On Monday morning, as usual, Sean approached the theatre at 8:05am on the dot. He may have always been late, but at least he was consistently late. Today was different, however. At the front of the theatre was a large Plaza, taking advantage of the higher ceilings required in order to accommodate an auditorium. The Plaza was often used for Arts and Crafts fayres and organic turnip wine festivals. When a big show was on there were usually happy buzzing crowds of people milling around, sitting on the steps and outside the one or two bars that bordered the area. The only way for Sean to reach his workshop at the side of the theatre was to cross this plaza. This morning, as he emerged from the corridor, he was greeted with a very different crowd to that which he was used to. It was unusual for anyone to be there at that time of day in the first place, but this crowd was exceptional. The buzz was decidedly hostile, and the crowd appeared to be chanting and shaking their fists at the glizily fronted theatre façade.

“What do we want?”
“ROBOTS!”
“When do we want them?” “AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!”

This was historically militant behaviour for Colony V. Unprecedented scenes abounded. Sean pushed through the crowd and past the man with the megaphone, grateful that none of them had any idea what his job was. Ducking out of sight round the side of the theatre, he swiped his card in order to gain entry via the staff entrance, threw his belongings into a dingy corner, and called the lift that would take him to the floor above and the Theatre Manager’s office.

As the lift opened he was immediately faced with his manager waiting in the corridor, beaconing him towards his office.

“Come in and sit down, Sean”. Sean followed him into his office, and did as he was told. Terence Maloney wasn’t an intimidating character, standing at only 5’7 in his brogues and wearing a worn tweed suit. He made up for it, however, with devious skulduggery of which Sean was always wary, given that he was the man’s only direct report.

“It’s a good job they don’t know your face, Sean, isn’t it? They damn well know mine. Want my ass they do” As he said this he gestured with an inclination of his head towards the rather splendid faux French windows in his office, which led to a balcony overlooking the Plaza. Lovely view. Even as Sean looked a rotten tomato exploded on the Perspex pane, joining a variety of other rotten vegetables that had already followed a similar trajectory. To Sean this was a disturbing image. Not just the vegetables. Not even Mr Maloney’s ass. Nope. This meant pressure.

Mr Maloney pointed to a newspaper on his desk, the front page bearing the headline:

As Theatre Remains Shut People Demand Answers

“When will the robots be… erm… maintained, Sean?”
“Well, Mr Maloney, you see I’m planning this really… special performance you see, and it could….” “Sean?” Mr Maloney cut in.
“It will be ready in… erm… two weeks.”
“Sean, you know that I consider you a fine honest young man of good family, and I have absolute faith in your work. But you have one week.”
“But sir…”
Terence Maloney held his hand up for silence “Sunday night, we will perform… Sean, what is it we’re doing that is.. er… ‘special’?”
“erm” Sean stuttered “Hamlet, sir”
“Hamlet, I see, excellent. I love Hamlet myself – I’m very much looking forward to this!” “SIR…”
“Shall we tell them, Sean?”
“Tell.. who?”
“Them” said Terence, sweeping his arm towards his balcony and the angry mob below. Before Sean could scream ‘nooooooo’ Mr Maloney had pressed the button which slid open the doors, and with his arm firmly around Sean’s spine led him out onto the balcony. One by one the crowd took notice, until all eyes were focussed on the two men.

“Who is that with Terence Maloney?” the crowd was heard to murmur.
“Ah, that’s my Sean that is!” shouted Betty Oliveson, who had joined the protest on her way to the rehearsal, just to see what all the fuss was about “He works there!”

Sean hung his head, and tried to become invisible. A putrid pear struck him on the shoulder.

“A bloody idiot, that what he is..” Hollered David Millar, who had stopped to watch on his grudging way to the theatre because he had spotted Sean on the balcony and he thoroughly enjoyed berating him. “Oh God”, said Sean, even though he wasn’t religious.

Eventually the crowd quietened in anticipation of the two having something to say, and Terence Maloney took the opportunity to address them.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the public” he began, in the fine confident tone of a man with nothing to lose “I have with me Sean Oliveson, chief robotics maintenance technician, with an announcement regarding our next performance”

Terence liked nothing better than delegation, especially when asses were on the line. Sean, both flustered by the situation and confused by his sudden apparent promotion, failed to rise to the occasion.

“gulp…”
“Come on Sean” whispered Terence, nudging Sean encouragingly and pushing him forward “speak up with the good news!”
“Hello!”

Sean’s delivery was a little high pitched, on account of the paralysing fear. He tried again. “HELLO!” Sean’s voice projected better as the adrenaline took over, and he continued confidant that he had everyone’s full attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise for the delay in productions. I am glad to announce that on Sunday there will be a very special performance of William Shakespeare’s Hamlet, just for you.”

There was a pleasing reaction to this from the crowd.
“oooh” they said, and “ooooh”

Then a brief confused silence.

“Is that the Scottish Play?” shouted out a man standing near to Sean’s mother.
“Don’t say that word, it’s bad luck!” Betty shouted back, making her way menacingly towards him. “
Eh? Replied the unfortunate gentleman. And then,
“Oww…”