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It all fades to black……
Then comes into view again.
Dahlia, Claire, Cocoa. They’re all gone.
Except him. He’s not gone. He’s still here, in the rubble of the throne room, with a distraught Kitty-in-Krocs, Gus consoling him as best he can. The last of the Dark Lord’s shadow is wisping away.
Huh. That’s weird. Wonder where they could’ve gone.
Shrugging, he walks languidly through the halls, until he reaches the crash site. Darn, his plane’s all burnt up and torn apart. This shit ain’t gonna be flying any time soon—hell, he doesn’t think he can bring it back to flight-worthy status at all. Pouting, he kicks away loose rocks.
“What are we gonna do now, Master?”
He turns to face Buddy. Well, even if he won’t see Tula, won’t see Loz, won’t see anyone ever again, at least he has a friend here. He cracks a smile at him. When he speaks, it’s with a lisp, “Well, now that that’s over, all that’s left is to have fun!” With a wide grin, he pulls Buddy along, up some stairs until they reach the roof.
“Oh, and Mituna’s fine! You don’t have to call me that, seriously!”
Buddy ignores him. “What are we doing up here, Master? Do you finally wish to end me? End… us?”
“What? Psh, no. That’d be funny, but nah—I’m just gunning to get another plane!”
As if on cue, a fighter biplane–one the exact make and colour of his previous one, to boot–flies in range, steered by some shadowy blob of some kind.
His grin widening, he leaps off the edge with a running start, landing on the craft with Buddy in tow.
Beware of the Mad Pilot, they say.
He’s mad. Obviously. It’s in his name. Always smiling, always spewing nonsense… why, he’s too much for even Wonderland to comprehend. Wonderland, home to the wonders of imagination. The very birthplace of madness.
He may seem nice at first, but he would have you dance a tango on a tightrope around him. Literally, or figuratively? Who the fuck knows! Even then, oh, so high up, the winds are uncertain: he could and would kill you for no reason. Always smiling, always grinning, as he beats you to a pulp with his metal skateboard. You won’t be the first–hell, you won’t even be one of the first hundred he has taken–and you won’t be the last.
He killed the Lost Boys, killed Peter Pan. Killed Tinkerbell. He brought Neverland to ruin.
Beware of the Mad Pilot.
He can be found anywhere; he’s a pilot, after all. What use is his plane if not for flying to every corner of Wonderland? Take cover when you hear it, the whirling blades, the groaning engine of a biplane. Death can rain from above.
Of course, he’s still a person. There is one place he loves the most, out of all the wacky woohoo places of Wonderland. During tea time, deep in the ruins of the Red Queen’s domain, past the arch of freshly grown red roses……
In the heart of the crimson garden, you may hear it: his piercing laughter, the droning reply of his dearest Franken-Lego, and the demented hellfire that spews from the tinman’s lips.
Beware of the—
As the plane comes down, a figure leaps out of it, rolling across the ground as it explodes behind them in a cool, action movie explosion. He stands up, dusting off the black fur of his familiar yellow jacket.
Kitty-with-Krown’s eyes widen as he takes off his helmet, stowing it away in God-knows-where. Out comes a cascade of messy, back-length dark brown hair, the bangs long enough to cover his eyes; he remedies this with a cute little headband, which has a crown tipped with a red heart sewn on it. After all that effort, he puts on a pair of ski glasses to hide his eyes anyways. It has a red-blue gradient.
“M-Mitunya?”
The man in question turns to him with a wide, wide smile. “Kitty! I haven’t seen you in a long while! What’s with the full white getup?”
“Wh– K-Kitty's the mew White King, nya!” Now that the initial shock has worn off, he can take a good look at his one-time comrade. Under his bomber jacket, he no longer wears his turtleneck-tight jeans combo. Instead, he’s got that crisp, formal look, red vest, slacks and tie over white shirt. They’re decorated with gold embroidery.
Softly, uncertainly, he says,
“Are you… Are you the Red Queen?”
He laughs. “With this much red, what else can I be? Though I’d say more of a Red King. King of Hearts!”
Kitty’s hands tremble as he lifts his furball sword. “B-But how—why?!”
“Why?” He grins. That deadly grin. That grin he wore when he watched sharks tear Peter Pan apart. “Kitty, Kitty, Kitty.”
He pulls out his metal skateboard. He beat kids to death with that thing; the smell of blood fills Kitty’s nose.
“All that time spent together, and you still don’t understand?”
One step, two steps, three. He moves closer to Kitty, every footfall heralding the bloom of red roses. The White King takes on a ready stance.
“The same reason I do everything—
Why not?”