A/N: The confusion! It's frying my brain!

Seifer paced around, using the wall to hold himself up as he considered the hole in the ceiling. How was he going to get up? He didn't think he would be able to lift his arms above his head, let alone use them to hold onto anything... He cursed his bad luck and misfortune at having gotten himself into this mess. If he hadn't have followed the Sorceress, then this wouldn't be happening. Or at least, it wouldn't be happening to him.

He paced a bit more, walking round and round the small room until-

Click!

He stopped and looked down. Click? He didn't go 'Click' very often. What was that? He looked about and there, on the floor some 3 feet in front of him, was a speck. He squinted at him. Was that what went 'click'? He hobbled over to it and bent over, prodding it with a finger. The speck attached itself and he picked it up. Upon closer inspection - and taking care not to breathe too hard lest he blow it away – the speck turned out to be a key. A tiny, weenie little key.

Seifer frowned. Good lord. What in Hyne's name was he meant to do with a key the size of a grain of sand? Was there a tiny door he was meant to fit it into? He looked about, perfectly sure he had not seen a door when he was stomping about angrily looking for a way out. Missing an infinitely small key was one thing, missing an entire door was another altogether.

He did a double take. "Well fuck me sideways..." He muttered, turning round to look at it. "How did I miss that?"

It was a door. Or at least a miniture version of what could otherwise be recognised as a door. What this one was supposed to be, he had no idea. Certainly there was no way he was going to fit through it.

He hobbled over to it and struggled to his knees, wincing and sucking in breath through his teeth as he forced the torn muscles on his hip to move. It was so small, it was probably no bigger than his hand, but there was a keyhole small enough to fit the key he had stuck on the end of his finger.

He felt his insides beginning to wring themselves out. He had a very bad feeling about this and it had a hell of a lot to do with that infernal book they kept handing out. The first two copies, Seifer had burnt and torn to pieces, effectively ruining them out of spite, but they kept coming around with more copies, one of them was even blood splattered, but it took none of the mysticism out of the book, in fact it only seemed to increase it; Alice in Wonderland.

Seifer had always hated the book as a child, avoiding it being read to him at all costs, he hated the idea of slowly going mad in a world of your own creation. And what was worse: He would know he was going mad! It was like developing dementia, you realised that it was happening to you, you realised that you were losing your mind and it killed inside to know that everything you once were, you would never be again. It was different from getting old. It was different from being possessed. That was the Sorceress's doing, but this, if he gave in, would be giving himself over to something he had always sought to avoid.

He considered the hole in the ceiling again and what would be waiting for him up there if he went. Poison Jack. He shuddered at the thought, and in his current condition, there was no way he would be able to contort and wriggle his way out of harm's way. It just wasn't going to happen. He was caught.

He looked back at the door and sighed. "Ok, fine, so what if I was to try and fit through the stupidly tiny door? How am I meant to do it?"

How had Alice done it? Well she'd eaten something hadn't she? No, no, she'd drunk something... "Drink me."

He looked about for a little bottle with the words 'Drink Me' written on it. There was nothing there. He sighed and shook his head. Normally he would be angry about now with so many things making fun of him, pretending he was blind and couldn't see a door, pretending he was too big to fit through it, pretending there was a solution when clearly there wasn't. But he wasn't angry right now. He was a little annoyed, but he didn't have the energy for pissed off. Looked like the blood-loss was starting to get to him.

Brugheisen accepted the cup of tea from Heimlich, then sent him away again and turned his attention to the screen. Almasy was sat on the floor of the little room, looking at the little door and holding the little key up on his finger. It had been an exceedingly long time since he'd seen anybody go through this route, so he was interested to see how Almasy would fair. So far he seemed calm, after that little outburst a while ago and he seemed to be contemplating what he should do next. An active mind. He was glad he made that bet with Heimlich earlier.

Brugheisen sipped at the tea, holding the cup with both hands and warming his old bones. Politics had changed a lot over time and his tolerance for the crippling ways these youngsters played with each other had gone from little to less. But the Game always stayed the same. He had been an avid follower of barely a handful of Players over the years he had spent in this room, sipping scolding tea and watching people die. He could recall the closest Game he ever watched. A matured member of the terrorist bourgeoisie had been set up for execution by firing squad and had managed to Play through the Game to level 1 before he took a wrong turn and ended up spitting his own brains out. It was mere irony that had him meet his match against the ceiling mounted machine guns. Compared to him, Almasy was just a little boy. But it would be interesting to watch.

As a rule, those one would expect to be good at this were not. And those expected to be useless often succeeded. Witt and cunning were only as fast as the feet that carried them and if the Player spent too much time assessing and checking his situation, he was likely to be caught by something much bigger and far more dangerous than the often tiny thing they were originally agonising over. But he wasn't going to start counting his chickens before they'd hatched. Leave it up to Almasy to be the exception that made his rule.

Apparently deciding the door wasn't going to be going anywhere without his key, Almasy began trying to fit the hey on his finger into the hole in the door. It would likely be a little while before he managed it, but it was progress. Now what was beyond this again? Brugheisen couldn't remember, it had been so long since he'd watched this level anyway.

The image of a long staircase appeared on the screen, leading upwards and it jogged his memory. Ah yes, now he could recall. He had seen quite a number meet their match against this little cookie and could only hope that Almasy was a fast runner.

A/N: There we go, I'll see what else I can cook up...