Freedom of Choice

Characters:

The Agent – Conservatively attired
The Doctor – In white with latex gloves
The Subject – Bedraggled and heavily drugged

Setting:

An interrogation room – three chairs around a small table, a scary-looking machine atop it, as well as two white cylinders and a Rubik’s Cube.

LIGHTS UP.

The Agent leans back in her chair absently teasing the cube. The Subject sits across from her, hands cuffed to the chair behind her, head lolling. It is a long moment before the Doctor enters and approaches the table.

DOCTOR. What happened to your thumbs? My God, let me–

She rises to leave.

AGENT. (Puts down the cube.) You can attend to those later. If you’ll hook up our subject, we can continue. (To Subject.) This has to be done by a professional, you understand. It’s completely out of my hands. Wouldn’t do to have me mucking it up.

She returns to the cube.

AGENT. Never could get the colors to match up. They’re all so disorganized and random. Some might even call them messy.
SUBJECT. Try taking the stickers off.
AGENT. That’s not a bad idea. I like that. You’re thinking outside the box.

The Doctor connects a long, black wire leading from the Subject to a port on the machine.

DOCTOR. All set.
AGENT. Fire it up.

The Doctor clicks the machine on. LIGHTS FLICKER.

AGENT. (Puts cube down again. Looks up.) Is it supposed to do that?
DOCTOR. Yes. It may take a moment to–

LIGHTS UP.

DOCTOR. There we go.
AGENT. Is it going to keep doing that?
DOCTOR. Absolutely.
AGENT. We’ll start slow. Dial it in to two-twenty. (To Subject.) Now, let’s try this again. I have two hands–
SUBJECT. Congratulations. Your parents must be proud.

The Agent nods to the Doctor. The Doctor twists a knob and the Subject lurches forward as current is applied.

AGENT. I have two hands: one open, one closed. In the open hand I have the keys to the door behind you. If you cooperate, I will unlock it and you will be free to leave.
SUBJECT. And in the other one?

A nod. More current.

AGENT. The other hand is a fist. (To Doctor.) Raise it to two-sixty, if you please.

The Doctor adjusts the machine.

AGENT. Are you ready to make your choice?

The Subject shakes her head and receives another jolt. She nods.

SUBJECT. I choose–
AGENT. Yes?
SUBJECT. I choose–
AGENT. (Bites lip.) Yes?
SUBJECT. Is the anticipation killing you, too?

She smirks, the gesture cut short by the machine.

AGENT. Up to three hundred and ten, Doctor, and again.

Another convulsing shock.

AGENT. No more screwing around, do you understand me? Your two options are on the table; you must pick one. Indecision in this case is not, itself, a decision. You simply can’t have it both ways.

The Subject doesn’t move. The Doctor looks up at the Agent. The Agent nods. More current. Still, the Subject remains silent.

AGENT. (Sighs.) Would you step outside for a moment? I have something I need to discuss in private.

The Doctor stands and goes to un-wire the Subject.

AGENT. Leave those.
DOCTOR. It’s against regulations for me to–
AGENT. Leave them.

The Doctor looks pleadingly at the Agent, then exits.

SUBJECT. (Head down.) Alone at last.
AGENT. Don’t be cute.
SUBJECT. Can’t help it. I have my Mama’s eyes, but I think it’s my Dad’s nose that balances out the face.

The Agent flicks the knob and walks over to the writhing Subject.

AGENT. You know, it’s funny. I keep telling you that you have a choice when we both know that you don’t.

She reaches over and turns the machine off.

SUBJECT. Next you’re going to tell me that choice is an illusion.
AGENT. (Not listening.) Choice is nothing more than an illusion, an illusion designed to make us believe we are free creatures capable of distinguishing right from wrong, good from evil.
SUBJECT. (Mimicking.) We are not free.
AGENT. We are not free. We are all walking the same path towards one inescapable conclusion. Do you know what that conclusion is?
SUBJECT. There is no spoon?

The Agent turns the intensity knob and zaps the living shit out of the Subject.

AGENT. What you fail to realize is that I’m not spouting philosophical bullshit for the sake of hearing my own voice, merely trying to illustrate a point. I’m trying to tell you a story.
SUBJECT. (Teeth clenched.) Great. I love storytime.

The Agent kicks the Subject’s bound hands.

AGENT. This is a story, filled with mystery and intrigue, that will teach you what it is to be human.

Current off.

AGENT. Because right now you’re no better an animal.
SUBJECT. (Panting.) Baa.

The Agent cranks the machine on again and leaves it. She sits down again and returns to playing with the Rubik’s Cube. She tries to peel one of the sides off.

SUBJECT. (Through the pain.) I’ll choose.
AGENT. What?
SUBJECT. I’ll choose.

She puts the cube down and shuts the machine off.

SUBJECT. No more.
AGENT. I promise. No more.

She pulls out a small notebook and pen. Long pause.

AGENT. Now, which do you prefer the taste of?
SUBJECT. (Betraying herself.) A.

The Agent looks at the Subject, then at the white cylinders on the table. She lifts one. Underneath it is a can of Coca-Cola. There is a dramatic pause.

AGENT. Wrong choice.

She flicks the switch.

LIGHTS OUT.

© 2007