9:36 A.M.
P anicked, I kneel down next to the Pillar, who grits his teeth, pulling his hands away from the corpse. He stands up and stares at the wandering crowd. He flashes fake smiles and persuades them the man has a fainting condition, and that everything is going to be all right once they give him his medicine. The Pillar is worried about the people panicking.
Surprisingly, no one even cares about the homeless guy sprawled in red on the ground.
I refuse to believe the man is dead that soon. There must be a way to save him. I pull my phone out to call an ambulance.
“Stop this,” the Pillar says. “I told you, these Wonderland Wars are beyond police and ambulances’ help. We don’t want them to interfere.”
“We were riding along with Inspector Dormouse a few minutes ago. I thought we might work hand in hand to save people’s lives now.”
“That was just a trick so we could enter the scene of the crime,” the Pillar says. “Why do you even care about a homeless man you don’t know?”
“What did you just say?” I snap back. “What’s wrong with you? One minute you want us to save lives, and then you don’t care if a man dies.”
“There are bigger stakes at hand.” The Pillar looks frustrated, his eyes looking around for whoever executed that shot. “This sentimental heart of yours will blow everything.”
The emergency number picks up, and a woman asks me how she can help. I begin telling her a man has been shot at Piccadilly Circus and that we need an ambulance.
“This isn’t making any sense,” the Pillar says to himself next to me. “Why shoot a man when he is wired with dynamite?”
The Pillar’s questioning alerts me after I hang up with the woman, who promised me an ambulance would arrive in a few minutes.
“You’re right,” I say. “It doesn’t make sense.”
The Pillar turns and faces me, his eyes looking over my shoulder, wide open. “Unless this is a joke.” He points at someone behind me.
I turn around. The homeless man is on his feet, staring at us.