A single step, that’s all it takes. Hafadac enters the warehouse and a tide of awe inundates him. Nostalgic, that’s his expression. Thoughts distant, eyes radiant with inner light, lips at a slight part midway through a breath vitrified in spacetime and made perfect through sentiment. Rust on the walls, dust and footprints on the floor, graffiti on the ceiling, and bone-rattling music reverberating throughout.

Just a wistful boy remembering something unimportant a multiverse away, a gold tear inexplicably on his cheek.

[i][color=fff200]This is perfect.[/color][/i]

The people he just met, he realizes, are also perfect. Working together, they have the tools for this job, whether they realize it or not. All their missing is a spark. Skeksi has moves, Ivory is a master artisan, and Pillar can boom with the best. Hafadac pulls his gaze down from the spider motif on the ceiling, turns back toward Penny, and declares:

[i][color=fff200]“This whole place is too quiet, too afraid. Gotta flip the script. Gotta make some [b]NOISE[/b]!”[/color][/i]

[i]“How is noise going to —”[/i] Peggy begins to ask, but Hafadac lifts a luminous finger to her mouth, cutting her off. Melodiously, he mansplains; an instant jarring transition from philosopher to performer, half-mask flashing a digital apologetic cringe, 

[i][color=fff200]    “Stranger to stra~anger,
— Lest we forge~et, 
— There’s thu~under in nu~umbers,
— There’s fre~edom in fri~iends!”[/color][/i]

He takes a small step back, his finger gliding sensuously along her bottom lip and sweeping the grime off her chin. Propitiously, he implores, [i][color=fff200]“— Fi~ind your hope, your voi~ice, your fight!”[/color][/i]

A wink and a bounce, and he kick-slides over on his knees to 017. Glancing up at her at his half-height through an upchurn of dust — budget dry ice — he beholds her wicked-cool fabrication, and, with one big pleading puppy dog eye alongside a crying emoji, belts out in smooth baritone:

[i][color=fff200]    “There’s no survi~iving 
— if we’re not thri~iving, 
— let’s show this world what we~e can make!”[/color][/i]

Kicking himself into a backflip from his kneeling posture, he somersaults off his palm and lands in before Haialark, crooning,

[i][color=fff200]    “Let’s see your ka~ata 
— for this intifa~ada, 
— a haka to embolden our clan!”[/color][/i]

Twisting one-eighty on one foot, he stares up at Pillar, his big new pal with the rocky visage, and pauses for a moment, intimidation and uncertainty threatening to quench his song. Just a moment, an awkward gulp, then the spirit grasps him and Hafadac intones,

[i][color=fff200]    “You’ve got the re~everb,
— A voice that will be~e heard,
— Vibrating deep in our bones!”[/color][/i]

Repeating the improv chorus, he marches himself outside, stranger to stranger, and at the top of his lungs finishes what he has to sing — for now,

[i][color=fff200]    “Arachnid defi~iers,
— We’ll defang the spi~iders,
— And show them that Rats can roar!

    So don’t let fear gui~ide us, 
— Nor quell what’s inside us,
— Tonight we se~eize our fate!”[/color][/i]

Exaggerating a snap-turn, he takes in his new-found party in their bespoke and self-declared base of operations. Ebullient and glowing something fierce, the sheen of sweat acting as miniature prisms, he practically illuminates the chamber as he points to 017, [i][color=fff200]“Ivory, PYROTECHNICS!”[/color][/i] to Haialark, [i][color=fff200]“Skeksi, DANCE!”[/color][/i] and to Gregor, [i][color=fff200]“Pillar, SUBWOOFER!”[/color][/i]

In his mind, it is obvious what he, himself, will do. Still, it doesn’t hurt to ask.

[i][color=fff200]“Anyone else have a set of pipes?”[/color][/i]