Dr. Williams is brought in as a prison psychiatrist after the War in the East has left a shortage of doctors. He answers to Governor Bentley, who asks him to assess a troubling case that has gripped the jail: a prisoner named Voorman believes he is a god and has convinced many inmates to worship him, spending their days in a chant-filled devotion. The exact nature of Voorman’s crime remains murky, masked by a computer malfunction that seems to erase important records.
In a stark, locked room, the straitjacketed Voorman speaks with unsettling calm, insisting that he is divine and that he created the world only nine days ago. He dismantles any evidence to the contrary by claiming that he planted memories of a world older than nine days, making everyone’s recollections a fabrication. His account is exhausting to confront, but he also reveals a desire to test his own power and, paradoxically, to ease his existential burden by imagining the world anew.
When Williams challenges Voorman’s assertions, the prisoner proposes a dramatic wager: he will demonstrate his godlike authority by erasing Belgium from existence. The idea is so preposterous that Williams jokes about it at home with his wife, Mrs Williams, who is baffled by the notion and unaware of Belgium’s geography. Williams briefly tries to show her Belgium in an atlas, only to discover that the country has vanished, replaced instead by a vast inland sea labeled “Walloon Lagoon.” The discrepancy forces Williams to reassess what is real, even as his scientific skepticism fights against Voorman’s extraordinary claims.
Back at the prison, Williams wrestles with the absence of any tangible proof that Belgium ever existed, and his doubt clashes with Voorman’s unsettling confidence. Voorman reveals an unexpected preference for confinement, explaining that he enjoys the prison’s inhabitants more than a dedicated crowd of believers. He also asserts a chilling philosophy: he created humans to entertain himself, finding human wars to be “comedy gold.” Williams, though offended by the god’s chilling pragmatism, voices his disdain for the idea of a deity who could find war entertaining.
Voorman explains why he chose Williams for this interaction: the god believes that a nonreligious man would be more susceptible to being duped by tricks. The conversation intensifies until Voorman suggests that the two should switch places. Williams protests, but before he can finish outlining his objections, Voorman begins to whistle and, in a flash, the positions are swapped: Voorman stands suddenly in the real world as a poised, well-dressed doctor, while Williams wears the disheveled, restrained appearance of a patient.
The mood shifts quickly as Voorman adopts a clinical tone, mimicking a psychiatrist’s voice to mock Williams’ attempt at dialogue. Williams, now the prisoner in a straitjacket, shouts in shock and calls for help, but Voorman starts to walk out, remarking that the interview’s results are of no use if Williams cannot speak calmly. As he departs, Voorman offers a final, eerie aside: “watch North Korea.” The sounds of prisoners’ chants swell in the background, signaling the mounting tension as the power dynamic between doctor and supposed deity tilts toward the unknown.
