[ 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 .

If million monkeys typed randomly for eternity, how long would it take to produce the works of Shakespeare? 
 
 If there were a sentence, a particular combination of sounds that for whatever evolutionary reason triggered a fatal reaction in every human brain, how long would it take before someone accidentally uttered it? 
 
 They say humans have walked the Earth for 200,000 years, so I suppose that must be the answer. I uttered the Death Sentence while hosting my weekly comedy show, quite on accident, thinking it was just another joke. 
 
 I was expecting laughter, and I received it, but it was a queer kind, as if the audience had started laughing but choked on their drinks, devolving into a strained and strangled noise that filled the studio. I chuckled nervously, quipped about drinking problems, but noticed that my audience was n't listening anymore. In fact, they seemed positively unresponsive. 
 
 Then I realized this was because they were all dead. 
 
 It was quite obvious that they were dead and not sleeping, because people who are sleeping are n't bleeding out their ears. In this case drops and streams of red trickled out of the audience seating area, while my cameramen and other crew members were on the ground, resting their heads in steadily growing red puddles. 
 
 I'll admit that it did n't quite occur to me what had happened until much later. I called 911, reasonably frightened, and answered the police's questions as best as I could. Apparently they were receiving a lot of calls of this nature. When someone finally did come, there was n't much they could do other than to ask me more questions and then send me home. 
 
 *Got to run now so I'll continue later... I have a few ideas for this but not a lot of time: - ( * 
 
 **CONTINUED: ** 
 
 I spent most of the next day in bed - would n't you? - and watched the news. It seemed that this had happened all around the country, and was still occurring in disconnected places. It began when a few million people suddenly died of something that caused convulsions and ear bleeding, while they sat and watched their evening shows. Even now a few hundred people were dying every few minutes, while at their TVs, computers, or even just browsing on their phones. 
 
 Theories were abounding and fear was high. Of course I did n't leave my bed. When I was n't glued watching the news of a gruesome, history-making event, I could only think with shock on what had happened the night before. Faithful audience members, faces I saw every week - gone. A diligent crew that always made me look good - gone. The perky blonde intern I liked to flirt with - well, that was never going anywhere anyways. 
 
 I smacked myself in the head. The real screwy thing about being a comedian is you're never really *off*. Of course that intern deserved some more respect that a quip and a dash of regret, but I could n't even be bothered to remember her name. I'd accepted long ago that I was a horrible person, but surely there was a better way to cope with this. Maybe I'd seek a therapist after it all calmed down. 
 
 The president stepped out on the TV to make an address to the nation. From the headline beneath his image I learned that his daughter had been lost to the same sickening *thing*. He spoke about the nation coming together in our sorrows, quoted FDR about fear, and stated what all their intelligence was telling them now: the Sudden Death Anomaly, as it was being called, was the result of a virus that would lay dormant for months before attacking. Somehow it had infected a large number of Americans at the same time, and took their lives the night before. Other victims infected later were still perishing from it. The CDC was working on a cure. 
 
 I breathed a sigh of relief. There's always a comforting feeling when you know *what* the enemy is, and what's being done to fix it. I was still processing the events of the last twenty-four hours when someone knocked on my door. 
 
 -- -- - 
 
 They did n't take many questions, but they did take *me* out of my penthouse down to a black suburban which left as soon as they fit a blindfold on me. 
 
 `` So who are you guys, FBI?'' I asked with a chuckle. `` CIA?'' 
 
 `` DARPA,'' the passenger-side agent replied with a gravelly voice. I detected a hint of contempt. 
 
 I can be as thick as a brick sometimes, so despite all the dots falling into place I did n't connect them yet. I wondered if these guys wanted to question me about what I'd seen the night before. 
 
 `` Something like that,'' the driver said cryptically when I asked. 
 
 They were silent for the rest of the ride. 
 
 We drove away from the noises of the city, and through what I guessed was the countryside for a few hours. It was getting dark in the day, though I could see a bloody red glow when I looked westward, and a creeping sense of anxiety grew in my chest. It's funny how the knowledge that you might drop dead at any moment changes the way you perceive things. 
 
 During that time I thought, and in thinking I began to see a few holes in the explanation on the news. I was about to stumble on the truth when they stopped driving and removed the blindfold. We were at a small building on an off-road. I was definitely getting suspicious now. 
 
 `` Would it kill someone to tell me what's happening?'' I muttered as they pulled me roughly out of the van. 
 
 `` It might,'' one of the agents growled before dragging me inside. 
 
 They took me down some stairs and dropped me in a room with two chairs and a table, before leaving. After five minutes of silence, a man in a very fancy suit walked in to the room and threw a slip of paper on the desk. 
 
 `` DARPA upping the dress code?'' I asked, lifting the paper. 
 
 `` I just got back from burying my father,'' he replied bluntly. I frowned. 
 
 `` I'm sorry to hear that.'' 
 
 `` He was a big fan of yours,'' the man said, sitting down in the chair across from me. His posture was tense, like he was waiting for something to explode and wanted to be ready to jump away. I processed this sentence while reading the sentence on the slip - a joke I had given the night before - when it clicked in my head. 
 
 `` Oh, fuck.'' I dropped the paper as my brain span in circles. 
 
 `` Read what was on the paper,'' the agent demanded. His eyes were clenched shut and beads of sweat were forming on his brow. `` Just read it, bastard.'' I did n't want to, but I also did n't feel disposed to argue. I repeated the joke. 
 
 The man whimpered, then gasped as he realized nothing was happening to him. I felt confused, but a little lighter. Maybe this *wasn't* my fault. 
 
 `` So they sent in an underling to test if I really was a killer?'' I asked quietly through a dry mouth. The man nodded, got up, and hastily walked from the room. There was a wet spot on the crotch area of his pants. As he left, a less formally dressed, silver-haired agent entered. 
 
 `` Do n't get too excited, kid,'' he said to me, shutting the door behind himself. `` You're still the killer, and you're still killing.'' He pulled a gun from his pocket and set it on the desk. `` And you'll cooperate or I'll end you. Clear?'' 
 
 I nodded as I made a wet spot of my own. 
 
 -- -- - 
 
 ( to be continued more later...? )
