Narrator: What you have just looked at takes place three hundred feet underground, beneath the basement of a New York City skyscraper. It's owned and lived in by one Paul Radin. Mr. Radin is rich, eccentric and single-minded. How rich we can already perceive; how eccentric and single-minded we shall see in a moment, because all of you have just entered the Twilight Zone.
Radin: How staunchly military, Colonel. Drive, drive, drive. Get up against that objective and wipe it out. Red flag on the map and troops out of the hot sun. Nerves of steel and a concrete head.
Radin: You're too blind or you're too stupid because none of you seem to understand. All you have to do, literally all you have to do, is say a sentence. Just a string of silly stupid words, like a command, Colonel, or like a lesson, teacher. Or like a prayer, Reverend. All you have to say is "You're sorry."
Radin: Tell me, Reverend, is life so stinking cheap that you can throw it down a drain?
Reverend: Life is very dear, Mr. Radin, infinitely valuable. But, there are other things that come even higher. Honor is one of them, perhaps the most expensive of them all.
Mrs. Langsford: Try not to get lonely, Paul. Use mirrors, hang them up around the place, then you'll have a world full of Paul Radins. Of course, it'll be a fantasy world, but then your whole life has been a fantasy.
Narrator: Mr. Paul Radin, a dealer in fantasy, who sits in the rubble of his own making and imagines that he's the last man on Earth, doomed to a perdition of unutterable loneliness because a practical joke has turned into a nightmare. Mr. Paul Radin, pallbearer at a funeral that he manufactured himself in the Twilight Zone.
Included on volume 22 of Image-Entertainment's DVD collection.