The Prisoner: Days in the Life

His days go on. Some days are more interesting than others. Through it all, he compiles an ongoing field survey. Nothing on paper. In his head, of course. They'll know his pattern, know exactly what he’s doing. No point concealing it. Oh look he’s doing reconnaissance. He’s trying to figure out who’s running this place. It's his spycraft, don't you know. Look at him go! Why disappoint them?

Day 2: 

Low tide. He walks along the coast, discovers a network of caves, looks in, doesn't go in, turns back on instinct. No electric fence, no obvious signs to mark the Village boundaries. How far is too far? No way of telling. He doesn't push it.

Down the strand, a human figure. They converge.

Number 2 strides up to him with a big grin.

"What are you coming from?"

"Back from where I've been."

"And what were you doing?"

"Walking."

"Perfect day for a run."

"Just walking." 

Number 2 smirks

"You remind me of someone. Guess who.

"No."


"From going to and from on the earth, and from walking up and down on it ...? Ring any bells?" 

"The devil can quote scripture for his own purposes."

"Forgive me. 

Not my department."

Be seeing you.

He climbs the stairs, returns to the Village proper.

"Please continue with your survey!"

He does.

Over the rest of the day, he speaks to 47 people. Most are reticient. Answers are a burden. They're fond of saying that. But their accents tell him what their words do not. 


Day 3 

They keep tempting him with an empty beach. He finally takes the bait, and rabbits off. That odious spheroid pops out of the water, tracks him across the strand, and envelops him like a giant blanc mange. Suffocating. Death by pudding. Of all the ways to die, he'd never imagined that

He awakes in hospital. Not dead. Apparently they'd set the monstrosity to retrieve, not kill. Different settings, then. Designed by whom?

Nurse smiling down at him.

"How are we feeling today?"

"Like getting out of this place."

"We'll be the judge of that."

"What was that thing?"

"What thing?"

"The thing that brought me in here."

"Oh, you mean Rover." (laughs) He's sort of the Village mascot."

And Cerberus is hell's mascot. Bad dog.

"Remind me not to pet him."

"That's exactly what we tell the children! We do love him, but you mustn't make him cross."

"Don't make him cross?" 

Stop shouting! You'll wake the other patient."

The patient stirs, moans.

"See what you've done?"

The other patient is Cobb. Disoriented, after a long interrogation session. Won't get into the details. After a bit of conversation Cobb jumps out the window.

A new Number 2 apologizes for the incompetence of his predecessor. Adds that they've burned his old clothes. They give him a schoolboy's uniform instead. And a number badge.

"Welcome to our community, Number 6."

He throws it on the floor.

"Suit yourself."

The new Number 2 gives him a guided tour.

No 117 complained of the incessant Muzak. He couldn’t think. The punishment fit the crime. They did something to the language centers of his brain. He babbles like an idiot now.

They manipulate Cobb's grieving partner. Supposedly working on an escape attempt.. A set-up for an escape attempt designed to fail. Some nonsense about an "electro-pass." They let him think he’d stolen a helicopter, then seize the joystick by remote control and bring him down to earth.

Day 3. 

He continues his survey of The Village. Number 2 spots him staring at an empty patch of ground.

"What are you looking at?"

Something that isn't there.

"Oh, I love a good riddle. Let me guess. A strip club? 

"A place of worship. 

"Oh I see."

"I haven't. No church, synagogue, mosque, temple...

"I take your point, and it's quite sophomoric. God, if He She or It exists, doesn't care about buildings. We have complete freedom of religion in the Village."

“As defined by a complete absence?"

"We discourage proselytizing in public spaces, of course."

"How do you define "public space."

"Well, the whole Village is public space. But you’re quite free to worship in private. Up here.

"The mind is a private space?"

“For now.”

Number Two smiles and walks away. Stops.

A little girl is pointing at him.

There's that man again.


“What's he doing.

“He's playing spy, of course.

“Can I play spy with you?

No, he doesn't want to play with you.

Why not? 

Superior attitude, I'm afraid.

What's superior attitude.

It means Number 6 thinks he's better than you. Better than all the Villagers. He thinks they're children. He doesn't like children.

The girl pouts. 

"Why are you so mean?"

Runs away. Number 2 smiles.

"Am I wrong, Number 6."

"In every conceivable sense."

"I mean about you. You're not like everybody else. You're better than these mindless conformists. March to a different drummer, and all that. That's the truth, isn't it?"

"Mind your own business."

A hit. A palpable hit.

Because it is the truth.

Of course I think I'm better than them. They've given up.

Why dress the Villagers in silly costumes?


Infantalize them. Strip them of adult identity and self-respect. To enter the Kingdom of the Village, one must be as a little child. Get in line, obey, don't ask questions, smile, join the parade. Yes, sir. 

That's the style here. The antithesis of his. HE despises it instinctively. Can't help despising his fellow Villagers as sheep, children, pawns, weaklings. But he fights his contempt. Catholic education drilled in. Reminds himself they've been broken with highly sophisticated techniques. Judge not. There but for the grace of God go I. Kid gloves for me, so far. But he knows there's an iron fist within. 

They want me to be aloof. Hide. 

Talk to them. Come down off your high horse.

Talk to them. Mingle. 

Starting tomorrow.