(As the golden glow of the Marquee B swirls around Baxter, he soars through the Broadway time stream once again. Music echoes around him, flashes of past performances flicker in the air. He hears the distant whoosh of wind—)

THUMP!

(He lands on… something. Something hard. And moving. And very, very high up.)

(Baxter’s whiskers twitch. His little rat nose sniffs the air. He dares to open his eyes.)

(And then—his tiny heart drops.)

Baxter Realizes His Situation

(He is standing—*no, balancing—*on the edge of a broomstick. A soaring, sky-high, spell-casting broomstick.)

(Below him? The entire land of Oz. Glittering, glowing, so far down. The winds howl around him. The moonlight illuminates the stage.)

(And right beside him?)

ELPHABA.

(In full, green-skinned, dramatic Defying Grabity mode.)

(And she is holding out a hand.)

“Together we’re unlimited…” 

(Baxter freezes. His tail flicks in panic. He looks at her. Then the sky. Then at her again. Then at the audience below—who are all watching, waiting, breathless.)

(Oh no.)

(OH NO. He knows what’s coming. He’s not just in Wicked. He’s IN THE NUMBER.)

HE IS FLYING.

Baxter Has No Choice – He Sings!

(Elphaba grips the broomstick, eyes burning wiff determination. Her emerald hand is still outstretched toward him.)

“If you care to find me, look to the Western sky!” 

(The orchestra builds. The music shakes the theater. Elphaba BELTS. The broomstick tilts. Baxter nearly falls.)

(And then, somehow, by pure Broadway magic—)

“AS SOMEONE TOLD ME LATELY… EBERYONE DESERBES THE CHANCE TO FLY!” 

HE HITS THE HIGH NOTE.

(The audience gasps. Elphaba’s eyes widen. The orchestra erupts. The broomstick rises even HIGHER.)

“AND IF YOU CARE TO FIND ME—”

(Elphaba and Baxter BELT TOGETHER. The lights explode in dazzling emerald brilliance. The cape billows. The crowd is on their feet.)

“TELL THEM HOW I AM DEFYYYYYYYING… GRA-BIT-TY!” 

(Baxter clings to the broomstick for dear life, but in this moment—he is unstoppable. He is soaring. He is BROADWAY.)

THE AUDIENCE ROARS.

(The music swells to its peak. The sky glows green. The broomstick holds steady. Elphaba throws back her head in triumph—)

THE MARQUEE B GLOWS AGAIN!

(The golden energy sparks around Baxter, wrapping him in light. The broomstick shudders. Elphaba turns in shock—)

Elphaba (shouting over the wind):
“BAXTER, WHAT’S HAPPENING?!”

(Baxter flails as he starts to vanish. The magic is taking him again.)

(The last thing he hears—)

“TOOOOOO FLYYYYYYYYY!!!” 

(—before he is ripped from Oz, vanishing into the Broadway void.)

“A Cheese to Call My Own”
(Fish’s Cheese Ballad – Part I)

(Soft piano intro, wistful and yearning. Fish steps forward, clutching a small wheel of cheese like it holds the secrets of the universe.)

FISH:
(gently, almost whispering)
I’ve wandered streets, I’be crossed the nights,
Fru alleys dim and city lights…
Searching, sniffing, dreaming wide—
A cheese to keep right by my side.

(Music swells, a longing violin joins in.)

FISH:
(growing bolder, heart swelling)
Oh, brie so creamy, gouda bold,
A tale of love that’s softly told.
Blue veined mysteries, sharp and bright,
Each bite a spark, a golden light!

(A gentle waltz rhythm begins, as if he’s dancing with the cheese.)

FISH:
(twirling, arms outstretched to the heavens)
Parmesan whispers, aged just right,
A sliver stolen in the night.
Camembert’s hush, a fleeting dream,
But oh, the melt, the perfect gleam!

(Pause. The music quiets—just a soft plucking of strings. Fish clutches the cheese closer, voice breaking with emotion.)

FISH:
But could there be… a cheese for me?
A wheel, a wedge, a bite, a key…
To all I’ve longed for, all I’ve known…
A cheese to truly call my own?

(A hush falls. Then—suddenly—the music swells into a triumphant, sweeping finale!)

FISH:
(powerful, victorious!)
Yes! A cheese that’s mine, a love so true!
A perfect rind, a golden hue!
From Stilton deep to cheddar bright—
My heart, my soul, my guiding light!

(Final note held, orchestra swells. Fish lifts the cheese high above his head, bathed in a spotlight. The crowd goes wild! Fish scurries off into the nearby cheese café )

(As the golden light swirls around Baxter, he feels himself tumbling again—spinning, flipping, weightless. The echoes of applause from The Producers fade into the distance. Suddenly—)

THUD!

(He lands hard on cobblestone. The world around him is dimly lit, shadows stretching across brick walls. Neon signs flicker above a gritty New York street. The air is thick wiff tension. And then—)

“When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way…”

(Baxter’s ears perk up. His heart pounds. He knows this song. He knows this show. He turns around and sees—)

He’s in the Middle of the Jets!

(A group of leather-jacketed gang members are snapping their fingers in perfect unison. Their leader—Riff—steps forward, a smirk on his face. The rest of the Jets stare Baxter down, hands in pockets, swagger in their stance. It’s clear—they’re sizing him up.)

(Baxter gulps. He looks down at himself. He’s wearing—)

 A leather jacket.

(Oh. Oh no. He’s not just in the scene. He’s part of the gang.)

Dialogue: The Jets Welcome Baxter

Riff (grinning, tilting his head):
“Well, well, well. Look who finally showed up. Took ya long enough, Baxter.”

Baxter (stammering, trying to keep up):
“Oh! Uh—yeah, ya know, traffic was… rough?”

Action (another Jet, arms crossed):
“You got some mighty tiny feet for a Jet, pal.”

(Baxter realizes his tiny rat paws are sticking out ob the sleeves ob the leather jacket. He shoves them in his pockets real quick.)

The Song Kicks In: “Jet Song”

“When you’re a Jet, you’re the swingin’est thing—”

(The Jets suddenly break into dance, and Baxter is swept into it!)

(He’s spun, flipped, and before he can even protest—he’s doing choreographed fight moves. He snaps wiff them, kicks wiff them, even leaps onto a trash can and lands perfectly—as if he was born for this. His feet move instinctively. The music fills his soul.)

“You’re never alone, you’re never disconnected—”

(Baxter twirls, then—bam! He’s face-to-face wiff Riff again, who claps him on the back.)

A High-Stakes Moment: The Rumble is Coming

(The song ends, and the Jets exchange looks. The energy shifts. Something serious is about to happen.)

Riff (lowering his voice, serious):
“Alright, Baxter. It’s time.”

Baxter (nervous):
“Time… for what, exactly?”

(The Jets start cracking their knuckles. Riff nods toward the end ob the alley where another gang is approaching—slick-haired, red-jacketed. The Sharks.)

Action (grinning, nudging Baxter):
“Tonight’s the rumble, pal. You ready to prove you’re a Jet?”

(Baxter’s eyes widen. A rumble?! A Broadway gang fight?!)

(But before he can even process—)

  The Golden B Flickers Again!

(The air crackles wiff energy. Baxter gasps as the glow surrounds him once more. The Jets step back, shielding their eyes as Baxter begins to fade—)

Riff (shouting):
“Where you goin’, Baxter?! The fight’s startin’!”

(But Baxter can’t answer—because in an instant—)

HE’S GONE!

(The lights burst into a golden flash, and Baxter is once again hurtling toward the next stop on his Broadway adventure.)

(Baxter is once again flung through time and space, the golden glow of the marquee B surrounding him. Music and voices swirl past him in echoes of Broadway’s past—until suddenly—)

THUMP!

(He lands—hard—on a wooden stage. The air is thick wiff the scent of parchment and gunpowder. The crowd is roaring. A rhythmic, urgent beat is pounding beneath his feet. And then—)

“I am not throwin’ away my shot!”

(Baxter’s ears perk up. Oh no. OH NO. He turns around—and finds himself face-to-face wiff—)

Alexander Hamilton.

(And then he realizes—HE IS ALEXANDER HAMILTON.)

(He’s standing at center stage, dressed in a deep green Revolutionary War coat, high boots, a cravat, and a waistcoat. A quill is tucked behind his ear. The music is pulsing. The ensemble is waiting.)

(And before Baxter can even think—)

“Hey yo, I’m just like my country, I’m young, scrappy, and hungry—”

(HE STARTS SINGING!)

Baxter Becomes Hamilton

(It’s as if his tiny rat brain already knows the lyrics. The music carries him forward, the words spilling out effortlessly. He struts across the stage, cape flaring, rapping at full speed.)

“And I’m not throwin’ away my shot!”

(The cast erupts into choreography. The audience is cheering. He is absolutely owning this role. He duels wiff Burr, he slaps the table during Cabinet battles, he writes like he’s running out of time!)

(Everything is happening so fast. The politics, the passion, the tension—he’s in the middle of it all.)

The Show Reaches Its Peak—”The Room Where It Happens”

(Baxter suddenly finds himself alone on stage, wiff Aaron Burr circling him. The lighting shifts—golden and dramatic. The ensemble pulses around them, their feet stomping in rhythm.)

“No one really knows how the game is played…”

(Baxter turns sharply. Burr steps closer.)

“The art ob the trade… how the sausage gets made…”

(Baxter can feel the tension. The gravity ob the moment. He takes a breath, and wiff every ounce ob Broadway magic in his little rat soul, he BELTS IT.)

“I WANNA BE IN THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS!”

(The stage explodes wiff movement. The turntable spins. The cast swirls around him, voices overlapping, harmonies building, the lights flickering like history itself is alive—)

THE MARQUEE B GLOWS!

(Baxter barely has time to react. The golden energy surges around him, pulling him away just as the final chorus swells. His voice echoes into the void—)

“THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS—!”

(—and then, in a flash of golden light… he’s gone.)

(Following “What If I Fall?”, Baxter wipes his eyes and steps deeper into the abandoned backstage area of the Broadway theater. Dust swirls in the air as old set pieces lean against the walls, forgotten by time. Then—his eyes catch something in the shadows: a faded, golden marquee letter.)

(It’s a capital “B.” Not just any B, but an ornate, shimmering B, almost taller than Baxter himself. The bulbs are dim, but there’s something about it… something electric. He steps closer.)

Baxter (whispering):
“What are you doin’ back here, huh? You used to shine, didn’t ya?”

(He reaches out hesitantly. The moment his paw touches the letter, the bulbs flicker, then glow bright—brighter than anything he’s ever seen! Wind rushes through the theater, pages of old scripts flying into the air. The walls around him seem to warp, the stage floor bending like waves beneath his feet!)

(The golden light explodes, swallowing Baxter whole. He tumbles backward, flipping, spinning, his tiny body hurtling through time and space. Music echoes all around him—choruses from classic Broadway hits swirl past, dancers in top hats, neon lights flashing… and then—BAM!)

(Baxter tumbles through the glowing, time-warping void, music and Broadway lights spinning around him. His tiny body twists, turns—until suddenly—BAM! He lands hard on a stage. The lights are blinding. The crowd is silent. The orchestra swells. And then—he hears it.)

“Germany was having trouble
What a sad, sad story
needed a new leader to restore
Its former glory..”

(Baxter blinks. He’s standing in a tailored, sparkling suit. His paws are gripping a cane. His feet are positioned just so. A spotlight is on him. The orchestra is waiting on him. The audience is watching.)

---

The Realization Hits

(Baxter looks to his right. There’s a chorus of dancers in German military-style showgirl outfits. He looks to his left. A man in lederhosen is beaming at him. He looks down at himself—he is in full costume.)

(And then, he hears a panicked whisper from the wings.)

Leo Bloom (stage whisper):  “Go, go, GO! The song, Baxter, the song!!”

(Baxter freezes. Then realization slams into him—he isn’t just in the show. He is playing the lead role!)

(And in the split second before panic can set in—the orchestra conductor raises his baton and—)

THE MUSIC BEGINS!

---

Baxter Performs!  (A hush falls. The first verse is his. The audience leans in. And then—)

“I was just a paperhanger, no one more obscure…”

(His voice wavers—but the melody carries him. The music is in him. He remembers all those hours wiff his brothers, playing Broadway records, imagining this moment… and suddenly—he leans into it.)

“Got a phone call from the Reichstag, told me I was Führer!”

(The audience ERUPTS in laughter—not in horror, not in fear, but in glee. He’s nailing it. He’s actually nailing it.)

(And then—he dances. He spins the cane. He struts forward. His paws move effortlessly through the number, as if he’s rehearsed this a thousand times. The chorus joins in. The stage bursts into dazzling color!)

“Springtime for Baxter—and Broadway!”

(The entire cast whirls around him, the choreography snapping into place like magic. He hits every cue, every note. The spotlights sweep over him, bathing him in golden glory. He is, for this moment, the biggest star on the biggest stage in the world. He is Broadway.)

Final Pose—Thunderous Applause

(As the song reaches its climax, Baxter is lifted onto the shoulders of two showgirls. The music hits its final, triumphant note. The entire ensemble poses, frozen in a dazzling Broadway tableau. And then—)

THE CROWD GOES WILD.

(The audience is on their feet. They are cheering, laughing, stomping, clapping! The applause shakes the theater. The spotlight lingers on Baxter, who is breathing heavily, his heart pounding, his little paws shaking wiff excitement. For the first time in his life—he knows what it feels like to own the stage.)

(Then—)

The Marquee B Glows Again!

(The moment of triumph is short-lived—because suddenly, the magic is pulling him again! The golden light swirls, wrapping around his body. The cast watches in shock as Baxter starts to glow—)

Leo Bloom (panicking):
“Wait! We need him for Act Two!”

(But it’s too late—wiff a blinding flash, Baxter is whisked away once more…)

Setting: The Producer’s Office / A Grand Broadway Theater Lobby

Baxter and his brothers have managed to sneak their way into the grandest Broadway theater ob them all. They scamper across the velvet carpet, dodge brooms, and slide under the mahogany doors leading to the office ob Murray Montclair, a grizzled, no-nonsense Broadway producer wiff decades ob hits—none ob them starring rodents.

Murray leans back in his massive chair, cigar in one hand, a script in the other, and eyes the rats in disbelief.

Dialogue (Leading Into the Song)

Murray: (scoffs)”A rat musical? Fellas, I’ve seen a lot in my day—tap-dancing lobsters, singing refrigerators, a tragic love story between two lamp posts—but this? Rats on my stage? It’ll never happen!”

Baxter (determined):”Broadway is for dreamers, right? Well, we got dreams—big ones! And we got talent, heart, and a whole lot ob cheese!”

Murray (laughs):”Kid, I hate to break it to ya, but—”

(Music swells, a jazz-infused, old-school Broadway tune wiff big brass and tap beats.)

Song: “Rats Don’t Belong on Broadway”

(The humans, pigeons, and even skeptical theater patrons join in as the world tries to shut Baxter down.)

Verse 1 (Murray, the Pigeons & Ensemble):

(Sung in a fast, patter-style, think “Ya Got Trouble” from The Music Man”)

Rats don’t belong on Broadway,Not in the lights or on the stage!You ain’t no star, you’re just bizarre—Go scamper back into your cage!

(The pigeons flutter down from the rafters, dressed in tiny tuxedos, shaking their heads.)

Listen to us, we know the score,Feathers fly but rats don’t soar!A leading rat? A Broadway dream?Fella, that’s absurd to the extreme!

(Baxter jumps onto the producer’s desk, refusing to back down.)

Chorus (Baxter & His Brothers vs. the World):

(Murray & Pigeons): You’re too small, too scrappy, too out ob place! Nobody wants a rat in their face! Broadway is big, Broadway is grand— And rats don’t take a leading stand!

(Baxter & Brothers, defiant, tap-dancing on the desk): That’s where you’re wrong, we’re made for the show! Broadway needs spark, and we got that glow! We’ve got the mobes, the music, the might— And we’ll keep climbing till we reach the light!

Verse 2 (Murray Doubles Down, While Baxter & His Brothers Counter):

Murray (spoken, over the music):”You ever seen a rat get a standing ovation? Nope. You ever seen a rodent sell out a theater? Nope! You know what rats belong in? Pizza shops! Basements! NOT on MY stage!”

Baxter (snapping back):”Maybe that’s ‘cause no one’s giben us a chance!”

(Murray shakes his head as the humans and pigeons resume singing, trying to convince the rats to give up.)

Stick to the alleys, stick to the drains, Broadway’s for stars wiff dazzling names! Gershwin? Sondheim? Maybe a cat! But rats in the spotlight? Imagine that!

Bridge: Baxter Takes Center Stage

(The music slows, spotlights on Baxter as he stands alone on the desk, facing down the entire ensemble.)

You laugh, you doubt, you turn us away, But Broadway was built on those who say— “We can’t, we won’t, we’ll never belong” Till they break the rules and prove ‘em wrong!

(Baxter leaps off the desk and lands wiff a perfect tap sequence, his brothers joining in. The number explodes into a full-blown Broadway tap routine, complete wiff kicklines and chandeliers swinging!)

Finale (A High-Energy Showdown!)

So give us a chance, a moment, a show— We’ll take the stage and steal the glow! Rats on Broadway, it’s meant to be! ‘Cause Broadway’s for dreamers…

And dreamers like me!

(The music ends on a massive chord, the lights go out, and silence falls as Murray stares at the rats, completely speechless.)

Post-Song Dialogue:

Murray (shaking his head, smirking):”Kid, I gotta admit… you got guts. But guts ain’t enough for Broadway. You want this? You better prove it. Otherwise, you’re just another rat in the alley.”

(Murray walks off, leaving the brothers standing there. Baxter clenches his fists. The dream isn’t dead—it’s just beginning.)