Paramedics flocked around Mrs. Pickles, bandaging wounds and stabilizing broken bones as he was loaded into the ambulance and placed in a stretcher. Clarence remained conscious, writhing in pain, until a paramedic administered an anesthetic. 

	Clarence realized that the paramedic was putting him under, and squirmed slightly. He moved his hand to his pocket and shakily removed his wallet. He opened it up and grasped something within it, and then dropped the wallet to the ground. He was trying to speak, but couldn’t because of his broken jaw. An EMT retrieved the wallet, but whatever Clarence had grasped had fluttered towards Ventus and landed near his feet. It was a folded up piece of paper. There was red splotches on it, and the edges appeared singed. Clarence squirmed a tad more, but it was no use. He fell asleep before the ambulance driver began to make his way towards the hospital. 

	“Broken lower jaw, broken femur, broken ribs… shattered ribs. I’m almost certain he has damaged lungs. Major blood loss,” muttered a paramedic. “Start with the lungs,” he said to one of the other paramedics. Ventus noticed the ambulance was somewhat crammed and hectic.

	A paramedic placed an oxygen mask over Mrs. Pickle’s mouth. One paramedic -- the one who had been muttering earlier -- lifted his hand to hush the other paramedics and listened closely.

	“He’s not breathing,” he said, with a surprising amount of calm. Then, he stopped again. “No, no, he’s breathing. Slowly. Too slowly.”

	Oxygen was pumped into Clarence’s body. The calm paramedic frowned.

“This doesn’t make any sense. Why is his heart…”

Clarence began to seize violently, and one paramedic pinned him down as the calm one spoke deliberately. “His heart's going to stop. Or try to. He’s-”

	The calm paramedic shuddered, and then cursed. “Who gave him anesthetic?”

	None of the paramedics responded as Clarence continued to seize.

	“I SAID, WHO GAVE HIM ANESTHETIC?!?”

	None of the paramedics said anything.

	“It was that one guy. You know, the bigger one. I thought you knew him. I thought he was on here. Guess he didn’t ride on the ambulance.”

	The handful of paramedics in the ambulance briefly debated about the man who administered the anesthetics, but the calm paramedic quickly got everyone to be silent as Clarence continued to seize.

	Clarence’s heart suddenly shut down, and the calm paramedic quickly performed CPR. The others did everything they could to help, and finally, right as they arrived at the hospital, Clarence was relatively stable. The paramedics were about to leave, but the calm paramedic stopped them and turned towards the driver. “Level B,” he said. The driver turned back. “I’ll get someone to bring masks.” The driver made a phone call. Afterwards, the driver of the ambulance turned back towards the calm paramedic. “Erm… may I ask why we’re all about to throw on gas masks?” he asked.

	“Because Mrs. Pickles was just exposed to a great deal of cyanide… and we might have been too.”

	“Cyanide?” asked the driver. The paramedic nodded. “Three clues. One, someone mysterious gave him an anesthetic. I have a hunch this was someone in disguise. Two, his heart stopped and he seized, both common side effects of cyanide expose. Thirdly, I don’t know if any of you can smell it, but it reeks of bitter almonds in here.”