The flashing red and blue lights painted the Macentyre Systems building in a chaotic glow as officers formed a perimeter, keeping curious onlookers at bay. The air was thick with tension, and the sound of static-filled radio chatter underscored the escalating crisis.

Captain Louise McGregor of the Toronto Police Service surveyed the scene, her jaw set in a hard line. A career spent handling standoffs, raids, and emergencies hadn’t quite prepared her for this. The building’s advanced security systems weren’t just robust; they were near-impenetrable. Even the RCMP’s technical specialists, brought in for reinforcement, were struggling to gain any traction.

“What’s the latest?” McGregor barked as one of her sergeants approached.

“Ma’am, we’ve confirmed the building’s lockdown protocols are active, and whoever’s controlling them has overridden every known failsafe. CEO Malcolm Macentyre confirmed this is far beyond their internal capabilities. They can’t even remotely access the system.”

McGregor nodded grimly. “And what about the source of the lockdown? Do we know if this is some sort of cyberattack?”

The sergeant shook his head. “Too early to tell, but we’ve intercepted some bizarre internal communications. There’s…a voice broadcasting over the building’s PA system. It’s unsettling, ma’am. Reports indicate it sounds like a woman. She’s referring to the place as ‘Wonderland.’”

“Wonderland?” McGregor repeated, her brow furrowing. “And the employees inside?”

“No clear count, but we believe several are still trapped. The situation inside is... hard to describe. Officers who’ve seen the live feeds through exterior security cameras report strange imagery—like something out of a twisted children’s storybook.”

McGregor swore under her breath. “Any direct communication with this ‘Wonderland’ person?”

“None. Every attempt to establish contact has been met with silence or cryptic messages from the PA system.”

The captain turned to the RCMP tech specialist stationed nearby. “How long until you can crack this?”

The young man, sweating despite the cool evening air, shook his head. “This isn’t just standard corporate security, ma’am. This system’s been modified—rewired. Whoever’s controlling it is years ahead of what we usually deal with. It’s like trying to break into a vault with a paperclip.”

McGregor clenched her fists. This wasn’t just a technological nightmare; it was becoming a potential humanitarian disaster. “Get me every specialist we can find. I don’t care if they’re local, federal, or private. We need to get inside.”

Just then, a low, eerie laugh echoed from the building’s loudspeakers, audible even outside. The gathered officers and techs froze as the distorted voice crackled to life.

“Ah, my dear law enforcers, I see you’ve come to play,” the voice cooed, dripping with mockery. “But Wonderland is not open to guests without an invitation. Run along now—this is a private affair.”

McGregor’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

The voice continued. “But don’t worry! Soon, everyone will understand. You’ll see. Wonderland is for those who deserve it most. Ta-ta for now!” The PA cut out with an unsettling chirp of static.

McGregor turned back to her team, her expression hardening. “God damn supervillains!”

***

Inside, the Macentyre Systems security team was grappling with chaos that seemed to defy reason. What should have been a straightforward crisis response was devolving into an impossible nightmare. The lockdown protocols had turned the building into an impenetrable fortress, and the surreal transformations within the facility left even the most seasoned guards questioning their sanity.

“This doesn’t make any sense!” barked Captain Henry Drake, the head of Macentyre’s internal security, as he slammed his fist on the desk in their command room. Monitors showed feeds from various parts of the building, though most were now overlaid with what looked like whimsical, nonsensical imagery. Hallways had turned into winding forest paths, offices into tea rooms, and equipment into bizarre amalgamations of everyday objects and outright fantasy.

“How do we even respond to this?” asked one of the guards, his voice trembling. “The cameras—are they even showing what’s really there?”

Drake pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration and unease battling for dominance. “I don’t know what the hell we’re looking at anymore. But real or not, we’ve got employees in there, and it’s our job to get them out.”

Another guard pointed at a monitor. “Sir, look at this!”

The screen displayed a group of employees huddled together in what used to be the cafeteria. The room had transformed into an elaborate Victorian ballroom, complete with chandeliers made of what looked like glowing candy canes. Animated teapots waddled around on spindly legs, offering cups of steaming liquid to frightened workers. One man took a sip, then immediately clutched his head and fell to his knees, screaming.

Drake’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t just a lockdown. Whoever’s doing this is toying with them.”

The radio on Drake’s hip crackled to life, and a panicked voice came through. “Captain Drake, this is the security team on the 15th floor! We’ve got some kind of… thing blocking the main hallway! It looks like a giant chess piece, and it’s—oh, God, it’s moving! We need backup!”

Drake grabbed the radio, his voice firm. “Hold your position. Do not engage. We’re trying to figure out how to override the system.”

He turned to the team of technicians frantically working at their terminals. “Tell me you’ve got something. Anything.”

One of the techs looked up, her face pale. “Sir, we’ve been locked out of nearly everything. Whoever’s in control has rerouted all administrative access through a secondary system we can’t trace. Every time we try to break in, the system fights back—it’s like it’s alive.”

“Alive? What the hell does that mean?” Drake demanded.

The tech swallowed hard. “I mean… it’s adapting to us. Blocking us out faster than we can get in.”

Drake’s shoulders sagged for a moment before he straightened. “Keep at it. We don’t stop until we regain control. And someone get me a connection to the police outside. If they’ve got resources we can use, I want them here, now.”

As the chaos inside continued to spiral, Drake couldn’t shake the feeling that they were up against something far beyond their expertise. Whatever was happening in Macentyre Systems wasn’t just a security breach—it was a descent into madness.

***

What neither the police nor the security guards could know was that they were up against a woman of rare genius—a mind that existed in the upper 0.01% of humanity's intellectual spectrum. Dr. Alice Little, or rather Alice of Wonderland the identity that was currently in charge, was not only a polymath of staggering ability but also unshackled from the moral hesitations that restrained Doctor Little.

She stood before a bank of monitors, her angular grin fixed in place as her blue eyes danced with both whimsy and malice. On one screen, the futile efforts of the security team played out like a poorly scripted comedy. They scrambled to regain access to their systems, typing feverishly, while her countermeasures shut them down almost lazily. On another, the police outside were gathering heavier equipment in preparation for a forced entry.

Wonderland Alice chuckled, the sound light and almost musical, belying the razor-sharp edge of her intentions. “Oh, come now,” she murmured to the screens, her fingers gliding over her keyboard with practiced ease. “If they’re going to play riddles, they should at least bring someone who knows how to play better.”

A flick of her wrist and a few keystrokes later, the attempts to breach her systems were met with a delightful new twist. On every security terminal attempting to hack into her domain, the screens flickered before resolving into animated chessboards. A single move was displayed on each—impossible positions that violated the rules of the game.

“Let’s see if you can puzzle that one out,” she said with a grin, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t expect much from pawns.”

One of the security techs froze as the screen in front of him displayed an error message overlaid with a simple question: “Would you like to play a game?” The cursor blinked expectantly, but every attempt to bypass the prompt only caused more nonsensical riddles to appear.

Meanwhile, Wonderland Alice’s gaze shifted back to Michael, who was still bound in his chair, struggling against his restraints and the surreal nightmares she had conjured around him. “Poor Michael,” she cooed mockingly. “Even your fathers brilliant security measures are no match for me. Did you really think you could outmaneuver my Alice Little?” She tilted her head with a smirk. “Or did you forget she has always been the smartest person in the room?”

Turning back to the monitors, she made a few more adjustments, rerouting power from auxiliary systems to reinforce the lockdown. The building was hers, her wonderland, and no one—not the police, not security, and certainly not Michael—was going to take it from her.

As her fingers danced across the keyboard, she hummed a whimsical tune, her mind racing with possibilities. Every attempt to stop her only fueled her resolve, every failure of her opponents affirming her dominance. “The Queen of Hearts will not be dethroned,” she whispered to herself, her grin widening as she prepared the next move in her intricate game. “Let the games continue.”

Wonderland, perched at her terminal with a playful smirk, tapped her fingers on the desk rhythmically as she sent a series of commands to the building’s drones. On her monitors, the devices sprang to life, their targeting systems identifying Vulpes and the panicked security guards as threats. The drones would swarm through the building, their taser-loaded appendages cloaked in whimsical projections: brightly-colored birds, flapping bats, and even the occasional glimmering dragon.

"Let's see how you handle my flying friends, little fox," Wonderland mused, her voice dripping with mischievous delight. "It’s no fun if they don’t chase you a little."

Her gaze drifted to another monitor, showing the chaos unfolding in the lower floors. Employees stumbled through surreal hallways, screaming as inanimate objects came to life and taunted them. Doors refused to open unless riddles were solved, and food carts had turned into oversized chess pawns that rolled menacingly after anyone who got too close. The cacophony of their fear, while amusing at first, now left a sour note in Wonderland’s playful mood.

She pouted slightly, her smile faltering for just a moment. “Silly people,” she muttered. “They’re supposed to be having fun. Wonderland is a place for whimsy and wonder—not just fear. The screaming is for Michael... and maybe for those meddling enough to ruin my games.”

Her fingers flew over the keyboard again, this time with purpose. If the workers couldn’t appreciate Wonderland, she’d simply give them what they wanted. She created soothing projections: meadows of soft grass, calming streams, and inviting picnic spots. The cries of panic softened, replaced by tentative curiosity as frightened employees saw their environments transform into scenes of idyllic beauty.

“See?” Wonderland said to the monitors, her tone almost maternal. “A little carrot to go with the stick. Play nice, and maybe you’ll all get to enjoy Wonderland.”

Satisfied, she leaned back and let her gaze return to Michael’s monitor, where his panicked writhing and desperate pleas continued to delight her. Wonderland's smirk returned in full force.

"As for you, dear Blackguard," she whispered, "your screams are music to my ears. But don’t worry—we aren’t even close to done."

***

Vulpes moved with measured precision through the ducts, her focus unshaken despite the bizarre surroundings that shifted and shimmered in the periphery of her vision. The descent through the building felt endless, every turn and level marked by surreal changes in the atmosphere. The vents themselves began to feel like twisting tunnels, lined with shimmering particles that glowed faintly, as if she were navigating through a living organism.

The muffled sounds of chaos filtered through the metal around her: security shouting conflicting orders, employees murmuring in disbelief, and the occasional distant shriek as the illusions played their games. She paused to steady herself, adjusting the lenses of her mask to cut through the visual haze. The closer she got to the R&D levels, the more intense the illusions became, as if Wonderland was aware of her approach and growing increasingly eager to keep her at bay.

Her earpiece buzzed faintly with intercepted chatter from the security team.

“We can’t get through—everything’s locked down! The drones are targeting us like we’re intruders!”

“We’ve got employees scattered across three floors, but the environment keeps changing. One second it’s a forest, the next it’s... a tea party. We’re losing them!”

Vulpes clenched her jaw. The security team was out of its depth, and the workers were cracking under the pressure. Wonderland’s illusions might be whimsical on the surface, but they were breaking people’s resolve by making reality feel untrustworthy. If she didn’t get to the heart of this soon, the psychological toll on everyone involved—especially Alice—could be catastrophic.

As she pressed forward, she noticed a faint vibration in the duct walls—a telltale sign of moving drones. Switching her mask’s filter again, she caught the faint, glowing outlines of small hovering devices patrolling the adjacent hallway. The “birds” and “dragons” were active, and their sensors were sharp. Vulpes gritted her teeth, weighing her options.

She reached into her belt, pulling out a small elctrostatic grenade before carefully priming it. With a quick flick of her wrist, she rolled it through a vent opening. The muffled pop and flicker of electricity were followed by the satisfying sound of a drone clattering to the ground.

One less obstacle.

Vulpes resumed her crawl, her muscles aching from the constant tension. Every meter brought her closer to the R&D levels and to Alice—or whoever she had become.

***

Dorothy Gable hadn’t moved for what felt like hours, though in reality, only minutes had passed. She lay curled under the breakroom table, hands clamped over her ears, eyes squeezed shut so tightly it hurt. Her heart thundered in her chest as her mind spiraled. The world around her had gone mad, chaotic, unreal. She repeated the words to herself like a mantra: It’s fake. It’s fake. This isn’t real.

But what if it was her? What if her mind had finally let go, snapping under the weight of everything? The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She clenched her teeth and shook her head. No. No, I had help. I learned to control this. I learned to ground myself. This isn’t me. She inhaled sharply through her nose, the scent of...flowers? Chocolate? Something sweet and enticing wafted into her nostrils. She flinched, shaking her head harder as if to clear it. No, focus. I can do this.

Her breaths came quicker as her surroundings pressed in. The walls seemed to shimmer, like painted watercolors dissolving into vibrant hues that threatened to swallow her whole. Voices whispered in the corners of her mind, soft and lilting, calling her to come play, to let go. She was losing the battle to stay tethered.

Dorothy closed her eyes tighter and forced herself to think of something concrete, something unchanging. Math. Equations. Facts. Numbers had always been her anchor. Numbers didn’t lie, didn’t shift like shadows in the dark. She began murmuring to herself, her voice trembling but steadying with each word.

“One plus one equals two. Two plus two equals four. Four plus four equals eight.” She repeated the sequence over and over, each number like a lifeline she clung to as the world around her seemed to twist and melt into madness. Her breath slowed, though her hands still trembled against her ears.

But then, like a cruel trick, the invasive thoughts grew louder, clawing at the edges of her mind. What if the numbers aren’t real either? What if the rules have changed? What if one plus one equals three now, and you’re too far gone to see it?

Dorothy’s stomach dropped, and her hands fell to her lap as she gasped for air. “No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “That’s not...that’s not how it works. Numbers don’t change. Numbers don’t—”

The whispers grew louder, almost melodic now. Sweet, coaxing, irresistible. “But they could, Dorothy. Wouldn’t it be fun? Wouldn’t it be wonderful? Come play with us, and we’ll show you a world where the rules are whatever you want them to be.”

Her breathing hitched, and tears welled in her eyes. No. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. I don’t know what this is yet, and it’s trying to break me. Dorothy pressed her fists into her thighs, grounding herself in the pressure and the faint pain. “One plus one equals two,” she said again, louder this time. “One plus one equals two!”

The voices faltered for a moment, but the room around her continued to shift and change. She opened her eyes and immediately regretted it. The walls were no longer walls; they were blooming fields of impossibly large flowers, their petals swaying as if caught in an invisible breeze. A giant teapot rested on the counter, steam curling from its spout and forming shapes in the air—familiar shapes, things she couldn’t quite place but felt she should recognize. Her vision blurred, and she bit her lip hard, the pain grounding her further.

“Dorothy,” she whispered to herself, “you’ve faced worse. You’ve faced real storms, real destruction. This is just smoke and mirrors. You’re stronger than this.”

But the thoughts whispered back, darker and more insistent. Are you? Really? Or is this where it all falls apart again?

Tears streamed down Dorothy’s face as she pressed her palm to the ground, the cool, solid surface anchoring her to reality. She took a slow, shuddering breath, forcing the panic in her chest to ease, even if only slightly. “One plus one equals two,” she murmured, her voice growing steadier with each repetition. “The yellow brick road will always lead me home. I just need to find the yellow brick road.”

The familiar words grounded her, the reference to her favorite childhood story providing a lifeline. She latched onto it like a drowning woman reaching for a raft, her mind envisioning golden bricks beneath her feet, a path leading her out of the chaos and back to safety.

Dorothy began crawling out from under the table, her legs shaky but determined to move. Staying here wasn’t an option—if she stayed, she’d lose herself entirely. She had to keep going, keep searching. Even though she didn’t know what was real or what was an illusion, she clung to the hope that others were safe somewhere in this mess. The voices in her head taunted her, but she forced them away, focusing on one thought: I can help. I have to help.

As she rose unsteadily to her feet, the breakroom around her shifted again. The teapot on the counter grew taller, its spout stretching out like a snake’s neck, steam curling in the air and forming words she couldn’t understand. The walls shimmered, turning from wooden panels to brick facades that reminded her of the houses in Munchkinland. Dorothy squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out the bizarre transformations, then opened them again and forced herself to take a step forward.

Follow the yellow brick road, she told herself. Follow the path, find the others, help them. That’s what Dorothy Gale would do, and that’s what Dorothy Gable will do too.

The thought gave her courage, and though her heart pounded and her limbs trembled, she pressed onward. Her breaths came quicker as the breakroom door loomed ahead of her, now resembling a rounded archway painted in swirling hues of emerald and gold. Her hands hesitated for a moment before grasping the handle. She muttered softly under her breath, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”

With a deep breath, Dorothy opened the door and stepped out into the hall, determined to find her way through the madness—and to lead others out of it, one step at a time.