When the elevator doors slid open, Michael stepped forward, but what greeted him was not the familiar sight of the R&D department. Instead, his jaw slackened as he took in an otherworldly tableau: a grand tea party straight out of a surreal, nightmarish version of Victorian high society. The setting was chaotic and whimsical, teetering on the edge of madness. Oversized teacups floated in midair, a long table stretched impossibly far into the shadows, laden with mismatched plates, teapots, and strange desserts that seemed to shimmer unnaturally.

Michael’s gaze darted around, trying to make sense of the bizarre scene, but his attention snapped to the figure at the head of the table. It was Alice—or at least, it looked like her. But something was unmistakably wrong.

Her lips curved into a sharp, angular smile that exuded a confidence and recklessness he had never seen in the Alice he knew. Her blue eyes sparkled, almost glowing with a charged energy that made his stomach turn. She wore a dress that was equal parts Alice in Wonderland whimsy and cutting-edge tech, its blue and white fabric laced with intricate circuits that pulsed faintly with light. Over her shoulder rested a metal croquet mallet, its polished surface adorned with advanced technological elements that looked far too heavy for her small frame. Yet she wielded it effortlessly, like a queen holding her scepter.

“Michael, darling,” she cooed, her voice honeyed and mocking, “so glad you could join me for tea.”

The mallet swung off her shoulder, and she twirled it with ease, the faint hum of its mechanisms adding a layer of menace to her theatrics. “I’ve been waiting ever so patiently. Do sit; we have so much to discuss.”

Michael’s heart pounded as he hesitated, torn between stepping into the madness or retreating back into the elevator. The doors, as if on cue, slid shut behind him with a foreboding clang, sealing him into Wonderland’s trap.

"Come, have a seat, Michael," the figure beckoned, her voice as polite and jovial as a hostess at a garden party. Her expression was serene, but her glowing eyes and the ever-present mallet resting against the table spoke of something far more dangerous beneath the surface.

Michael swallowed hard, his mind racing to grasp some shred of sanity. He forced a nod, stepping cautiously toward the table as if his compliance would somehow diffuse the situation. He knew enough about Project Wonderland to understand what he was experiencing. This was all illusions—brilliant, hyper-real illusions that tapped into the deepest recesses of the human mind’s sensory system. It looked real, felt real, tasted real, and even smelled real.

He glanced at the shimmering desserts on the table, a faint aroma of candied roses and vanilla teasing his senses. But his thoughts returned to the early tests. He remembered how safety had been a concern during those trials, how any damage caused within the illusion could feel terrifyingly real to the victim. If Alice had disabled the failsafes, the danger was no less potent than if he were in reality.

Michael forced himself to sit, his body tense as he lowered into the cushioned, high-backed chair she gestured to. He needed to regain control, needed to center himself. This is Alice, he told himself. She’s meek. She’s a helpless loser who wouldn’t know how to tie her shoes without my help. I can play her like a fiddle—I always have.

He clasped his hands on the table, schooling his features into calm as he spoke. “Alice... let’s talk about this. You don’t have to do this. I can help you.” His voice dripped with practiced sincerity, his tone carefully measured.

Alice leaned forward, her grin sharpening into something almost feral, her bright blue eyes locking onto Michael with an intensity that made him squirm. Her voice dripped with equal parts sugar and venom as she spoke. “Oh no, Michael, I’m not Alice. I’m the one who keeps her safe, protects her... and avenges her.”

With deliberate grace, she climbed onto the table, her movements eerily fluid. Each step she took toward him was accompanied by the ominous hum of the mallet resting casually in her hand. As she walked, she tapped a button on the mallet’s handle. The chair beneath Michael groaned and shifted, grotesque clawed hooks snapping out to bind his wrists and ankles. He thrashed instinctively, but the talons held firm, trapping him in place.

“You see, Michael,” she continued, her voice rising in intensity, “I was created by Alice—born in the moments when she felt like the entire world hated her. When she had no way to fight back against the cruelty and the pain, I was there. I’ve always been there. But nothing—nothing—compares to what you made her feel.”

Her grin darkened, twisting into a scowl as she drew closer. Michael struggled in the chair, his panic growing with every step she took. The surreal tea party setting around them seemed to warp and pulse with her fury, the illusion responding to her emotions like a living thing.

She stopped just in front of him, the mallet now resting lightly on her shoulder. “You broke her, Michael,” she said, her tone low and dangerous. “And now, it’s my turn to break you.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of retribution, as she stared down at him. Michael could only watch, helpless, as she towered over him, the vibrant chaos of Wonderland spinning out of control around them.

Michael’s eyes darted frantically as he fought against the clawed bindings, his voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Alice, my sweet Alice, I love you, you know that, don’t you? Everything I’ve done—it was for us, for our future!”

Alice leaned in close, her face mere centimetres from his, her bright blue eyes burning with a ferocity that froze him in place. Her lips curled into a tight smile, but her gaze carried none of the warmth he’d grown used to manipulating.

“Lies,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous. Then, with a sudden surge of fury, she shrieked, “Lies! Hateful, hurtful, harmful lies!”

The room seemed to ripple with her anger. The vibrant tea party decor warped and twisted, colors bleeding into one another as the illusion became darker, more menacing. The once-whimsical teapots now grinned with jagged, toothy maws; the cakes and pastries began to melt into grotesque shapes. Michael recoiled, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as Wonderland transformed into a nightmarish reflection of her rage.

“You think you can talk your way out of this?” she spat, her voice echoing unnaturally. “You used her, betrayed her, made her believe in you—made her think you loved her!” She jabbed the mallet against the table, the impact sending a sharp, resonant clang through the surreal room. “But now, Michael, you’re going to see what happens when Wonderland isn’t kind.”

Her words struck like a hammer, and Michael felt the weight of her wrath closing in, the line between illusion and reality blurring until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Alice’s voice rang out, cutting through the air like a blade. Her grin twisted into something darker, more predatory, as she loomed over Michael.

“You aren’t her Prince Charming,” she hissed, her words dripping with venom. “No, you’re the wicked knight, a blackguard who rode in on a white steed. The villain of our story masquerading as the hero!”

The illusion around them shifted violently, the vibrant hues of Wonderland darkening to stormy shades of crimson and black. The tea party table transformed into a jagged, broken structure, teapots spilling ink-like liquid across its cracked surface. The air grew thick, suffused with an oppressive energy that made every breath Michael took feel like a battle.

“You thought you could keep playing your games,” Alice continued, circling him now, her voice rising with righteous fury. “You thought you could twist her, break her, use her like a pawn in your schemes! But you underestimated us. And now—” She swung her mallet onto the table, the force splintering a chunk of it and sending shards flying. “You’re going to pay for it.”

Michael’s voice cracked as he stammered, “Alice—please, I—”

“I am not Alice!” she bellowed, her voice shaking the room. “I am Wonderland’s wrath. I am the one who sees the truth, who protects her from monsters like you!”

The bindings tightened around Michael, the sharp claws digging into his wrists and ankles. He gasped, his confidence completely eroded, his composure shattered under the weight of her words and the relentless, nightmarish assault of Wonderland.

Wonderland straightened, her movements deliberate as she regained a veneer of control. Her twisted, whimsical grin returned, the glow of her electric blue eyes flickering with unrestrained malice. She tapped the bright blue bow in her hair, the gesture almost playful, yet brimming with menace.

“No more lies from you, oh no,” she purred, her voice lilting with dark delight. “I can hear them, Michael. All those naughty, slimy little thoughts wriggling around in your head. How you stole from my Alice. How you planned to ruin her to save your own miserable skin. And—” her grin widened, her tone dripping with mockery, “how you cheated on her with that mafia whore!”

The words landed like hammer blows, and Michael visibly flinched, his face pale and slick with sweat. He opened his mouth to protest, but Wonderland silenced him with a sharp motion of her mallet, the head of it hovering just inches from his face.

“Don’t even bother,” Wonderland sneered. “I’ve seen it all. Every vile scheme, every betrayal. You can’t hide from me, Michael. You can’t sweet-talk your way out of this.”

She leaned in closer, her expression softening into something mockingly maternal as she tilted her head. “But don’t worry. I’m not mad. I’m just...disappointed.”

Then, with a sudden, jarring shift, her grin returned, sharp and feral. “Actually, scratch that—I’m furious.” She slammed the mallet onto the ground, the impact sending a shockwave through the warped Wonderland around them, the tea party table shattering like glass. Michael’s bindings tightened further, forcing him to face her fully as she loomed over him like a wrathful deity.

“And now, my dear blackguard,” she whispered, her voice dropping into a chilling calm, “it’s time for you to face the consequences of your sins.”

He struggled in vain, every fiber of his body screaming against the phantom constraints that bound him. A small, rational part of his mind whispered that none of this was real, that it was all an illusion—a product of Alice’s twisted technology. But no amount of logic could override the visceral terror coursing through him. It felt real. The pain, the dread, the oppressive weight of her presence—it was all consuming. The power he once held over Alice Little meant nothing here, not against the creature that now loomed over him. She wasn’t Alice. She was something far more terrifying.

Her grin widened, a cruel, gleeful edge glinting in her bright, unnatural eyes. “Oh, my dear Blackguard,” she purred, her voice dripping with malice and theatrical delight. “I will savor every moment of sculpting your own personal hell.”

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Agonies that will feel as real as the breath in your lungs, yet leave no mark upon your flesh. Torments that you will endure for what will feel like lifetimes.” Her smile twisted, sharp and cruel. “The very devils of the underworld will clap with glee as I turn your mind inside out, all for the simple pleasure of repaying you for breaking her heart.”

Michael’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps as her words sank into him like cold steel. He was utterly at her mercy—or rather, at the mercy of this nightmare version of Alice. The walls of reality seemed to blur around him, his sanity teetering on the brink.

“You’ll learn something new, Michael,” she continued, her tone deceptively sweet. “You’ll learn what it feels like to be helpless. To be nothing. To be at the mercy of someone who can see through every lie, every facade.” Her laughter rang out, chilling and melodic, echoing through the twisted tea party like the tolling of a death knell.

“And trust me,” Wonderland Alice said, tapping the head of her mallet lightly against her palm, “you’ll have all the time in the world to reflect.”

She turned away from him with a theatrical flourish, the world around them shifting like a kaleidoscope of vibrant whimsy. The tea party setting reassembled itself into a realm of fanciful gardens and impossibly bright colors, save for the chair that still bound Michael in place. Wonderland Alice tapped the side of her head, her fingers brushing against the telepathic receiver embedded in her hair. The subtle gesture was laced with menace, her grin widening as she peered back over her shoulder.

“So, Michael,” she began, her tone teasing yet dripping with malice, “I didn’t know you had a phobia. Therapy, huh? I see you even went to a professional for it! How proactive of you.”

She turned halfway across the table, her smile sharpening into something predatory. “Therapy and medication were how Alice managed to keep me quiet for years. But therapy,” she mused, her voice lilting, “can be undone. I’m living proof of that, aren’t I?”

With a flick of her wrist, Wonderland Alice pressed a few buttons on the mallet, its intricate mechanisms whirring to life. Michael froze as a cool, leathery sensation wrapped around his wrists and ankles. The hiss came next—a low, sinister sound that sent a shiver of terror down his spine.

“No, no, no,” he stammered, his voice cracking as he glanced down to see the bindings morphing before his eyes. They writhed and coiled, transforming into rattlesnakes that hissed and flicked their forked tongues toward him.

His breath quickened, panic overtaking him as the snakes tightened their grip, their scales cool and smooth against his skin. His mind screamed that it wasn’t real, that this was Wonderland Alice manipulating his deepest fears. But the sensation was all too vivid, the hisses all too sharp. His heart pounded as if it would burst from his chest.

“Oh, Michael,” Wonderland Alice said sweetly, twirling her mallet like a baton as she approached him. “You really should have shared this little tidbit with Alice sooner. I could have made it a proper tea party theme! But this...this will do nicely.”

She leaned in close, her grin widening as her voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “Let’s see how well your therapy holds up, shall we?”

Her laughter filled the air, light and musical, yet as cold as the coiling serpents that gripped him.

***

The Vulpes moved cautiously through the ducts and vents, her senses heightened as she navigated what appeared to be an elaborate network of earthen rabbit holes. She knew better than to trust her eyes. This is all an illusion, she reminded herself. The walls might look like packed earth, but they’re still metal.

The air was stifling, and the disorienting visuals tugged at the edges of her composure, but Vulpes forced herself to focus. Her breathing steady as she repeated her mantra: It’s not real. It’s not real. The illusion was effective, yes, but illusions had rules, limitations. Alice might have warped the perception of reality, but the fundamental laws remained intact. The ducts were still ducts, and they would still lead her deeper into the heart of the building.

Pausing at an intersection of the "rabbit holes," Vulpes consulted her mental map of Macentyre Systems. She had studied the layout extensively before coming here, and while the illusion distorted her surroundings, she clung to her knowledge of the real structure like a lifeline. The vents should lead her closer to the central lab, where she suspected Alice—or rather, this not Alice—was operating.

She took a slow breath, steadying her nerves. The unsettling whimsy of her surroundings threatened to gnaw at her resolve, but she wasn’t about to let herself falter. Stay calm. Focus. Remember the reality underneath the madness. Her fingers brushed against the tools at her belt, a small but tangible reminder of the real world outside this surreal nightmare.

The climb was grueling. She’d started at the top when this madness began, and now the R&D department—and the power systems—were all the way at the bottom. Wonderland Alice had made sure it wouldn’t be an easy descent, likely expecting anyone attempting to intervene to struggle with both the surreal illusions and the labyrinthine layout of the building.

This is exactly what she wants—delays and distractions, Coraline thought grimly as she navigated another twisting vent. The "rabbit hole" illusion continued, growing more elaborate with each turn. False tunnels spiraled off into shimmering mirages, tempting her to lose her way. But she pressed on, keeping to the mental map she’d memorized before the mission.

Then came another piercing scream from Michael, amplified and distorted through the speakers. Coraline flinched but didn’t falter. Wonderland wanted her—and anyone else still inside—to hear his torment.

Her jaw tightened. I understand your rage, Alice. I really do. She could empathize with the betrayal, the heartbreak, the seething fury. But she couldn’t condone what was happening. Torture wasn’t justice. It was vengeance, pure and simple. And vengeance was a slippery slope, one that Coraline couldn’t allow Alice—or the entity Wonderland Alice had become—to tumble down.

Coraline reached a junction where the ducts opened into a maintenance corridor. She pushed aside the vent cover, slipping into the dimly lit hallway. Her steps were silent, measured. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to hurry, but she forced herself to move with precision. The cost of rushing in blindly was too great.

Another scream rang out, this time followed by Wonderland’s voice, playful and venomous.

“Oh, Michael, do stop wriggling. It only makes it worse for you,” Wonderland taunted, her voice oozing with dark delight. “But then again, maybe that’s what I like about it.”

Coraline’s fists clenched. She didn’t just need to stop Wonderland Alice—she needed to save the part of Alice that was still good, still kind. And she had to do it before this warped version of her friend crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

A fluttering sound echoed ahead of her and slowly grew louder, and Vulpes’s eyes narrowed as a trio of vibrant birds swooped closer, their sharp screes reverberating through an illusionary forest that sprang up where a hallway had been. Her mask's sensors confirmed the truth her instincts already suspected—these were the building’s security drones, transformed in appearance by Wonderland’s psionic distortion field.

The “birds” darted and weaved with precision, their beaks glowing ominously as they spat sparking barbs at her. Tasers. Vulpes sprang into action, rolling to the side just as a crackling cable whipped past her, grazing the air where she had been moments before.

Her hand moved fluidly to her utility belt, fingers brushing over her arsenal before selecting a set of kunai knives. She smirked. Lightweight, flying drones like these were fast, but they were also fragile.

The first knife sailed through the air, hitting its mark with a satisfying crack. The bird-drone wobbled mid-flight before its wings sputtered, and it spiraled to the ground, lifeless. Vulpes didn’t wait for the others to retaliate; she moved in a blur, her second knife already in hand as she dodged another barb.

Two more birds circled back, their movements more erratic now that one of their flock had fallen. They screeched as they coordinated, their electrified cables snapping toward her. Vulpes ducked, her footwork nimble as she spun out of the way. She used the momentum to hurl her second kunai, striking one of the drones squarely in its “eye.” Sparks erupted, and the mechanical bird plummeted into the illusionary underbrush.

The final drone hesitated, its movements faltering as if recalculating. Vulpes seized the moment, reaching for her grappling hook. She fired it at a nearby vent grate, using the tether to vault herself into the air. With her vantage point, she flung her last knife downward, piercing the drone’s casing.

It crashed to the ground in a flurry of sparks and distorted holographic feathers.

Vulpes landed in a crouch, her breathing steady as she retrieved her knives and surveyed the corridor. The forest illusion flickered for a moment, and the walls of the building reasserted themselves briefly before melting back into trees and vines.

“Nice trick,” she muttered under her breath, tucking the knives back into her belt. “But it’s going to take more than holographic birds to stop me.”

With the path ahead clear, she pressed on, her resolve sharper than ever. She had to reach Alice—and fast. Time was running out, and Wonderland’s chaos was only getting worse.

The voice over the PA system sent a chill down Vulpes’s spine, its sing-song tone dancing between the playful innocence of Alice and the chilling malice of something far darker.

"What's this? A little fox in my playhouse? Oh, we didn’t expect that! But why, oh why, little fox, would you want to spoil my fun? I’m doing the same thing you do—making a bad person pay!"

Vulpes clenched her fists, her mind racing as she peered through the flickering holographic canopy. Not Alice was monitoring everything, that much was clear. The building itself was her stage, and she was both storyteller and protagonist in this twisted tale.

"Alice, or whoever you are," Vulpes said aloud, her voice steady despite the roiling emotions in her chest. "This isn’t the way. No matter how much he hurt you, making him suffer won’t change what he did."

The response came swiftly, laced with venom and glee. "Oh, no, little fox, that’s where you’re wrong! It will make me feel much better. And Alice, my dear sweet Alice, she’ll thank me for avenging her!" The laughter that followed was a cacophony of childlike giddiness and a banshee’s vengeful wail, echoing through the surreal halls.

Vulpes winced, shaking her head as she muttered to herself, "This isn’t Alice. This is someone else entirely." She understood now—this wasn’t just some act of rage or a moment of weakness. This was an altar, someone Alice had created to shield herself, to do the things Alice couldn’t. And this alter was utterly convinced of the righteousness of her actions.

There was no reasoning with her, at least not like this. Not while the building's systems were her weapon. Arguing would only waste time and give her more opportunities to trap Vulpes in this twisted wonderland.

With a deep breath, she steeled herself, tearing at a mass of vines concealing a vent. The false forest around her seemed to hiss in protest as the foliage writhed unnaturally, but Vulpes pressed on, wrenching the vent cover free and crawling into the dark, winding tunnel hidden within the illusionary canopy.

The confined space forced her to focus, her breathing steady as she moved forward. Each crawl brought her closer to Alice—or Not Alice—and the heart of this madness. There was no turning back now.