You wake up with your face pressed uncomfortably hard against a rough wooden floorboard. You sit up slowly, the throbbing pain in your temple subsiding somewhat as you do so. You look around and one of the first things you notice is the man who's sitting with you in the box, in the corner opposite you. It takes you a second, but you do recognize him.
"Its you!" you exclaim angrily as you try to stand up, only to bump your head against the low ceiling and reluctantly sit back down again. "Give me back my wallet," you demand.
He looks at you funny. "I think money's the least of our problems right now," he replies, drawing his knees closer to his chest. This is when you notice how pale he looks. He's doing well at keeping his poker face on, but his jaw is clenched shut tightly and he's shaking slightly. You tilt your head, dropping your guard only slightly.
"Are you alright?"
"Apart from the fact we're trapped in a tiny wooden box dangling over a large body of water, you mean?"
"Yes, that's what I mean."
He groans and says nothing in response; he just gives you a strange look and leans his head back against his side of the crate. Your boredom soon outweighs your concern for him, so you turn and push against the wall behind you, testing it.
"What're you doin'?" the thief sits up quickly, panic lacing his voice. "Did ya miss the part where I said we're dangling over a large body of water?"
You press all of your weight into the boards, then. "I heard you." Finally, you stop pushing, taking a moment to catch your breath. "The walls are stronger than they look."
"Bloody hell, you're insane."
"There has got to be some way out of this," you mutter to yourself, your eyes exploring every crack and crevice in the woodwork of your prison. You test the other walls, then the ceiling, then the walls again, until your companion says irritably, "Would ya stop moving so much? I'm sick enough as it is, the last thing you want is to make it worse."
You sit back down, mostly because you'd rather he not vomit in such close quarters with you, and in doing so your attention is drawn by his exposed left ankle. That symbol, you've seen it before. "Your tattoo," you say, "What is it?"
"How 'm I supposed to know?" he shrugs. "Woke up with it. You've got one too, you know." He points to your face. "Over your eye." Your hand immediately goes to your face. "Other eye." Tentatively, you touch under your right eye. "There." You rub at it, a bit, then glance at your finger. "I don't think it'll come off that easy, mate."
"I'm not your mate," you snap. "You stole my wallet."
He sighs, then reaches into his back pocket before tossing you the wallet he'd taken last night. "Not really any point in keepin' it now, I suppose, given the circumstances." You give him a skeptical look and open the wallet, sifting through its contents before stuffing it down your shirt, because today of all days you chose to wear something without pockets.
"So," you say, "where are we?"
"Dunno. Woke up in here, same as you. My best guess is I got jumped last night, just after I ran into you."
"Right after you stole from me, you mean."
"Listen, you're gonna have to get over that. I coulda done a lot worse," he says pointedly, glancing around the box.
You narrow your eyes. Forgiveness has never been your strong suit, but he seems genuine enough, and given that the both of you are stuck who knows where for who knows how long for who knows what reason, you don't see the harm in making an exception, at least until you get out of this thing. "Fine."
"Good. What's your name?"
"Alice."
"Nice to meet you, Alice, I'm Will," he says without any sort of friendliness in his tone, and for that you're thankful, because you don't particularly want to be his friend.
Neither of you really feel like talking too much, which is alright by you; you've always preferred to be alone. You close your eyes for a while and imagine you're in a land where nothing makes sense. The rabbits are always running late, cats can smile, and mushrooms have the power to make you grow and shrink. You imagine the queens who rule this land- one thinks of life as a game of cards, the other rules as though the world is her chessboard. You think of the tea-parties and falling stars and marshes made of mellow. You know this place well; you've dreamt about it every night since you were a child. A place so full of miracles and impossibilities that you've named it 'Wonderland.'
It feels like a lifetime has passed before whatever it is carrying your box starts to slow down and gradually lower towards the ground. You sit up- if you want to get out of this, this is your best chance. You have to be ready for anything when this crate opens. Except, it didn't open. You feel the engine shutter off and hear a heavy metal door close behind it. You find a crack to peer through and take a look around. Its a big room, no windows, and no people that she could see. You spend the next fifteen minutes waiting for something to happen, for someone to open your box so you can jump out and beat the crap out of them, but nothing happens. Then you notice an ominous white fog seeping through the cracks of the box. It rolls along the floor and slowly rises up to fill the crate.
Well, there goes your plan. Since you're unconscious, I'll just go ahead and tell you whats about to happen. After the gas knocks you out, some people in protective gear and masks will show up and open all the boxes- about thirty in total, with two to three Oysters per box. They'll give you all this injection that will put you in a dormant stage- barely alive. A shell of a person, really.
You'll be taken to a special room where you'll do nothing but stand, have your emotions drained from you, and maybe drool a little. Everything you're made to feel will seep into the special floors of this room, where your emotions will be carefully processed and concentrated into a liquid form before being sold on the black market. Its an expensive and difficult task to master, but hey, demand is demand. And here, demand just happens to be human emotions. I thought when the first factory like this one blew up, they would get the message and go experience their own emotions rather than suck them out of innocent people they snatch through the Looking Glass. I guess I was wrong.
Oh, by the way-
Welcome to Wonderland.
A/N: I know I said I would stop with the second/first person stuff but I kinda like it...
