[ WP ] You accidentally discover the sentence of death ( a sentence that kills anyone who hears it except the speaker ) when you say it over national television .

The shackles were a bit much. The irons clasping around my wrists and ankles, heavy chains preventing too far a stride or a reach up to scratch my nose. Already my skin had begun to chafe from the metal anguish. 
 
 The mouth gag? Totally understandable. 
 
 I was hauled out of the armored prison transport, two guards - whom I mentally named Weebl and Bob - accompanied me with every step since the incarceration facility. They were a silent duo, but strongly insistent that I keep their desired pace. I stumbled somewhat before righting myself, cursing the chains about my feet. Bob eyed me suspiciously while Weebl looked on indifferently. It was n't the first time I tripped, and neither of them cared then either. 
 
 The iron door ahead - painted a neutral mauve - had opened, and a small man holding a clipboard to his chest scurried out to meet us. The spectacles at the end of his nose practically bobbled off his face. 
 
 `` This is the one, is n't he?'' he said, practically squeaking. His beady eyes appraised me, giving me the once over. I eyed him back, unable to say anything. I could n't see a name badge, so he became Donny. 
 
 `` Yes, yes. Good. Yes,'' Donny continued, nodding to himself. If I did n't know any better, he sounded *excited*. `` Fill out the necessities.'' He thrust the clipboard at Bob, who took it and eyed it - then me - with disdain. It was as though I was the sole thorn of contention in his life. Then again, with what happened, I probably was. 
 
 `` One phrase was enough, eh?'' Donny said, turning back to the door. A small shove from the ever-stoic Weebl told me to get moving. `` Eight million and counting. Remarkable.'' 
 
 Donny continued his one-sided conversation as we entered the hallway inside. The white and green checkered tile gave me an uneasy sensation in my gut. Probably from the lack of food since yesterday, no doubt. Glass panes lined the walls, peeking into the rooms beyond. Men and women in lab coats remarked on various items as we passed. Chalkboards with equations, large machines spinning vials at high speeds, corpses. 
 
 I blanched, the sickness in my stomach increasing. A cold dread swept down my spine as I realized that this was n't, as I had previously assumed, a prison. 
 
 *What are they going to do with me? * I thought in as my panic rose. 
 
 I stopped, trying to word out my question through the gag. Only a muffled groan came instead. 
 
 An immediate blinding pain rocked me from the back of my head as the butt of Weebl's rifle rammed into it. I fell to my knees, tears filling my eyes. I almost wished I had passed out then, the pain was so reeling. 
 
 `` Now now, Mr. TV,'' Donny clucked as he spun to regard me. `` Silence is much more preferred for the time being. Ca n't have a slip up of what happened at the studio occur again, can we? Besides, we'll have you talking soon enough..'' 
 
 Through my nausea, I tried to meet his eye. It was the smile he gave that told me everything I needed to know. 
 
 As I was hauled to my feet, I moaned, feeling the wet down my legs as fear escaped me in the only way it could. 
 
 Donny waggled a pencil at me as I was practically dragged. `` You could say that we're *dying* to hear what you have to say.'' 
 
 He giggled. I screamed.
