Alice woke with a soft yawn, the faint glow of her alarm clock reading 5:50 a.m.—ten minutes early. Perfect. It wasn’t quite the precise seven and a half hours of sleep she aimed for, but well within her acceptable range for a weekday. Friday, to be exact. The thought brought a smile to her lips. The weekend promised two of her favorite things: a date with Michael and quality time with her best friends, Coraline and Martha.
With ten bonus minutes to her morning, Alice felt a small sense of accomplishment before her day had even started. Ever efficient, she rose and slipped into her well-oiled routine. Breakfast first—bagels with a delicate spread of herbed goat cheese, a steaming cup of tea rich with cream and honey—followed by a shower and her other morning rituals.
Her reflection in the bathroom mirror caught her eye as she brushed her teeth, and her smile softened. Her small but cozy apartment was practical, perfect for her current life. Soon, though, it would be a memory. After the wedding, she and Michael would move into a spacious penthouse or perhaps even a house—a castle for her and her prince, she mused with a small flicker of joy.
She slipped her engagement ring onto her finger, pausing for a moment to admire it. Michael had spared no expense, and her cheeks had burned bright red when he’d slipped it onto her hand. She’d never imagined someone would think her worth so much—financially, emotionally, or otherwise. And to think Michael Macentyre, the talented and ambitious son of Macentyre Systems’ CEO, had chosen her.
Alice often struggled to believe it. Cute, maybe. That’s what people called her. Cute. But she’d long learned that it was often a byword for not beautiful, not sexy. Too short, too skinny, too childlike—these were the judgments she’d faced for years. She couldn’t make herself taller or curvier or more conventionally striking. For a long time, those words had lingered like a dark cloud, filling her with self-doubt and resentment toward things beyond her control. She’d resigned herself to thinking no one could ever truly find her attractive.
And then Michael had come into her life like a bolt of lightning. He hadn’t just called her cute; he’d called her beautiful. He adored her quirks, championed her brilliance, and celebrated the little pieces of herself she’d always kept hidden. “That’s because you are amazing,” whispered a familiar, gentle voice in the back of her mind.
She finished brushing, her cheeks tinged with warmth, and pulled on her jacket. Life was good. Michael, her prince charming, had swept her off her feet. Her magnum opus at work was closer to completion than ever, and the weekend ahead promised laughter and memories with her best friends. Alice Little couldn’t help but smile. Life, she thought, is really, truly good.
Alice, unhurried and savoring the rare luxury of ten extra minutes in her meticulously organized morning, paused as she passed by the only part of her home that wasn’t practical or Spartan: her bookshelf. Unlike the rest of her space, which reflected her disciplined and efficient nature, the bookshelf was a vibrant, chaotic celebration of her first love—not science, nor her academic pursuits, but fantasy.
The shelves groaned under the weight of a vast collection of books spanning every subgenre of the fantastic. Towering tales of high fantasy, where good and evil were as clearly defined as night and day, stood proudly beside gritty pulp magazines recounting raw, visceral sword-and-sorcery adventures. Brilliantly imagined space operas shared space with dark gothic romances, their spines like whispers of distant stars and shadowed halls. Between them were stories that defied easy categorization, each an escape into a world far kinder—or at least more thrilling—than the one she often felt trapped in.
At the heart of her collection, given pride of place, was her most precious treasure: a weathered copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The book wasn’t rare or valuable in any monetary sense, but it held immeasurable personal worth. A gift from her aunt, it had been the first story to ignite her love of the fantastic. The whimsical world of Wonderland, with its eccentric characters and boundless imagination, had offered her comfort as a child—an escape from a world that often felt lonely and unkind.
Even now, as an adult with a towering intellect and accolades to her name, Alice often found solace in these stories. They reminded her that there was magic to be found, even in the most unexpected places, and that sometimes, stepping through a looking glass—or simply opening a book—could lead to a world where she wasn’t an outsider.
She smiled softly, her fingers brushing the spine of her beloved Wonderland before continuing on. It was a small ritual, but one that never failed to steady her. In a life so carefully calculated, her bookshelf stood as a reminder of the magic that first taught her to dream.
Of course, the fact that her name was Alice Little—so very close to Alice Liddell, the inspiration for Carroll’s heroine—had only endeared the book to her even more when she first received it as a nine-year-old girl. It was a happy and silly coincidence that had made her feel an almost magical connection to the story.
She chuckled softly at the memory as she shut the door behind her and stepped out into the crisp morning air. Today promised to be a productive one, and the sooner work was done, the sooner she could indulge in her own kind of fun. Because, for all her precision and discipline, Alice enjoyed her moments of whimsy as much as anyone else—perhaps even more.
Work was work. Alice couldn’t really say today had stood out in any remarkable way. Progress had been made on the Wonderland prototype—slow, steady progress. The fusion of psionically reactive paranormal science with virtual reality was a delicate and exacting process. Small, incremental tests were the order of the day. Nothing overly exciting, but Alice understood that careful preparation and meticulous research were the only ways to prevent unexpected and potentially harmful side effects.
And she had a very clear idea of what those side effects might entail. Brainwashing, the rewriting of memories, emotional manipulation—all chilling possibilities if Wonderland were to fall into the wrong hands or if the technology wasn’t rigorously safeguarded. It could be more than just a revolutionary experience; it could become a tool of terrifying control.
Thankfully, Wonderland was a tightly guarded secret. Only she and a handful of trusted individuals within Macentyre Systems had any knowledge of its existence. The company was renowned for its integrity and state-of-the-art security measures. Still, Alice often found herself pondering the “what ifs,” knowing the risks were as great as the rewards.
She reassured herself that her concerns were just lingering anxiety. After all, any supervillain interested in mind control would likely find more straightforward—and far less sophisticated—ways of achieving it, even if they were aware of Wonderland’s more dangerous applications. Psi-Tech, or Psycho-Tech as some skeptics and critics liked to call it, wasn’t exactly a field brimming with experts. In truth, even the so-called super geniuses of the world struggled to grasp its complexities.
Alice, however, was a different story. With a measure of quiet pride, she knew she was the world’s leading authority on the integration of super science and psionics. It was a field that sat at the intersection of the tangible and the intangible, as esoteric as it was scientific. To excel in it required not only an advanced understanding of the human mind—both in its physical and psychological dimensions—but also a deep grasp of the more enigmatic elements of psychic phenomena.
She had dedicated her life to mastering that delicate balance. Where others saw an impenetrable mystery, Alice found logic, structure, and limitless potential. Wonderland wasn’t just her magnum opus; it was proof that even the most intangible aspects of the human experience could be explored, understood, and perhaps even reshaped. And yet, as groundbreaking as it was, it remained vulnerable in ways that only she seemed to fully appreciate.
If anything, that was her greatest source of pride—and her deepest fear.
Psionics was dangerous, no doubt about it, but it had the advantage of being better understood than some of the other phenomena classified under "superhuman abilities." Magic, for instance, was an entirely different beast. Despite its ancient roots, it remained shrouded in mystery, and many in the scientific community didn’t even believe magic was truly "magic." To them, it was merely a placeholder term for unexplained anomalies. Part of the skepticism stemmed from magic’s rarity and the secretive nature of the magical and supernatural communities.
Alice, ever the scientist, didn’t strictly believe magic was some mystical, unquantifiable force. To her, it was likely an undiscovered branch of science, operating on principles that the world simply hadn’t yet uncovered. But in the quiet, secret corners of her mind, the part of her that still clung to childhood wonder couldn’t help but dream. What if magic was real in the way the stories said it was? What if the whispered rumors of spellcasters, magical beings, and ancient rituals were all true?
She indulged the thought for a moment, allowing herself a small smile as she worked. It was the same part of her that had spent hours pouring over the fantastical worlds of her bookshelf—the part that wanted magic to exist not just as a concept to be dissected and understood, but as something wondrous, untethered to the rules of science. Alice knew it was unlikely, but if there were even a kernel of truth to the rumors of secret magical societies and beings living among them, she would gladly embrace that reality.
For now, though, her reality was Wonderland. Psionics was as close to magic as science dared to venture, and she was determined to master it, both for the sake of her work and for the sake of her dreams.
Psionic powers, Alice mused as she delicately aligned quartz crystals into the circuit board, weren’t so different from magic in some respects. While psionics had been subjected to scientific scrutiny—particularly since the 1940s, when governments began to explore its potential military applications—there remained an undercurrent of mysticism that science had yet to dispel. Psychics, for all their purported abilities, often adhered to practices and beliefs that were as esoteric and ritualistic as those of magic users.
She paused, examining the crystal matrix in her hands. The quartz crystals were essential, acting as conduits for mental energy in a way that conventional science couldn’t entirely explain. It was a curious thing—crystals had long been steeped in symbolism, associated with clarity, focus, and the amplification of energy. And while Alice’s work was rooted firmly in measurable outcomes and repeatable results, even she had to admit there was something enigmatic about the way certain materials seemed to interact with the mind.
Crystal symbolism was just the tip of the iceberg. Psionics carried with it a legacy of ideas and practices that harkened back to the Victorian era, when séances, spirit boards, and psychic phenomena had captured the imagination of the Western world. Many modern psychics, particularly those outside scientific study, still adhered to rituals and beliefs that blended the mystical with the mental. Even the scientific community wasn’t entirely immune—terms like "mental energy" or "psychic fields" felt more at home in the lexicon of mysticism than in a physics lab.
Alice carefully rotated the crystal matrix, ensuring each alignment was precise. It was the perfect metaphor for psionics itself: a fusion of hard science and an almost superstitious reverence for the unknown. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration at how little they truly understood. For all her brilliance, for all the advancements Wonderland promised, there was a vast gulf between understanding psionics as a phenomenon and understanding psionics as a science.
Still, it was that very challenge that fascinated her. The intersection of mind, matter, and the ineffable was a puzzle she was determined to solve. Science, after all, had once dismissed electricity, magnetism, and even the concept of germs as unknowable mysteries. One day, Alice was certain, psionics would step out of the shadow of its mystic trappings and take its rightful place as a cornerstone of human understanding.
That was the dream, of course. If Project Wonderland succeeded, it would be a monumental step toward unlocking the true potential of psionics. Sure, the initial marketing pitch framed it as the ultimate VR experience, but Alice had no objections to that. Even if the world saw it as a glorified video game, it was still a step forward. After all, she loved video games almost as much as books. They were another way to tell stories, to craft immersive worlds that offered an escape when reality became too heavy.
But Wonderland wasn’t just about entertainment. The profits from a bleeding-edge VR system could fund revolutionary applications in medicine, psychiatric therapy, and beyond. Imagine a device that could create vivid, controlled environments for trauma survivors to process their experiences or allow someone paralyzed to interact with the world again through mental projection. The possibilities were endless, and they weren’t just theoretical—they were within her reach.
Alice glanced up at the other members of her core team. Each of them was focused on their respective tasks, working with a quiet intensity that mirrored her own. Together, they were building something extraordinary, something that could genuinely reshape the world.
Our work, Alice thought, her fingers hovering over the headset she’d just assembled, will change everything.
She smiled faintly, feeling a flicker of pride. It wasn’t just her dream—it was their dream, their collective effort, and the beginning of something that could redefine humanity's understanding of the mind and its potential.
Alice was heading down the hallway toward the exit when a familiar voice called out from an adjacent corridor. “Hey, Big Al! How’s that top-secret project going?”
She turned and smirked, spotting Dorothy Gable, her college friend turned robotics technician, leaning casually against the doorframe. Dorothy’s work attire—oil-streaked coveralls and a smudge of grease on her cheek—was a far cry from Alice’s crisp, pristine lab coat. Out of all the people Alice considered her closest friends, Dorothy undoubtedly held a special place.
“Princess Ozma,” Alice quipped, her voice playful, “traded the gown for coveralls again, I see.” Their shared love of classic fantasy had spawned an ongoing rivalry of sorts—Alice in Wonderland versus The Wizard of Oz—a friendly competition that never seemed to grow old.
“Someone’s gotta keep the Emerald City running,” Dorothy shot back with a grin. “What about you? Still haven’t found that potion to make you grow, huh?” She stood a little taller, emphasizing the three-inch height difference between them. It was a long-standing joke between the two, one that Dorothy wielded with particular relish.
Alice rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep the amused smile off her face. “Still searching. I thought I might find it under a rabbit hole somewhere, but no luck yet. How’s the Tin Man holding up? Or do you need me to loan him a heart?”
Dorothy crossed her arms, her grin widening. “The Tin Man’s fine. It’s Scarecrow that needs some work. Think you could lend him a little brainpower, oh mighty genius of Project Wonderland?”
“I’d hate to inflate his ego to match yours,” Alice replied, arching an eyebrow. “That would be a disaster.”
Dorothy barked a laugh, warm and easy. “Touché. So, what’s the verdict on Wonderland? When do I get to see the big reveal? You know, the whole ‘changing the world’ thing you’ve been on about since college?”
Alice hesitated for a moment, the weight of secrecy pulling at her. She carefully adjusted the strap of her bag and said, “Soon. But you know how it is—slow and steady. These things take time.”
Dorothy raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. She’d seen that guarded look on Alice before, the one that said there were things she couldn’t yet share. “Fair enough,” Dorothy said, shrugging as she stepped out of the doorway. “Come on, let me walk you out. I could use a break from fixing things that people swear exploded all on its own.”
Alice laughed, falling into step beside her. “Let me guess—someone tried to ‘improve’ the efficiency of a circuit and ended up frying half the lab?”
“Bingo,” Dorothy groaned. “If I had a dollar for every time I heard, ‘I didn’t touch anything,’ while the smell of burning wires filled the air, I’d own this company.”
The two shared a laugh, their footsteps echoing lightly in the empty corridor. Moments like these, filled with lighthearted banter, were rare and precious for Alice—a respite from the pressure of her work and the gnawing anxiety that came with it. For Dorothy, it was a reminder that not everything had to be a calculated equation or a perfect solution. Sometimes, it was enough just to laugh with a friend.
As they reached the exit, Dorothy nudged Alice gently with her elbow. “So, tomorrow’s the big day, huh? Fancy dinner with Prince Charming and all that?”
Alice flushed faintly but nodded. “Yeah. He’s planning something special, but he won’t tell me what.”
“Classic fairy tale romance,” Dorothy teased. “Make sure he rolls out the red carpet for you. You deserve it, Al.”
Alice’s voice softened as she replied, “Thanks, Dora. And try not to work yourself into an early grave, okay? Even you need a break.”
Dorothy smirked, a hint of fondness in her expression. “I’ll try, but no promises. Someone’s gotta keep the gears turning.”
“Anyway, Al,” she continued, straightening up and giving Alice a mockingly serious look, “it’s Friday, we’re both off shift, and neither of us has plans until the weekend. I’ve got family stuff on Sunday, so I can’t hang out with you and the cool girls then—so let’s do something tonight!”
Alice chuckled, rolling her eyes at the familiar jab. “The cool girls? Really?”
Dorothy grinned unapologetically. “What? Coraline and Martha are practically walking trust funds. They probably have yacht parties as a casual Wednesday activity. Meanwhile, I’m over here with my oil-stained coveralls, pretending to fit in.”
“You know they’re not like that,” Alice said, though even she couldn’t help but acknowledge the difference in social circles. Coraline and Martha came from old money—wealth so deep that Dorothy’s joke about yachts probably wasn’t far off the mark. Alice herself, a self-proclaimed nerd from Sudbury, often marveled at how she’d ended up best friends with two women whose family fortunes could fund entire research grants without batting an eye.
Dorothy shrugged. “They’re fine, I guess. A little out of my league, but fine.”
“They’re not out of your league, Dorothy,” Alice said, her tone firm but kind. “You’re one of my best friends. That’s what matters. And for the record, they like you. Coraline even said she wants to pick your brain about robotics sometime.”
Dorothy’s expression softened, though her sarcasm never completely faded. “Yeah, because I’m sure the fancy big-city lawyer is super into the nitty-gritty of robotics work.”
Alice laughed, shaking her head as they walked toward the lockers to change out of their work clothes. “You might be surprised. Coraline and John are pretty good friends, and he’s definitely into all things machinery—just like you.”
“John?” Dorothy repeated, trying to sound casual as she toyed with the ends of her hair. “Yeah, I, uh... remember him.”
Alice caught the subtle shift in her tone and smirked knowingly. Dorothy wasn’t the first person to get flustered at the mere mention of John Wolf. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a mind as sharp as his jawline, John had a way of leaving an impression.
“He’s taken, remember?” Alice quipped as she unbuttoned her lab coat, slipping it off and folding it neatly.
Dorothy shrugged, a sly grin tugging at her lips as she changed out of her oil-streaked overalls and into a clean, casual outfit. “A girl can dream, can’t she?” she replied, pulling on a hoodie and jeans that better suited her relaxed style.
Alice chuckled, shaking her head. “Just don’t let his girlfriend, Serah, catch you dreaming too hard. I hear she’s a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.”
Dorothy snorted, tossing her hair back. “Point made. I’d rather not have my clothes folded while I’m still wearing them.”
The two women laughed, their camaraderie a welcome reprieve from the demanding pace of their work. Dorothy grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, her tone light but insistent. “So, are we heading out? I’m starving, and if you try to back out, I’m not above dragging you to the first Ultra Burger I see.”
Alice smiled, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Fine, let’s go. But I’m holding you to your promise—nothing too greasy.”
Dorothy grinned, opening the door and gesturing for Alice to follow. “Relax, Al. When have I ever steered you wrong?”
Alice arched an eyebrow, her expression playful. “Do you want me to list it by severity or chronological order?”
Dorothy burst out laughing as they stepped into the cool evening air. “Okay, fair point, but I promise, no bad decisions this time.
