He wasn't breathing. No one was. Even the thundering music had vanished, an ocean of static left in it's place. Not a soul in the arena stands made a sound. How could they? Their entire lives, all of the soldiers of the domes had been taught that the very thing they were watching right now wasn't possible. For that horrible, infinite second, everyone held their breath.

Then chaos broke out.

All at once, every screen, the ones hanging over the arena, hanging over the stands, and even the sky flickered, overtaken by the visage of two dancing inklings.

A new beat, one far more energetic and upbeat shook the ground, as the pair on the screen started to sing.

And Agent 3 successfully countered General Octavio's final attack, sending the massive mechanical fist rocketing back where it came.

The crowd erupted. Across the entire performance dome, soldiers panicked. Some jumped to their feet, weapons drawn like they were going to attack Agent 3 from where they stood. Others started running, pacing, or even jumping in place, the instinct to do something being triggered, but having no outlet. Many of them were screaming. Others sat completely silent, unmoving, utterly lost on how to process this. Some of them were even crying. All of them were in complete disbelief.

A hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder, jostling him out of the trance. "Warabi, we need to GO." The voice was practically in his ear, yet he could barely hear it over the flood of noise.

Warabi shook his head and stood. "R-right." He had to shout to hear his himself. "Where's the kid?"

"I'm here!"

Warabi felt a small tentacle slip into the palm of his hand. He wrapped his fingers around it, giving a squeeze of reassurance as he bent down next to the kid's ear. "We're going to leave, like we talked about last night, ok? Just follow me, if you get tired, let me know."

Paul met his eyes. The poor kid was very understandably struggling with the absolute mess that surrounded them. Despite that, he gave a nod, and Warabi squeezed his tentacle again.

The people around them, they were different from the rest of the crowd. They were moving, but not with the same aimless, lost manner as the other soldiers. In fact, they weren't soldiers at all. The group moved with a slow precision, working their way to the top of the stands without drawing attention to themselves.

Warabi, and exactly 48 of the people around him, were not lost or confused in this moment. They had a plan. He only knew most of them in passing, due to the bulk of the group consisting of the A and B stage members, but there were several of the C stage, and a few D stage members as well. Regardless of where they performed, everyone here was an outcast in some sense or another. Some, like himself, were here purely for insubordination, their refusal to play by the military's rules. Others, like Paul, never quite fit into the system to begin with, and slipped through the cracks. Other still, were there because they were unfit to serve, and were subsequently cast out of society at large.

"Stars, this music SUCKS!" Nyx, one of his fellow C stage musicians, shoved their hands over their ears as they shouted through gritted teeth. "Hurry up, I can't bloody stand this!"

"Haha, tell me about it!" Kaya, another C-stage musician, and the one who'd shook his shoulder, enthusiastically agreed. Even through the noise, the faux excitement couldn't hide the tremor in his voice. "Those inklings can't mix for shit!"

All of the musicians here, regardless of stage, had come together to make The Hollows: a club nestled in a small cave system below the domes. It was more than just a place to make music, though. It was a space away from the military's control. Somewhere they could all explore what they wanted from life, free from the gaze of the military.

For years, they'd existed without a problem, never causing enough racket to require the military's intervention. If anything, they'd entered into something of a unspoken agreement. The Hollows would get to exist, and host their shows for many of the more unruly soldiers to "sneak" away to watch. In turn, the military got a way to sate those unruly soldiers, by letting them have their "unapproved" indulgence. It was a beautiful, fragile system that served them well for years.

"Anyone seen Ahato?" Warabi shouted to anyone who could hear him. By now they were nearing the top of the seats, if she were going to show, now would be the time.

"Nope! She'd better get her bloody ass over 'ere quick if she want's in though!" Pix, Nyx's sister, crudely answered. Her shadowed eyes met his for a moment, apology shining in them.

What they'd all just witnessed, what just happened, was quite possibly, the single worst thing that could have happened. A culmination of a million tiny, destructive thing all coming to a head in one final cluster of problems. A single, lone inkling, overcoming their leader. It was such an outlandish outcome, Warabi was almost completely certain the bootlickers in the strategy division didn't ever once account for it.

But The Hollows had. Regardless of the outcome, today was an inflection point for the domes. Something was about to fundamentally shift, and they all knew that they would be caught in the crossfire. The fight would be used to justify sweeping changes meant to lock in and maintain the existing power structures. Today would spell the end of The Hollows.

None of them wanted to live in that world. They'd all left and built this place to escape the military. Now, when things were about to spiral out of control, the thought of going back to the military in any capacity was sickening. It was sure without a doubt that The Hollows would be ended for good if it remained underground. So, as a collective, they'd all decided that after this, unless by some miracle things seemed to work out just right, they were all going to escape to the surface.

It was a wild, crazy, irresponsible, insane idea. One so outlandish and impossible that it was used most frequently by children's stories and moral tales. Yet, it was the better alternative to accepting the end.

When they reached the top of the stands, they didn't immediately bolt for the tunnels connecting this dome to the others. There wasn't any need to draw attention to themselves. Already, they were trying to do the impossible, having Wasabi Officers breathing down their necks would only make things that much harder.

The transition tunnel was divided into three sections. On the outer edge, was the inkrail. Three of the A-stage performers would take it to get ahead of the group and start on the last second preparations. At every subsequent transition, more would rush ahead to help them. Next to the ink rail, on either side, was a large strip of magenta ink, recently laid by a flooder. Most of the remaining musicians ran towards it, since swimming was notably faster than running.

Warabi was not one of them. He caught the eyes of Ito, one of the B stage members he was friendly with, and exchanged a nod. As Ito and the others dove into the ink, Warabi, Paul, and 4 other octolings instead were going to run. It was some form of chronic pain or disability that made swimming a non-option for most of them. Warabi himself could swim, but Paul couldn't. He wasn't old enough to have a proper swim form yet.

The first few steps made it clear quickly that Paul couldn't keep up at the speed they needed. Warabi quickly slowed, scooped the kid into his arms, and started to run with everything he had.