Hello, everyone. This is a fanfiction I wanted to try, due to my appreciation of the American McGee games. I specifically want to focus on the 'Alice: Madness Returns' game, and I apologize if this isn't what you want to read.

A quick note: This story will have an OC as the main character. I also plan to include content that wasn't released in the official game in the story, mostly concerning Wonderland itself.

Second quick note: I have rated this story as 'M' because the actual games are Mature rated, containing violence and mature themes.

Now a DISCLAIMER: 'Alice: Madness Returns' is owned by Spicy Horse and Electronic Arts. The 'American McGee' series is owned by their creators, including unreleased content for said games. The author owns any OC's or custom elements introduced into this story.

Onward to the Chapter!

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart beats in a slow rhythm, the first thing I notice in and around me. I take a breath, and gag on a sour, smoky taste in the air. My legs crouch into my chest as I try to block out any more of this air from entering my nose and mouth.

I feel like vomiting on the cold ground beneath me from the taste. My stomach growls in either hunger pains, or a desire to empty its contents. It takes me a second to realize I'm lying on my side against a hard, broken surface.

I finally uncurl when I feel something knobby poke me in the back. I open my eyes to see a brick wall with several moldy spots in front of me, but not the source of the poking that now happens every few seconds. It takes me a few seconds of concentrated effort to roll over to my other side. The first thing I notice from this action is pain as bits of my skin peel off of the cold surface beneath me.

I then see the mottled and bruised face of a man with matted brown hair who, if he wasn't wearing a suit coat and pants blackened by grime, would probably look quite nice. He holds a large stick in one hand, which he pokes into my stomach without stopping. His blue eyes don't shine when I look at them; he doesn't seem to react to my eye contact, or when I slide back to the empty wall, out of his reach. He now taps the ground where I was with his stick as I notice a large bottle in his other hand. The peeling label on the bottle says 'ELEPHANT ELBOW'S RUM' in large black letters.

My stomach calms down as I take a look at my surroundings, my eyes moving faster than my brain. I'm lying against one of two long brick walls covered in mold, the stick-tapping man slumped against the other. To my left is a smaller wall that's hidden almost completely in shadow, the end of this sort of alleyway. Discarded bottles like the one in the man's hand litter the gray stones beneath me; cobblestones, my mind says, without my knowing why.

I stand up slowly, the wall slimy to my hands as I press against it. The man stops tapping as I stand fully upright, and I accidentally lock eyes with him. His own eyes widen, and a bit of color fills them as his mouth opens slightly. Is he going to say something to me?

No, actually. He just give a dopey grin as his eyes cross over. That sends a chill down my spine, and I turn away before does anything else. The only path I can take away from this drunk leads to an equally-dark crossroad of paths. Each step I take is more like a stumble as my mind, now awake and active, starts to ask questions.

Where am I? How did I get here? Why did I get here? Why is this place like this? What time is it? How long has it been since I last ate or drank something? Am I getting a headache? What was with that man's reaction when he finally seemed to notice me? Was it that rum he drank? Or, is it me? Is something wrong with me?

On that last question, I take a moment to look myself over. My skin seems pale in this darkened space, but I wear a white collared shirt stained on one side with grime, black pants, and black shoes with white socks. A few pokes around my stomach tell me I don't have much skin on my bones.

A hoarse meow reaches my ears as I step into the dark crossroads. I turn my head and see a white cat sitting on the path to my left, which leads to a sun-lit path and a few distant voices. The cat's yellow eyes look at mine, the pupils slightly dilated from the lack of light. I can see its ribs though its fur and skin, but its tail swishes back and forth energetically. Before I can blink, it gets up and walks down the path towards the light.

I look at the other two paths, leading between two-story and three-story houses, neither of them having any sort of light like the path in front of me. No other person is near me, save that drunken man from where I first woke up. It seems like I have a decision to make regarding where I go next. Do I step out into the light that I know nothing about, or remain in the darkness that I at least have some sort of familiarity with?

The cat draws my attention back to it with a loud hiss. It's just about to enter the sun-lit path, but it looks back at me. I feel a tug rise in my chest, like a string that connects to the cat, pulls me with the cat. I take one step forward, then another, and then several more in quick succession, my legs moving faster as the cat darts into the passing crowds of dark-clothed people.

I emerge into the light, and almost instantly press my back against a wall to my left as a man with a belly far too large for his britches wobbles past me. A rotund cigar bobs in his mouth, the smoke from that cigar shrouding his black bowler hat. I hold my breath to avoid coughing from the smoke; it burns my eyes like the alleyway's air.

There are more people than this fat smoker out here, which I notice a moment after he moves on. A few women in brightly-colored dresses, and uglier faces, stand in a group at one corner. Predatory grins are on their faces as they watch the men walking by. I don't hear anything they say, but they point to a few men's legs, and what's between them, as they talk. I don't think I should get involved with that.

Two burly, shirtless men talk among themselves in front of a butcher shop, close by to the evil-looking ladies. These men don't notice the attention they're getting from the females. Or, they could just be ignoring it, I don't know.

A distant tune comes from across another corner, but I can't see the source of the music from where I stand. The notes sound scrapy and messy, like the player needs more practice. Again, I don't think I should get involved.

The buildings, now revealed under what sunlight I can see through the smoke-filled sky, all look the same. They all have aged wood and stone, peeling paint, spiked roofs, and chimneys that spew more black smoke into the air. So, that was the smoke I was tasting in the alleyway; it hasn't reached the streets, yet, but the air tastes bad enough already. The few windows I see on the buildings are shrouded in darkness.

Nothing feels safe, here. I feel like a fish out of water, afraid to step into this strange place.

My feelings are shoved aside as someone pushes me against the wall with an angry, "Leave off, you mongrel!"

This comes from a tall, black-suited man with a bowler hat, stubby chin, and wild brown eyes who seems to be smoking a cigar. We lock eyes for just a second, but that second is enough for him to step away from me with a frightened expression and a muttered, "Bloody fuck!" He looks around, and then jumps as he notices something I don't see.

"Oy, 'e's seen us," a deep voice shouts out. "Stop, in the name of the law!"

Two very muscular men charge towards the two of us from within the crowd, one closer than the other. I look them over in just a few moments. They both wear navy blue uniforms made of tail coats, top hats, trousers, and black boots. Their footsteps sound like giant's stomps to my ears. I shouldn't be near them, should I?

The black-suited man next to me barrels through the crowd with wild abandon, away from the uniformed men, and me. I see his cigar falls to the street out of the corner of my eye. I don't get a breath in before the closer of the two men starts shouting from behind me.

"You little cur! You're under arrest for helping Jack Splatter escape!" This man has a rough voice and a deep frown, as he grabs my suit, whirls me around, and raises a fist towards my face. I look away and shut my eyes from what he'll do next.

"Hold your tongue, Williard, you're scaring the wee kid!" I open my eyes as the second uniformed man, with a thicker black mustache, holds the younger 'Williard' back from going full out on me.

"We'd almost snuck up on Splatter, Charlie," Williard desperately comments without letting me go. "But, this tyke had to alert him to our presence. Now, that waste of mother's love's gone back to whatever hole in the ground he calls home!"

"You think this urchin deserves harm because of our incognito plan? 'E just appeared, that's all; 'sides, Splatter will turn up again, like a damn termite. Now, what's your name, lad?" The question is directed at me by 'Charlie', who I now turn to face and answer.

At least, I try to answer; for some reason, I can't recall my actual name. Fear makes my throat freeze up and block any words I could say to solve this problem.

"'E's afraid to talk," Williard quickly notes to Charlie. "'E probably knows something about Splatter, at least. Splatter panicked only when 'e appeared!"

Charlie doesn't respond. My fear spreads to my eyes, which burn as my hands start to shake. Charlie's eyes widen in the same way the drunk man did, but he also frowns at something I can't see.

"You're right, Williard," he states. "There's something off about 'im, something that needs further looking at. Come on, lad, a rest in a gaol cell will open your mouth towards what you know."

Charlie's hand rests on my shoulder; his touch makes something inside me break with tremendous force, force that I use to scream, "Wait!" to the men, and struggle out of their grip. I don't know why I'm doing this, but the image of being trapped somewhere, against my will, frightens me to the core.

"Please," I breathe out, my voice sounding high-pitched to my ears. "I… something's wrong. My head… I can't remember things…" I clutch my head as it pounds in quick sequence, opposite to my heartbeat.

"Ay, don't lie to us, lad," Williard snarls as he grabs my arm. "You're coming with us!"

The constable's grip is like iron, now. Charlie grabs my other arm before I can break away a second time. The pounding becomes too strong for me to muster any force against their actions, and I slump to the ground in defeat as they drag me away.

The gaol is a three-story building in an area with a cleaner air, and more sunlight, than where I first woke up. The building has large white pillars supporting the floors, with rows of brick and large windows between the pillars. We enter the first floor, which has a large lobby with simple tiling, and pass a few people sitting in seats with dejected or upset expressions. However, we quickly move past them and up a flight of stairs to a cell with a wooden floor, peeling white wall, thick metal bars, and one of the windows I saw earlier providing sunlight. Williard unlocks and opens the door while Charlie holds me from running away—not that I want to at this point.

Charlie forces me inside, my body falling before the window as he slips out. Williard quickly closes and locks the door again, from what I can hear. I don't rise up from the floor, the pounding in my head transitioned by this point into an overall cold that makes me shiver, despite the fact I'm lying in direct sunlight. My eyes are clamped shut as I feel sweat run down my body, my shakes increasing as I crunch my legs to my chest again.

"Lad's pretty young, eh?" This comes from Williard, and I can barely hear his words through the roaring in my ears.

"Mmm," Charlie agrees. "A young one, fresh off the slums, I suspect. Makin' his way into the world, but sadly wasn't prepared for it." A groan escapes my throat as a new spasm of shivers makes me slam my foot against the floor like the drunk man from the alleyway tapped his stick on the ground. I have no control over it, I'm too occupied by my pounding head and picking up whatever Charlie and Williard are saying.

"You think he's another insane case," Williard asks. "Should we send him to Rutledge?"

"The asylum? That damn place don't need another broken mind, though they would certainly take care of 'im. Take 'im off of London's streets, for sure. I mean, they cured that one girl last year who'd been in there for ten years, or so. Man, that's a story for the papers there, curing that Alice Liddell."

At the words 'Alice Liddel', I freeze up. My eyes snap open and stare at a small hole in the nearby wall. Charlie continues to speak, but I don't hear anything from him as, to my growing horror, a large, yellow eye with a slit for a pupil emerges from the hole, glances around the room, and then settles on me. The eye blinks once as a deep, firm voice whispers sing-song words into my ears.

"Ah, Alice. What have you done?"

The eye melts into a pool of blood. I scramble back towards the bars, afraid to touch the red liquid. The guards shut up from whatever they were talking about as I roll over to face them. This time they both back up with surprised expressions when I look at them. Clearly, there's something about my face that people here don't like to see.

I clutch the bars with a hand, my strength returning rapidly as I hoist myself to a standing posture, the headache and cold replaced with a determination that fills me to my center. This determination has an identity, a name, a person it is connected to, a person I must find if I am to calm this chaos in my mind.

A single question comes to my lips, which I ask to the two confused guards in a focused tone. It's so different from the fear I had before, I'm not completely sure it's my voice. But, the question is certainly mine.

"Where is Alice Liddell?"

I sit on the cell floor, the name 'Alice Liddell' the only stable point in my head, the only thing that keeps me anchored to right now, and not drift off into some other realm in my imagination. The rest of my mind flies around in a storm of confusion and ideas, concepts forming and then breaking apart almost instantly afterwards. This storm isn't painful, really, just annoying to have, especially when there's nothing in this cell to draw my attention towards.

Williard and Charlie hadn't answered my question. Actually, they hadn't said anything before walking out of sight. They had also looked at each other in confusion. I had shouted the question to them again as they left my field of view, but they remained silent. I had stayed there for several long seconds as someone in another cell I couldn't see started laughing his head off. I didn't think my question was funny.

Now, I sit before the window as the sun lights up the sky a bright orange. Its heat warms my body and keeps me calm against this mental storm.

One thought that keeps coming up in the storm is that I can't remember my name, if I ever had one to begin with. Should I remember it, though; what if it's a name that gives me more problems? Those two officers, Williard and Charlie, wanted to capture that suited man who had ran into me, a man named 'Jack Splatter'; what if I had a name like his, a name hated by the law? Would I have given my name up for a reason, then?

Does my losing my name connect to that alleyway where I woke up? Did I experience some trauma that led to me being there, like a physical injury? Is that why my face makes people back away in fear? But, what if the injury is a mental one, instead? Is Alice Liddel connected in some way to my injury?

The storm breaks apart as I hear someone approach my cell. I turn from the sunlight to see Charlie say to me, "You've got a visitor, lad. He says he can help you."

I quickly stand up, powering through a wave of dizziness that comes from my rapid rising as Charlie nods to someone out of my view. Another man moves beside Charlie, but he isn't a member of the constables.

This man looks older than Charlie, but his figure is slimmer, his shoulders broader. His face is quite long and thin compared to the people I've seen here, his chin quite pointed and his cheekbones easily visible. A quick glance at his uncovered hands shows they are quite bony, as is his nose. His eyes are small and pale, but they seem to have a glimmer of power inside them I can't define, but I know is there. A full dark brown beard and mustache add to his similarly-colored hair.

He wears a brown coat and top hat, black trousers, a white shirt and gray waistcoat, and a red tie. Large round-rimmed glasses rest on his face and further accentuate his eyes. He looks at me, and actually isn't scared away by my focused gaze. This automatically sets me on edge, though I don't know why. I just catch Charlie step away from the cell, but probably not too far away.

"Good afternoon." The unknown man says this to me, his voice smooth and elegant compared to the officer's deep tones. "My name is Dr. Angus Bumby. I am the psychiatrist, and head manager, of the Houndsditch Home for Wayward Orphans. I was informed of your specific wants a few hours ago by the Constables who work here. However, I want to make sure that I am understanding the situation correctly. Could you please explain to me exactly what it is that you want?"

The doctor's ending question makes me flinch; I hadn't planned an explanation yet, the mental storm being too discordant for me to speak what I want to others. However, if he is willing to listen, then I can't ruin this one chance I have to leave this place. This cell doesn't seem to have any problems of its own, but it offers no help to figuring out where Alice Liddel is. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, doing my best to calm the mental storm and form the words I need to say.

"I don't remember anything about myself," I slowly speak while trying to recall everything that's happened to me. "That part is clear. I woke up in an alleyway, next to a drunken man, and followed a white cat onto a brightly-lit street. I then bumped into a man named Jack Splatter, who then noticed he was being followed by Williard and Charlie in an incognito plan to, I suspect, arrest him. Jack ran into the crowd, and the constables began to question me. I couldn't answer anything they said, so they brought me here and called me an insane case.

"One thing is certain, Doctor," I say as I open my eyes to meet his own. "I must find Alice Liddell. I don't know why, but I am certain that it will help me remember who I am. Can you help me do that, Doctor?"

Dr. Bumby doesn't speak for several moments; he strokes his chin with his hands as he looks me over. I feel the cold from before start to return the longer I remain paused like this, but I try my hardest to keep from shivering in front of this man. He seems to be judging me with his eyes, but I'm not sure whether he's trying to find flaws or benefits.

"You seem very determined to find this person," he then says while crossing his arms over his chest. "How can you be so sure she, if this is a girl you're talking about, is even in London?" I bristle at this question, but do my best to keep a straight face.

"I will find Alice Liddell, no matter where she is. I have to, if I want any chance of figuring my own past out."

"What if she's in an asylum, like the nearby Rutledge, or even overseas? You may have to risk life and limb to find her, and she may not want to see you when you do. She might even be dead, you know."

"I won't believe she's dead until I've seen her fucking corpse!" I scream this at Bumby, gripping the bars with anger-fueled strength. The picture of the one person I know to be true being dead is one my body, and mind, violently reject. Bumby blinks once at my sudden anger, and I release my grip after a few seconds, giving my hands a chance to recirculate their blood.

"Let's make a hypothesis," Bumby then says while adjusting his glasses slightly. "Suppose I know where Alice is, and I bring you to her. What would you do, then?"

My answer is instant, not needing any time to craft: "I would ask her to tell me, honestly, who I was in the past, if she remembers it. I would not try to harm her, or upset her, unless she is upset by my former self."

"And, what if she can't help you, after all?"

"Then, I'll start a new life, with a new job, and wherever I choose to go to live. If Alice doesn't want me around longer than need be, that's fine. However, I need to hear from her that she can't help me, no one else."

"Right then, time's up, Dr. Bumby," Charlie suddenly says as he walks back into my view. "It's getting late. While this conversation is interestin', and all, we have a schedule to keep."

Bumby doesn't respond, but leaves with Charlie without giving me a second glance. Part of me feels like Bumby won't help me, that he'll take me to this 'Rutledge' place he and Charlie talked about. Either that, or he'll just let me rot away here in gaol. But, another part of me says I've broken through to him, explained my faults, and can trust him to help me out.

Neither side completely trumps the other, though, which makes me crouch down against the cell's far corner in a mixture of despair and impatience. My head bows as sleep consumes me.

A scream wakes me up, and doesn't stop as I realize I'm not in the cell, anymore. The yellow eye from before dominates a black horizon, the pupil darting around wildly as it screams without end. The ground beneath me pulses yellow ever few seconds, which prevents me from standing up as the scream starts to make my ears throb.

Gibbering words come through the scream's discordant noise. I try to crawl away from the eye and the rumbling ground, but I don't get far before the ground all around me begins to shake, even stronger than before. I start to panic as I now see some kind of black liquid covering my hands, more of it emerging with every shake of the ground. I try to brush it off, but that only spreads it onto the surrounding ground, and my clothes. I get covered in the muck very quickly, the smell of it extremely fowl to my nostrils.

"Alice!" The eye cries this out as I turn my head back to it and see it is being covered over by the same muck. "Save us, Alice! Save us all!"

The ground beneath me breaks open before I can ask the eye how it knows Alice's name. I tumble through flashing yellow air into a pool of the same black muck. It sucks my body in, its smell and taste eye-wateringly foul. My screams turn into gargles as an inhuman face appears far above the muck.

The face laughs at my misfortune without a voice.

I gasp fresh air into my lungs, and feel liquid on my hands. I brush it off for fear that it's more of that black stuff, but it's actually a clear, sticky substance.

It suddenly clicks that I'm wiping my own drool, which makes me shudder in disgust at my own actions before I wipe them on any space I can, not that it helps me get any cleaner. Sunlight streams in from the window to show a new day. I'm not pleased to see it.

Footsteps resound down the corridor outside my cell, and I move to the bars to see Charlie and Dr. Bumby come up to me. They look a bit happier than yesterday.

"Alright, boy," Charlie says as he unlocks my cell door. "Dr. Bumby's bailing you out, not that you had much of a bail to begin with." Charlie shoots me a lopsided grin at his remark, to which I try to smirk back, but don't get more than a raise of my lips. I slowly step out of the cell, and Bumby quickly takes my hand. His touch seems firm, but his grip feels like iron.

"Come," he quickly says. "You've been enrolled at Houndsditch. You're frankly too young to live your life in a gaol cell. I can help you find what you're looking for, but only if you let me help you recover your memories, in turn. Do we have an agreement?"

"I trust you, Doctor." I shake his hand as I say this, my heart pounding in joy that I'm finally on the right step to finding out who I once was. We walk down the stairway together, but Bumby releases his grip on my hand when we reach the ground-floor lobby.

"Remember," he then says as we through the now-empty room. "I'm here to help you. Recovering memories is a tricky buisness. I just want to make sure you understand that."

I nod in response as we enter into the outside streets. Even though they don't look clearer, I feel better about my situation, in general, as we head towards Houndsditch.

Alright, that's all I'll put for now. I hope you have liked what you've read so far. I will do my best to set up a schedule for posting new chapters, but that will depend on the chapter's length and how distracted I am with other important things (like work, and all that).

Please review, comment, and constructively criticize as you wish.

Draconos is taking off!