Six Plus Seven Makes Eight
by Rob Morris

THE JOURNAL OF A FREE MAN, 1969

By stealth and by shadow, I have beaten the Village. By utterly hypnotizing my mind into believing it was only taking a walk, I snuck around their oh-so clever mental blocks upon my actions, and made for the raft. My mind was their own best ally, and the twitches and ticks they made me have whenever I neared escape their own best alarum. I have evaded it all.

I sailed for an unguessable amount of time, going from who-know's-where to another hopefully better who-know's-where, and glad to be doing it. When at last I touched land, I expected Number Two, in one of his many forms. But all I got was a smiling Yank lad, a hat on his head and no small amount of enthusiasm at my arrival. I await my rescuer now, and I will ask him what this place is called. But it shouldn't really matter. For any place on Earth is better than the Village. Here I may surely come and go as I please, and this is the right of every free man. My confinement is all done with.

END ENTRY

The young man walked up with water for the former Prisoner.

"My friends will be here soon, Mister. Boy, they all can't wait to meet you!"

The ex-Number Six realized an error on his part.

"Young man...I forgot to ask your name. What is it?"

The lanky young man in the red shirt answered with a name the newcomer would ultimately despise.

"Gilligan."