Running Late

Instrumental music slammed through the silence of the holding cells, shattering the illusion of peaceful calm and announcing the arrival of the Queen. Bodies stirred within a dozen rooms, separated by bars and fear. The frenzied individuals shuffled through the dark, throwing on their identical outfits and emitting similar whimpers as they struggled to beat the blaring trumpets and aggressive piano notes to their conclusion. The Queen abhorred tardiness, lateness, and any variation of dilly-dallying. Those within her care knew that best of all, her pets learned early to fear deviations from her preferred schedule or rhythm. If they survived for long they also learned that there was no reason for her patterns, that they were as changeable as the wind. She was royalty after all, and felt no need to bind herself to static predictability.

Filthy suits donned, bowties fastened tight, the twelve hidden figures stood with their backs to their cell doors, and awaited the next part of their tortuous existence. They lived in constant fear, those nameless pets, but today was a day that brought an added level of creeping terror to the back of their primal minds. It was a day of great import to the Queen, and their failings would be treated with an appropriate elevation of punishment. Death for failure might be too gentle a reprimand. No, with the sort of hobbyists they would be entertaining today, death was a beautiful dream they could only hope to embrace.

The music reached its highest point, and the pets tightened in anticipation of what came next as the final notes disappeared into the ether, returning the cramped prison to silence. The final golden emptiness before the inevitable was breached by the sound of quiet sobbing from a few of the cells. The more veteran prisoners stayed rigid and ready, but internally they too shed a tear for their weaker associates. Those too weak for the psychological trauma, would have no place in the trials to come.

“Good morning, my dear Rabbits,” the Queen said, her voice resonating throughout the facility with a mesmerizing quality. Even if the Rabbits were not conditioned to respond submissively to her lyrical voice, there was a quality to it that bordered on hypnotic. “Today is a very special day, as I’m sure you've been eagerly anticipating. However, you have inexplicably decided to be late. Very late as it turns out. How dreadfully foolish of you all.”

Fists clenched and muscles tightened from within the cages, the Rabbits gearing themselves up for what came next. The cell walls rumbled as they descended into the ground, sending painful beams of the starkest white light into the filth-ridden kennels of the Queen’s Rabbits. Each of the twelve pets were fully revealed. Their identically grotesque features, twisted and warped by years of servitude and imprisonment deep below ground and in perpetual darkness, were only the least broken aspect of them. Names all but forgotten, sense sharpened to animalistic levels, thoughts singular and interlaced with two essential programs. Fear and servitude. The Rabbits stepped simultaneously into the blindingly white chamber, each at a different position within the labyrinthine chamber.

From her vantage point, somewhere far and away from her pets, the Queen watched them all stand at attention, waiting for her command. The longer she had them wait, the more anxious they would become, and the more enjoyable the hunt would be. The Convention was setting up directly above her little game, and if her pets wanted to truly avoid being late, they would need to hurry through her gauntlet.

“There are only ten spots available for the event, I’m afraid,” the Queen said, her mischievous tone completely juxtaposing her words. “Additionally, it seems that a few new Rabbits have entered the maze ahead of you. How very problematic!” Her laughter echoed throughout the expansive chamber and the Rabbits minds, reverberating maliciously as they tensed further. “If you wish to continue with your cushy lifestyles, I suggest you don't allow those little thieves to steal your spots. On my mark, make your way to the end of the maze. The first ten to arrive win the honor of living under my ownership eternally. Ready, steady--” The jarring blat from a gun marked the beginning of the competition, and the Rabbits sprinted off with manic terror with thoughts of being left behind or beaten to one of the coveted spots.

One Rabbit, best thought of as the White Rabbit as befitted the singular lack of color that he embodied, was a more experienced veteran living in the shadow of the Queen. Effortlessly taking corner after corner of the maddeningly white maze with an ease that came from years of service. He mumbled under his breath about his unfortunate lateness, his impossibly tired eyes stayed focused ahead as he snaked his way to the center of the maze. Halfway through, he encountered his first, and only obstacle. Traps and punishments were only laid across the incorrect routes and aptly named ‘dead ends’, taking the correct path only led to issues if a Rabbit came across a competitor. In the case of the White Rabbit, he ran up on a startled man who turned to face him with his hands held up.

“Woah, pal,” the man said, his eyes still bright and his will unbroken. Both oddities for the White Rabbit. “What is going on, man? I was at a bar last night, and I woke up here with that woman talking about a Convention? You know what's going on?” As the man asked his questions, he scanned the Rabbit, his face unable to hide his disgust over the pitiful creature’s warped features. The White Rabbit was not old, but his hair was as white as the maze, and his flesh was wrinkled and worn. Covered in grime, his features twitchy and altogether unnatural, he crouched down and stared hungrily at the stranger in his way.

“I’m late, I’m late, I’m late,” the White Rabbit repeated at whisper level, his voice hoarse and strained. He edged closer, fingers dancing distractedly as he neared the man, not yet aware of the fate that the more experienced Rabbit planned to free him from. To be culled before having to don the suit, before having to forget oneself, was a mercy that the White Rabbit had never been afforded or offered. Though the man would view him as a monster, he was closer to a saint as he lunged at the man and sunk his sharp, feral fingernails into the man’s eyes. Pressing down and swirling his fingers around, he ended the man’s horrible future before it could begin. Without a second thought, he took off towards the center of the maze once again as his victim dropped to the ground, eager to be one of the select few to serve his Queen. Or at the very least, survive her games.

The irony of taking the safest, most direct route to the end of the labyrinth, was that it was only safe if one could avoid the White Rabbit. Having lived in the clutches of the Queen longer than most, he was intimately familiar with the inner working of the maze, and ensured none would prevent him from reaching his goal. For those not wishing to potentially die at the hands of the single-minded abomination, the less practical routes would have to be used. For the Twins, two Rabbits who started life as complete opposites and strangers, the speed of the more treacherous routes balanced out the harrowing dangers along the path.

Despite starting in two separate cells at opposite sides of the maze, the two identical Rabbits came together with a codependent urgency, fear driving them to a singular point with a frenzy. Standing face to face, they might as well have been staring in a twisted mirror. The Queen’s experiments and games had left the two former strangers appearing more like one another than either of their own blood relatives. Like all the Rabbits, names were lost, identities discarded, and humanity a long extinguished light. Mirroring each other's robotic movements, the Twins took off down the nondescript white path at a matching pace. Immediately, they came across their first trial, and the maze’s first victims. 

A large chasm separated one point of the maze from the next, a shortcut that would ensure a speedy trip to their goal, but not one without risks. Aside from the length of the empty void, a distance so daunting that only the brainwashed or the mad would attempt to cross it, the chasm was designed to draw the flys into its web. A series of platforms, spaced equally and with a reasonable distance between each, dotted the expansive hole in the maze. A few hops and a Rabbit could clear the distance with little effort. At least, that's what the two new conscripts had thought. Having taken their chances on the straightforward challenge, two recently captured men had quickly discovered the lethality intricately woven into the Queen’s machinations. Only the most fit and agile deserved to be her pets, her Rabbits.

The Twins did not spare a thought for the deceased, the two captured men who had been unceremoniously cut down by the Queen’s toys. Anyone who stepped on the platforms, and remained for a second too long, quickly became prey to the devices built into the walls of the labyrinth. Bolting ahead, the Twins linked arms and used their momentum to dance across the platforms with the ease and grace of gymnasts. A learned ability, as in their past lives the two were an accountant and a cashier, respectively. As their feet lightly touched each surface, the walls shot circular blades across at high velocity, narrowly missing the Twin’s as they bounded with a weightless quality. Hopping over the corpses of the less fortunate to attempt the crossing, their limbs severed at the ankle and their blood creating a slippery coating from where they perished, the Twins landed at the other side and sprinted ahead.

Like the White Rabbit, the Twins would inevitably reach their goal and secure their place at the feet of the Queen. They had done so many times before, and each iteration of the Queen's maze led to a firmer understanding of how to survive and thrive within its harrowing halls. Still, only ten of the Rabbits would stand at the end of the maze, and the added threat of new blood in the water meant that the Rabbits couldn't afford a slip up. Unfortunately, even the most masterful of contestants could have a bad day, and run out of that most precious commodity; luck.

One such Rabbit, notorious for his myriad scars that ran from the tip of his forehead down to the center of his unseen chest in the pattern of fleshy lightning, stood across from an impossibility. A worthy opponent. Most new contestants fell with ease, an afterthought and a hindrance to keep the Rabbits from being in the top ten. The true threat came from those who had already lost themselves to the Queen, become her pets and solidified their identities as hers forever. Standing across from the Scarred Rabbit was a Rabbit of a different sort, one more deadly and much more problematic. The Headless Rabbit stood, unmoving and grinning, in the center of the ivory hallway.

“Late, late, late,” the Scarred Rabbit chanted, edging closer to his adversary with swinging arms and hungry eyes. Despite both being Rabbits, only ten spots were reserved for the victors. Thoughts of camaraderie or togetherness were so far removed that they weren't even an afterthought.

The Headless Rabbit remained undeterred, tracing his slender finger against the smooth wall in front of him with drool pooling at the corners of his simple-minded grin. From the top of his nose up, his head was encased in a metal dome. No eyes to see, no mind to think. The Queen, long ago irritated by the Headless Rabbit’s previous persona, had demanded his head be removed from his body. The act was accomplished in a form most barbaric; a lobotomy. From an opponent of worrying strength, to a pet most servile, the Headless Rabbit was the most feared of all the Queen’s favorite toys, for reasons the Scarred Rabbit would shortly discover.

Dashing ahead with religious fervor fueling his assault, the Scarred Rabbit lashed out with sharp claws and a feral scream. His left hand barely missed its mark, the Headless Rabbit casually leaning backwards to dodge, and surging back forward to secure his rotten teeth into the Scarred Rabbit’s hand. Letting out a shrill explosion of inhuman noise, the Scarred Rabbit attempted to pull back, only to be caught off balance and brought into the embrace of the braindead enemy.

“Late...late...l-,” the Scarred Rabbit said, struggling against fate as the Headless Rabbit coiled around him and squeezed tight in a deadly hug. Smiling the whole time, he constricted the Scarred Rabbit until the bones snapped and the blood burst from his mouth, splashing upon the white walls in an elaborate pattern. Only when the last breath was squeezed from his victim did the Headless Rabbit release his quarry with a childish chuckle, tossing the limp body aside with the disdain of a bored infant. Skipping off down the hall, the Headless Rabbit made his way to the center of the maze, his mind abuzz with serotonin and simplicity.

 The final ten were assembled at the end of the labyrinth, standing tall at attention in their newly acquired tuxedos, their prize for victory over their lessers. The Headless Rabbit was the last to arrive, busy cleaning up the hopeful new contestants that had the audacity to think they could survive the Queen’s horrible trap. Despite changing into his new attire, his hands and grinning face were still speckled with blood that stained the white of his cuffs.

 “My dear Rabbits, you are very late.” the Queen’s voice echoed throughout the maze, centered directly above the Rabbits. Each of them responded to her domineering tones differently. Some flinching, some bowing their heads, one smiling wider, and others biting their tongues as thoughts of their far gone life attempted to force their way through to the present. “The Convention of Wonder is already underway, and my guests are in desperate need of service. Make yourselves useful and see to their needs, or it's off with your heads!” Her manic laughter boomed overhead as the wall across from them slid downwards, revealing a large hole in the maze. The other side was a heinous assault to the senses, colors and sounds that had become foreign to the Queen’s pets. 

The Convention of Wonder, a gathering of like-minded maniacs was a flourish of every imaginable sensation one could take in, and the Rabbits marched single file through the hole and into the red-bathed convention hall, where untold numbers of killers and monsters roamed the halls. Splitting up into separate aisles, the Rabbits effortlessly slid into their roles as servants, providing food and beverages to the myriad guests without missing a beat.

The White Rabbit sauntered to a corner, one that would be empty to the casual observer, but the White Rabbit was far from casual. “Can I offer you a beverage?” he asked the shadowy figure, whose face split into a wide shiny grin, appearing as if unbound from a face.

“No thank you,” a man’s voice escaped the grin, a matching pair of spectral eyes hung over the toothy smile, watching the proceeding with sinister interest. “You're running late, Rabbit. Why the delay?”

The White Rabbit paused, his dull eye revealing the slightest of twinkles as he turned from the enigmatic presence. “Worry not, Cat. I’m here now.”

“That remains to be seen, I think,” the voice responded, the airy quality of his voice having an unmistakable bite. A cold breeze assailing the sensitive ears of the White Rabbit. “She’ll be here soon, our girl. Be ready for when she arrives. She’ll be following you, after all.”

The White Rabbit nodded, walking away from the perplexingly silent corner of the crowded convention hall, and back into the pit of vipers with the rest of the snakes. For a Rabbit, there was no deadlier place to be. Still, the White Rabbit couldn't help but feel the unused muscles at the corners of his lips curl into an awkward grin at the thought of events to come. The Convention of Wonder, that most heinous of gatherings, was soon to welcome their unexpected bane. 

She was simply running late.