The boiled leather of the restraints chewed at Willy’s wrists like a starving cannibal. He was at the edge of exhaustion from struggling against them, but he had made no progress. He was utterly powerless, pinioned to the steel table like an insect in an entomologist’s display.
A small door opened in the concrete wall of Willy’s prison, and his head snapped up in alarm. His captors entered one by one, a stream of stunted orange men clad in brown shirts and white overalls flowing around the table. They stared at him silently, their eyes burning with hatred. When they had filled the entire room, they began to sing.
Oompa Loompa doopity-doo
We’ve got some painful torture for you.
Oompa Loompa doopity-deem
We’ll wrack your helpless flesh ‘till you scream.
What do you get when you enslave a race?
Working them ‘til they’ve gone orange in the face.
What are you at beating us with a bat?
What did you think would come of that?
We think you will beg to die.
Oompa Loompa doopity-dee
Never again will you be set free.
You will live in agony too
Like the Oompa Loompa doopity-do.
Willy closed his eyes and screamed.