When he'd made plans to go on holiday following his resignation, nothing like the Village came close to making his list. Though at first glance, this place is precisely the retreat he'd been hoping for. It's certainly not lacking in postcard-perfect scenery, from the rolling green hills to the silver waves that break endlessly on the beach. The entertainment it offers is mundane, yet charming in its simplicity. Moreover, when observed from a certain perspective, if he's able to ignore the games his captors play with him and make himself forget the reason he's here, the Village becomes truly peaceful. God knows he's in need of some peace.
But he refuses to let the thought form in his mind, because accepting the Village would mean he's becoming complacent. He can't afford to drop his guard and succumb. A mere holiday resort would never hold him against his will or call him in for questioning twice a week. Allowing even an inkling of satisfaction to cross his mind- perhaps it's not THAT bad…- would mean that the Village has already gotten under his skin, leaving him with no choice but to surrender.
Standing on the sandy shore, he watches the sun sink lower in the sky, and silently notes its position. Observing the stars may be a feeble hope of discerning the Village's location, but it's worth the attempt. Escape is out of the question for the time being- he's already had one too many close calls. That doesn't mean he can't tear his prison apart from the inside. Every act of defiance counts, even those the Village might not detect.
Every morning he recites his own name in his head, a routine reminder of his true identity. Stripping a prisoner of their name is a standard method of humiliation. He won't allow his captors to wield even that much power. Though he's forced to react to the title they've given him, he knows he is not just a number. To give up his individuality is to give up his humanity.
And every night, he tells himself the one truth that his captors haven't managed to glean from his files, over which they constantly gnash their teeth and tear out their hair- the truth behind his resignation. He doubts they would believe him if he told them, or that it even matters. They're interested in empty symbolism- an exchange of information where he receives nothing in return. But it's his greatest strength against the Village. When even his name has been stolen, his secrets are his only possessions. The more they pry, the harder he'll cling to them.
Eventually, when he's apparently lingered too long on the shore, Rover rises from the sea and bobs atop the waves, implacable and unmovable. He feels as if it's somehow staring him down. For a moment he wonders, had he a knife to pierce Rover's elastic flesh, what would come spilling out of it. Air? Mechanical workings? Blood, from the rare victims it has taken?
But he doesn't have a knife, and he's not sure he's willing to try it yet without knowing more about Rover. Besides, the sun has all but set, and Rover has been sent for a reason- to enforce the Village's curfew, like a mindless policeman.
So he turns around and leaves the beach behind him, heading back to the small, idyllic town in which he is imprisoned. For now, he'll play the well-mannered Villager. He'll go to bed on time, recite his confession instead of prayers, and cross his fingers that he won't be taken in for experimentation while he's asleep. But it's not a role he'll assume for long. Come morning, he'll begin his resistance anew, seeking out further ways to fight back.
He's got to keep fighting back.