Choice... As far back as he could remember, he had always known that it was a quite hypocritical word. Whoever told him « Your choice ! » meant that he had no choice.
Choice meant threat. If you made the good choice, everything was okay. If you made a mistake... the bad choice... and the bad choice was often the most attractive... Punishment.
It wasn't the point in answering « yes » or « no ». All he had to do was to guess which was the expected answer.
« Yes, I'll do that. »
« No , I shan't do that. »
Come back home early, eat all the vegetables, stop teasing your siblings, obey the teacher's orders...
As he went along, choices had become more and more crucial.
Run away, to save your life. Eat whatever you get, to avoid starving. Obey orders, or die.
And always, more or less precisely... « Your choice ! »
Choice, he had not. He had once sworn an oath. To himself. He had sworn to survive, whatever he would have to do. A challenge to fate.
But he wasn't soulless. He was divided in two : one part of him managed to obey, to give in to his superior's orders.
Lie, delude, seduce... Question, torture... Steal, sabotage... Shoot, kill one way or another.
Coldly. Efficiently
And the other part... whose choices could have led him to death. But survive was the master word. To die honorably was great. Vainly great. Greatly vain. No use. He sometimes reached a compromise. Those were his victories, when he could bend the rules. And this part of his mind, too, gave him choices.
Overcome your weaknesses, and yield to force. Overachieve, and let the others overwhelm you. Stand out from the others, but lose yourself in the crowd. Hide your feelings. Be the best and let them undervalue you.
And he was educated in Paris. Then, in Cambridge. He brilliantly succeeded. Then... then, unexpectedly, his government sent him to the Uncle... A Russian spy became a Russian agent of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. At the Survival School. Then, in London. The same strategy. « Your choice ! »... He had just to sit on the fence... He was good at it...
And now, here he was... flying to the USA.
New York Uncle headquarter...
« Your choice. »
Mr Waverly was the Number one, Section one.
« You'll be Mr Solo's partner. Napoleon Solo is Number one, Section two. He'll show you the ropes. »
Period.
And for the very first time... No choice.