the graverobber took a small delight in the simple trap he'd set. In seconds he was gone from sight and the tailing teen was cautiously descending the steps.

Shiloh was cold. Scratch that, she was freezing. Her dress and wig were soaked with blood and water and, only a minute ago, mud. It was safe to say she was not a happy camper.

In addition to that, she was hungry, and lost. The tiny girl had marched out of the opera two hours ago, completely numb, head held high despite it all. She had climbed awkwardly into the limo and after three blocks told the driver to stop. He did, and didn't say a word as she got out and began to walk. With no one to keep her captive, she kept moving. Shiloh didn't know how long she walked, but when she finally awakened from her trance, she found herself in the midst of a familiar scene.

It was not Graverobber. She knew that. The man hawking his illegal wares was a foot too short and had no make-up. His skin was too dark, his hair was bleach blonde, and his expression was too cold; too greedy and unfeeling. No, this was simply another graverobber, seller of Zydrate.

In fact, Shiloh began to wonder if he even robbed the graves. There was no dirt under his fingernails at all, and his clothing was free of grave dirt and anything else it was possible to get on you while robbing a grave. She didn't dwell much longer on it and decided to get away instead, before someone took notice of her.

Unfortunately for little Shiloh, it was too late for that. Two shadows followed her away from that alley and down the dark, poorly lit streets.

On the other side of the city, in a high rise office, someone screamed obscenities and insults at two of their employees. The shouting continued for ten minutes, then orders were thrown and the two guards were tied to the wall, backs facing their employer. There was no mercy from the boss as he-she whipped them viciously. The cracking of the whip did not stop until long after neither guard had breath to scream with.

(A/n:

1) Just kinda put the three majors. Anything classified as an organ can fail, but heart, liver, and kidney are the most common. Kinda interesting actually. Liver failure causes jaundice which turns your skin and sometimes eyes yellow. The others are just painful. Nevermind...I'll shutup now.

2) Mirror's Edge, anyone? Basically just a messenger who's quick on his feet.

Don't hold your breath, but I would appreciate a little feedback. It's nice to find out what people think about this 'cause it's kinda my baby... anyone? Anyone? ...Bueller?

Cookie to anyone who can name that movie AND the teacher that says that! REVIEW!