As he crept into the bearded traitor’s box, his palms began to sweat.

I’m not nervous, I’m not nervous, I am the avenger, I am the freedom fighter, I am Brutus Incarnate…

It was harder to grip his pistol with his palms sweating, but he somehow managed.

He paused just inside the door. Breathed slowly and shallowly. No one knew he was there. They were all watching the goddamn play. Silly comedy. Silly, stupid actors saying silly, stupid lines. He had always found comedies so pointless, even Shakespeare’s comedies. No truth. No gravitas. Just nonsense. But no one ever wanted to see tragedies. Too reminiscent of life.

But that was what he loved. Holding the mirror up to nature. Shining a light on mankind’s darkest fears and tendencies.

Now he would shine the light again. He would show them the majesty of tragedy. And he would free his country.

He stepped forward, lowered the gun just behind the bearded bastard’s head, closed his eyes, and he fired.

Silence.

Rather, he misfired …