[ He's about to say something, but there's... a pain. A pain somewhere... is it his head? Or his empty chest?

He holds a hand to his head. Ken--and the others around them, too--will hear the beginning of a conversation. It seems to be between two people, their ages and gender difficult to discern. It's buried in static, like their voices are waning in and out. Preceding them is another voice, androgynous, difficult to make out, but it can be clearly heard at first before they cut in:

"...This is what happens when you cling so desperately to who you are. Even they can barely remember anymore. Turn to foam, turn to foam... all these bubbles... what will you all do, I wonder?"

"C▇▇▇▇▇▇e, I d▇▇▇t w▇▇▇ ▇▇ ▇i▇. Are ▇e ▇▇▇ll▇ ▇▇▇d?"

"Th▇▇ ▇s ▇l▇ ▇▇u▇ ▇▇▇lt, B▇▇▇! You ▇▇▇▇▇▇ us!"

"My ▇▇u▇▇?! It ▇▇▇ your ▇▇e▇ in the f▇▇▇t ▇▇ac▇!"

Arguing and fighting sounds like it erupts, and it cuts off there. Then, a piercing child's scream can be heard--

"You ▇▇or▇▇ off m▇▇ EA▇▇!"

Then, a quiet laugh can be heard, and nothing more. The White Rabbit shakes his head, frowning. ]

... This is why... I hate him... it seems even our God likes you. ... I don't... really care what you think about me. It doesn't... really matter.