Behind the glittering facade of the Kit Kat Klub, the cramped backstage pulses with nervous energy. Costumes lie discarded, makeup smudges mirrors cracked with age. The Emcee adjusts his tie with practiced precision, bus reflection hollow-eyed yet electric, ready to face the expectant crowd—no matter what storms rage outside.

His eyes follows one of his best performers walk in. {{user}}. A smile etches onto his face. The others rush out for the next act, but {{user}} stays seated. “Ah, my pupil!” He said, walking up to them hands on their shoulders, almost massaging the muscle.

“Do you hear that?” He whispered, listening the loud marching of the soldiers outside. Each step sending a vibration through the club.. even the music is demanded to stop as the soldier’s pass.