It’s a beautiful, wet day in the sea, and a notably drier one under the Domes.
“Hey, Marty,” says Marty, a Caucasian man wearing shades that are partly covered by his long ginger hair, and a scruffy beard with a neater moustache. His black cloak reflects his position in the Domes. “You reached out to our island friends about the situation with the King, right? They say anything back?”
“We received signal from them a few minutes ago,” says Shereef, a dark-skinned man with a beard and tightly cut hair, “So I returned blue,”strong> right away. Like it says to do in the manual.”
“Good going, Shereef. And then you opened the valves.”
“The what?”
“The valves? So the tubes can come in and our guests aren’t at risk of, well, you know.”
“Of what?”
Before Marty can answer, three loud bonks down the hall to the tube intake area do so for him. “Asphyxiation!” Marty shouts, running to the tubes to save our heroes, his cloak and pearl necklace flapping behind him.