Sure, let’s sketch it out: at midnight we lock the tunnel, gather a crew of performers and street artists, and paint the walls with bold slogans and swirling colors, then set up a tiny circus stage in the middle of the tunnel—circular tents, a drum circle, a juggler, a fire eater for impact—turn the underground space into a living canvas of dissent. We’ll project loud music, use mirrors and low‑light to make the tunnel look endless, and let the performers shout out the demands, turning the whole thing into a kinetic manifesto that the city can’t ignore. The plan keeps it safe, so no real harm, but it feels chaotic, it feels raw, it feels real, and it makes the protest impossible to forget. If you’re in, bring a crew, a camera, some street food, and maybe a legal advisor—because we’ll be pushing boundaries, but we’ll keep it on the edge of the law, not beyond it. That’s the wild idea.