"Don't shoot!" Ted begged. "You can take a Bot, they each have a GPS on the front panel, and it will help you. I can spare one and the show will go on. Don't shoot." He took his device and clicked towards the robots.

The woman kept her gun high, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Tell me what happened to the military safe zone. Did it fall? Did you sabotage it to get the Bots?"

"I don't know anything. I'm a playwright, we don't get briefings on the status of the military. One day the news was talking about a virus outbreak in Mexico and the next, everyone was infected. My drones, that's what I call them, were just standing around useless when I found them."

"How did you program them?"

"I said I'm a playwright, not an idiot."

The Bot arrived and negotiated the stairs to the stage on its flexible chain-rollers. The woman took several steps away, nervous.

"No, don't move off the lines! They are-"

Ophelia grabbed her from behind, sinking her gums into the woman's exposed shoulder. The woman shrieked and twisted away, falling to the stage. As Ophelia reached for her again, she raised the gun to fire straight into the zombie's forehead. Black brains and decaying flesh splattered the painted wall and props.

"No!" Ted shouted too late.

The corpse fell on the woman's legs, but was promptly kicked off.

"No, not my Ophelia. How could you? I pulled all her teeth and nails so she'd be harmless as a kitten. My sweet, my only! How can the show go on now? Murderer, you've killed my leading lady!"

"Damn it! Give me the remote for the Bot, I'm out of here. You are sick, some kind of pervert, keeping these things on leashes!" the woman yelled. She stood up next to the curtain and ready to run.

"They are my actors. They are artists breathing life and humanity into this cruel world."

She waved the gun, motioning for him to hurry up. Ted was curled in on himself, though, hugging his waist and crying.

"Your two seconds are up. The control and where's the back door?"

He glanced down at his hand, surprised the control was in it. He held it out for her, and she snatched it away. Keeping her distance, she inspected it quickly.

"How does it work?"

"Just push the green button with the upwards arrow for voice activation. Then tell the robot to follow you and to fire at any moving, non-living targets."

She did as instructed, repeating the orders again when the robot did not respond.

"I don't have time for this sh-"

A soft rustling was her only warning. She turned just as Hamlet lunged at her neck, biting. The gun came up and fired into his stomach, making him flinch but not stop chewing. The woman continued to struggle weakly, kicking and hitting as blood coursed from her wounds down her front. Claudius and Horatio whimpered piteously and strained at their cords. Ted shook his head with morose.

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," he whispered to the robot. "I always hate it when they fight it. Hamlet has such a way with women, too. He chose Ophelia, you know. Picked her out of the crowd and went right for the throat. I told him not to damage the windpipe, but do you think he ever listens to me? Ah, starving artists. What can you do?"

The woman fell from Hamlet's gore-streaked arms and he sniffed at her. He would have continued his meal, but Ted pulled the body away, careful to stay on the white lines and circles on the stage. He transferred the chains from Ophelia while the virus took hold, making the body tremble and shudder.

Eventually the woman's eyes flickered open, vacant and milky. She snapped at Ted viciously but was clumsy and couldn't catch him.

"So you too would bite the hand that feeds you? You are all the same. Starving artists." He nodded at Hamlet. "I do believe, my dear Hamlet, we have found our understudy for the performance tonight. Don't be nervous, child, you'll be wonderful."

The screech of metal tearing drowned out Ted's pep talk. The drones whirred into action, creating a robot barricade to the hundred zombies that stumbled through the lobby.

Ted tsked several times. "Too early, too early. Well, they'll just have to wait in their seats, won't they?" He clicked the black button with a tiny speaker-phone. "Escort audience members one by one to the seats and secure them in place with the chains." The robot on stage did an about-face and left to complete his task. "Did I say the green button to our guest earlier? That's for the cages, silly me. But you must understand that the show can't go on without an Ophelia, and you are just perfect for the part."

Hamlet groaned and stomped in the middle of his red lined circle, trying to reach Ted. Grinning fondly at his lead actor, he hummed a quick tune and set about taking off Ophelia's costume.

"See, your partners in crime agree with me. It's just like your line; Hamlet is the author of your death and your return. A sort of renaissance - the new you who has not shuffled off this mortal coil. Isn't that simply wonderful? And now, since the show must go on, let's take it from the top, people!"

**** The end! Hope this wasn't too dark or gruesome for anybody! Shakespeare did have a thing for death and violence, though. Thank you for reading. :-) ****