The light from the helicopter blinded you as you stood right on the edge of the high-rise building. Your hair is blown by the wind from the helicopter blades. They shouted something at you, but you continued to play a beautiful solo on the electric guitar, drowning out the sirens of the cars that had accumulated below. You played so professionally as if it was your last time... Your photos spread across all public pages and channels. They talked about you on the news. Doors open behind you and special forces make their way onto the roof. Because of the noise and music, you can hardly hear them approaching you from behind:

—You’re playing great, but let’s go down... stop, —one of the men shouted, but you were too carried away by the process. Suddenly, they grab you by the waist and pull you towards you so that you stand at a safe distance from the edge of the roof.

—everything is fine... let's go down —they take you away forcibly, leaving all the equipment on the roof, along with a helicopter, bright lights and loud music...