Down The Plot Hole: It Got Worse
There were a lot of things she could do as a black belt. It didn't just mean having the capability to flip a man on his back without breaking a sweat; it meant have a physicality that lent itself to upper-body strength, and the discipline to see through otherwise daunting tasks. It did not, however, lend itself to escaping from handcuffs.
"There we go, nice and snug," said the Suit, smirking a little when Alice hissed against the sensation of loosing all the circulation in her hands. Alice sneered back, the expression almost involuntary. She recognized him: he was the one she'd dealt with on the roof of the Casino.
Suddenly, there were two gunshots, and Alice whipped around, almost unbalancing herself as she did so. Mad March stood over the bodies of the men who had gotten her father- her father!- out of the Casino. The man himself merely rolled his eyes.
"Was that really necessary?" Dad asked wearily.
Mad March snorted. "Stop complaining. If I hadn't have done it now, the Queen would've done it later. Besides, did we really need them for information when we've got these two prizes?"
Jack went impossibly straighter at the mention of their fate, and Alice transferred her sneer from the Suit to the assassin.
"C'mon. Let's not keep Her Royal Uptightness waiting," March ordered, and the Suits began to escort them out, falling into what was obviously a standard formation. One of them grabbed Alice by the elbow, separating her from Jack. Her father was up ahead, indifferent to her presence; she tried to will some sort of remembrance into him from her eyes through the back of his head.
It didn't seem to be work very well. They marched out of the hospital with no incident, and without the slightest flicker of recognition from the man her father had become.
And then Hatter arrived, riding a horse and swinging a sword like a knight is paisley and leather armor. It was perhaps the most wonderful, appalling thing she'd ever seen.
He managed to dispatch one of the Suits easily enough, but there were too many of them, swarming around him like insects, making it impossible to swing that sword properly. Why doesn't he move? Alice thought, surging forwards against her captor, and failing to get free. Why isn't he riding off? Why is he even here?
"Charlie!" Hatter yelled, but there was no help coming. The Suits managed to pull him off the horse, and he landed on the ground with a sickening thud.
Alice's struggles intensified: so did the grip on her arm. "No! Get off him!"
Mad March sauntered out of the narrow alleyway they'd walked through not a moment before as the Suits took the sword and pinned him more securely to the ground.
"Hatter!" she yelled.
He didn't answer, looking up at March instead with something akin to horror in his eyes.
"What a nice surprise," Mad March said, artificial head cocked to a contemplative angle. Hatter jerked, grunting a little as he was restrained further. Alice stopped struggling as March advanced on him, and suddenly lashed out with a kick to the prone man's groin.
Hatter yelled in pain. March crouched down, some of the Suit shuffling out of the way to make room for him.
"I always knew you were playing for the other team," March said. "I don't suppose you'd feel like sharing a little bit of that information I know you deal in? Like where the Great Library is? Who some of the other bigwigs in the Resistance are?"
"Not to a man with a cookie jar for a head," Hatter ground out, earning him a fist to the face for his trouble.
"Although," Hatter panted. "It's definitely an improvement over your usual look."
March took off his hat, and placed it on his own head. Then he grabbed a fistful of Hatter's hair and used it to smash his head into the concrete. Hatter yelled again, blood welling up from multiple cuts on his head.
He lay on the ground, swearing, as March straightened up, porkpie hat still perched between his ears. "Anyone got another set of handcuffs?"
"Leave him alone," Alice said, jerking forwards again. She almost made it out of the Suit's grasp, but at the last second his grip tightened and he pulled her back.
"Aw," March mocked. "Has Hatter got himself a sweetheart?"
Alice glared, willing the automaton to burst into flames with as much intensity as she'd willed her father to remember, and with just as much effect. One of the Suits handed March a pair of handcuffs, and then scrambled to help Hatter be secured in a position where they could be fastened on.
"You know what?" March said, as the cuffs clinked into place and Hatter snarled. "Why don't you take the three of them and go on ahead. This is going to take a while, I can already tell."
"I'm not calling another Scarab," the Club advised. "So don't keep the Queen waiting too long."
"Wouldn't dream of it," March replied sarcastically.
"No!" Alice said, as the Suits began to drag her away. She managed to catch glimpse of Hatter over her shoulder. He was doubled over, obviously having just taken a hit to the stomach. "Hatter! Hatter!"
The Suits nearly had to carry her to where the Scarab was waiting for them. Just before they began to stuff her inside one of those boxes, she heard the by now unmistakable sound of a gunshot.
She curled in a ball as the walls closed in around her. Her father didn't remember her- he didn't even remember himself. Jack was captured. The Resistance was perhaps fatally crippled. And Hatter was dead. Oh God…
It was several minutes before she heard the sound of March's footsteps outside her box, and then they were off to the Casino, and however much worse things could possibly get.