The Grand Usher sorted the people into their seats. “All right. Keep ourselves orderly or we’ll have to call the whole thing off,” he said ‘hind his cigarette.
Once everyone was seated, the curtain rose with a squeak, revealing a woman in a business suit frowning grimly but calmly into the crowd.
The announcer cleared his throat.
“Madame Deaton, we hold you guilty for owing The Grand Market–all these people”–the announcer waved a hand o’er the seats–“1 trillion ₧, & your time has run out to pay it back. ¿Have you any last words?”
Madame Deaton replied, “Do what you must.”
All o’ the crowd stood, aimed their pistols, & pulled their triggers in sync in a mix o’ stern glares, shaky hands, & gleeful laughter.