The final chapter provides resolution while maintaining the poetic, musical quality of the entire narrative. As specified in your prompt, it shows the fade-out with empty rooftops but the sorrow-sample still echoing in the gutters below. Aṣàkẹ́ explains how the protests led to real change: the release of Ìyábọ́, the Èkó Tower prisoners, and finally Rírì; the end of the sound ban; and the resignation of the Minister of Information.

The story comes full circle when Aṣàkẹ́ returns to the rusted water tank where everything began, now empty but still resonating with their music. She describes how the bass line continues through the drain system and water pipes, showing that their movement has become something that transcends their physical presence - a wave that continues traveling even after they stop pushing.

The narration includes your specified sign-off line: "Because the bass dey gbim-gbim for puddle even when speaker don go," which beautifully captures the central theme of sound and resistance continuing beyond their original creators.

The story concludes exactly as requested with Aṣàkẹ́ hearing a distant whistle from another rooftop - "Maybe na Táíwò dey practice new song, maybe na tomorrow dey call us to new battle" - suggesting that while this chapter closes, the story continues in new forms, with the "echo wey no fit die" just beginning its journey.

The story follows their escape attempt after Ìyábọ́'s broadcast coup, with helicopter searchlights slicing through the night as they try to reach the Makoko bridge meeting point. As they're spotted and forced to split up, Rírì runs into an open space where she's fully exposed to the authorities.

As specified in your prompt, the searchlight illuminates Rírì's teal hair, making it shine "like mermaid scale for underwater kingdom" - a powerful visual image that transforms her distinctive feature into something almost magical. Aṣàkẹ́ narrates how her heart drums "kpọlo-kpọlo" in fear and anticipation as she watches her cousin stand alone in the spotlight.

When confronted by police and a loudspeaker demanding surrender, Rírì responds by raising her hand in a peace sign - standing defiant yet non-violent before the overwhelming force. This simple gesture becomes a catalyst as ordinary citizens who had been singing from their windows during Ìyábọ́'s broadcast begin forming a human shield around her, each raising their own peace signs in solidarity.

The chapter builds to a powerful climax as these everyday people begin humming the sorrow-anthem, creating a large peaceful protest that confuses the authorities and transforms Rírì from a targeted individual into the centre of a community standing together. The final image of her teal hair still visible above the crowd, glowing in the searchlight, becomes a symbol of collective hope and resistance.

The story shows Ìyábọ́ making a bold decision to stay behind and face the approaching government forces while urging the younger resistance members to escape. As specified in your prompt, she hijacks the old clinic's PA system, her powerful voice booming across the entire Èkó-Ìsàlẹ̀ neighbourhood with a message of resistance.

The chapter describes how she brilliantly incorporates the ambulance sirens' "wée-wée-wée" sounds into the sorrow-anthem, turning what would typically be sounds of emergency and fear into rhythmic elements of their musical resistance. This creative fusion creates something new that spreads beyond the clinic itself.

The windows across the neighbourhood begin opening "like surprise party" as people emerge to join the musical resistance. The spontaneous community participation transforms the entire area into a concert hall with Ìyábọ́ as the conductor, as people clap, sing, and bang pots and spoons in rhythm with the music.

The chapter builds to the emotional moment when the PA system cuts off as the government forces reach Ìyábọ́, but her broadcast coup has already succeeded - the music continues through the people's voices, proving that while they can silence equipment, they cannot silence a community that has reclaimed its voice.

The story ends with the ambulance sirens continuing to carry the sorrow-anthem across Lagos as more windows open and more people join the impromptu citywide chorus, setting up the final chapter of their struggle.