The chandeliers dimmed. The torch-wielding audience went into motion like 
sparks stirred by a gust of wind, some motoring toward the high ground and 
others preferring the water's edge. As the house lights faded to black, they 
amused themselves playing their torches back and forth across the walls and the 
curtain, creating an apocalyptic sky torn by hundreds of comets. A tongue of 
clammy, algae-colored light shone beneath the water, resolving itself into a 
long narrow thrust stage as it rose toward the surface, like Atlantis 
resurgent. The audience noticed it and bounced their spotlights off the 
surface, catching a few dark motes in the crossfire: the heads of a dozen or so 
performers, slowly rising out of the water. They began to speak in something 
like unison, and Hackworth realized that they were the chorus of lunatics he 
had seen earlier.