Some of the residents of The Village honestly believe. They believe that what is presented in The Village is a model for the future, the hope of mankind. And they came to this conclusion on their own. But there are models other than The Village. And when presented with a model prisoner like Number Six? They can’t kid themselves forever.
He had been staunch in his refusal to give them information for a long while. They had drugged him, tinkered with his mind, and played wicked twisted games daily. But he had stood firm. Nothing they did changed him. He had done that to himself. Over time, as he experienced The Village, it began more and more to look like a blending of both sides. And it was getting harder all the time, given tactics and changing ideologies, to tell the two sides apart. If something didn’t change, knowing what he knew, he was sure the world would be annihilated. But the more he thought about it the more The Village looked like a plausible, possible, even desirable (given what he considered the surety of the worlds nuclear destruction) alternative. All the earth one big Village? That was his hope.
“Where am I?!”
He had asked the same question. He gave Number Six the answer that had been given him.
“In The Village.”
He admired this one. If they could bring him around he would be a great asset. And they WOULD bring him around.
“Who are you?”
“The new Number Two.”
It was rather amazing when he thought about it. He knew many of this mans superiors and they had occupied the same buildings at times, he even did business at the bank that provided the mans cover, yet they had never met. Of course he had spent most of his time in Parliament while this one was overseas much of the time. Overseas. There was a bit of odd humor. It had been his trip to Hong Kong that had brought his loyalties into question. The one time he decides to vacation someplace other than Portmeirion in Wales and it got him what? “Welcome to your home from home.”
“Number Seventeen’s worked out another method that’s rather novel. I’d like your permission to try it.”
“Not on him,” Number Two replied.
“He’ll crack like anyone else.”
“Perhaps. One tiny piece at a time. I don’t want a man of fragments!”
He watched the monitor, Number Six pacing, pacing. He leaned forward, intent on the screen. Watching Number Six made him somehow uneasy. It was as if a cord someplace deep inside his self was being pulled. He liked Six in spite of himself. A worthy opponent. Opponent? “Why does he care?” His fingers drumming on the desk. “Why does he care?” And the cord inside sounded. It was muffled, but it was there. And a part of him heard it. He had given up to easily. Why did Six care? He already knew the answer. In time, in time he might even admit it to himself.