The sudden commotion on the shore has drawn the attention of the Manus followers.
Manus Follower I: Hey!
He pulls out a pistol, aiming it at Sophia.
Manus Follower I: I'm warning you. Don't move!
Sophia: ...
She sighs softly.
Sophia: As expected.
Sophia: An irrational number is born irrational. It is an insurmountable divide.
Diggers stands up, positioning himself between the gun and Sophia.
Diggers: Please, I'm sick of your taxonomies.
Diggers: Integers, fractions, rational numbers, irrational numbers, real numbers, imaginary numbers …
Diggers: Humans are the only creatures that go to such lengths to categorize their own kind.
Sophia remains silent.
Diggers: Oh! Not that I'm dismissing your ideas entirely. The fact that there's no conflict here already makes this place better than the world outside.
Diggers: Besides, in the world beyond your island, division like that is just as common a thing.
Diggers: Phrenology, physiognomy, theories of superior bloodlines …
Diggers: Every standard works to make up a class inherently entitled to more power.
Diggers: But it's all a lie! A fabricated, despicable lie!
Diggers: We should be like one family, whether on this island or in the outside world.
Diggers: The true Tower of Babel was the whole idea of class systems that people have built in our societies.
Diggers: We should stand against all of it!
Manus Follower I: Idiot.
Manus Follower I: Is this really the time for a speech?
Manus Follower I: Go on, grab her. We have to prevent her from using any arcane skills!
Diggers: My friend, the answer we seek is blowing in the wind.
He inserts a rose from his sleeve into the barrel of the gun.
Diggers: People of different colors, who speak different languages, raised in different cultures …
Diggers: So much of what we are isn't chosen by us, and they should never have become barriers!
Diggers: We're all born into the same world, and we'll all die in the same world.
Diggers: I wish you peace and love, my brothers and sisters.
Diggers: Now, brother, don't use that waterlogged gun.
His voice is full of concern.
Diggers: It might misfire.
Sophia: <speed=0.27>@
A geometric construct descends from the sky, binding his limbs.
Diggers: Why?
Why does the road to spreading peace and love have to be so difficult?
It shouldn't be this way.
Diggers: From England to France, and from France to this island, I've said so much, but it feels like my words never turn out right.
Diggers: What do I have to do to keep conflict and strife away from this world?
Sophia: ...
Sophia: It was an impressive sermon. For a moment, my resolve wavered, and I almost believed in the world you described.
Sophia: Which is precisely what frightens me.
Sophia: Rhetoric often obscures the essence. That's what the School has taught me, and now I'm passing that truth on to you.
Diggers: Are you saying I haven't done enough?
Sophia does not give him the answer he is hoping for.
Sophia: I'm sorry.
Sophia: As for this bomb, I'll report it to the leader and let him decide accordingly.
Sophia: Until a judgment is made, neither you nor your companions will be harmed.
Under the influence of an arcane skill,
he gradually loses consciousness.
The light before his eyes flickers and changes, and scenes flash by.
It is as if he were drowning in a spiritual current,
as the last rays of the sunset fade away on the silent shore.
Newsboy: Breaking news! Breaking news today!
Newsboy: U.S. Faces Conscription Crisis, "Medical Correction Conscription Plan" May Be Implemented!
Diggers: Are today's newspaper editors feeling nostalgic?
Diggers: Wait, this is Regent Street! I'm back again!
Diggers: But I'm supposed to be on the island?
Diggers: Is this a side effect of their arcane skill? A dream? Memories? Or, am I dead?
???: Dead?
A familiar voice.
He turns to the source of it.
Diggers: Oh, Mr. Leonard. Are you on parole now?
The voice belongs to Leonard Evans, a notorious charity scammer, who is supposed to be serving time in prison.
Diggers is another of his victims, though he doesn't realize this at the moment.
Leonard: That's quite a sense of humor, you've got.
Leonard: Just three minutes ago, you were telling me how bad you felt for not donating more. I was just about to tell you that it's not the amount that matters, but the thought.
Diggers: Three minutes ago?
Diggers: He remembers.
Diggers: Right! I was just about to ask. Will you personally deliver those supplies to the victims?
Leonard: Of course, you can trust me.
Diggers: Splendid.
He reaches into his pocket, then makes a troubled expression.
Leonard: If you don't have any cash, a check will do.
Diggers pulls out a handful of coins, totaling 5 pounds and 13 shillings.
Leonard sighs.
Leonard: Sir, before you engage in charity, perhaps you ought to buy yourself a meal.
Diggers: Wait, Leonard, is there nothing else I can do?
Diggers: I could paint posters or even some graffiti.
Diggers: Or, I could create dream bubbles with my arcane skills, allowing people to glimpse a brighter future.
Leonard: Yes, certainly.
The charity scammer pauses, a smile spreading across his face.
Leonard: In fact, we're planning a charity gala.
Leonard: It's sure to be attended by some very influential people.
Leonard: I believe your dream bubbles might enhance the atmosphere, and if we can make those ladies and gentlemen happy, they'll be sure to donate even more.
Leonard: Of course, you'll be compensated. How does £50 sound?
Diggers: What?!
Diggers: No, I won't do something like that. Maybe you didn't know, brother. But those upper-class rich people are the ones behind all the war and suffering in the first place!
Diggers: They make their fortunes and then use these so-called charity events as a way to avoid taxes.
Diggers: My bubbles are not for their enjoyment!
Leonard coldly chuckles.
Leonard: You've lost your mind, mate.
With that, he strides away.
Diggers: Oh!
The artist wanders aimlessly along Carnaby Street.
Diggers: Hmm? This place … I used to love eating here, but didn't it close down?
Diggers: And these posters.
The increasing number of anomalies raises his suspicion more and more.
Newsboy: The artist counts out a few coins and stops the newsboy selling papers.
Diggers: One paper, please.
He skims past numerous sensational headlines and quickly finds the date of publication.
Diggers: What?
Diggers: February 7th, 1966?
