Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stanley had quickly learned that you could only see “new content” once before it just wasn’t new anymore.

He’d thought he would have stopped counting after the hundredth reset. His mind still kept track. It was almost subconscious at this point, but the one thing he really seemed to have control over. Sure, The Stanley Parable 2 was intriguing at first. It had brought him his beloved bucket, after all. But even with its consistent reassurance, it didn’t stop things from getting… stale. He’d traversed every corner of the map, played every ending a thousand times, found every secret and nook and cranny that this world would permit. He was lucky if he got anything more than an offhanded remark. Even so, he’d take any chance to mess with the Narrator that he could. When it came to his story, the Narrator was a very impatient man.

Stanley had long since tired of this cycle. The Narrator had not. Just once, Stanley wanted the end to be the end.

Stanley pushed back his office chair with a sigh.

He glanced out the door. The office seemed to have randomised its beginning yet again, opening up to a single hallway, the bucket standing on its usual pedestal. He had to admit, that was probably the best decision the Narrator had ever made. He loved that bucket, even if its comfort did seem questionable at times.

“...but as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.”

He sighed and stood up. He’d have to get this story on the road somehow. Waiting only pissed the Narrator off more. Stanley walked out of his office.

In a blink and you’d miss it moment, the office in front of him changed back to normal, like it had never been different in the first place.

Stanley froze. That was… new. A mistake on the Narrator’s part, maybe, but Stanley knew he would never mess up the beginning like that. This was something he couldn’t bypass like any other ending, the one thing that stayed consistent. He turned around to find the door to his office a glaring white. It was a familiar shade, one that always met him from the windows. Nothing hid behind it.

He couldn’t help but wonder this time.

For once, the player’s will aligned with his, and he stepped through the door again—

And he was falling.

Falling was nothing new to him, of course. Whether it was from a flight of stairs (the Narrator’s ever present voice ringing in his ears, begging him to not do this to him, please, don’t take this away), off a platform (he wasn’t so sad now, daring Stanley to leap to the bottom), or even simply in a hole (Stanley had to admit, he was a bit miffed that it wasn’t truly infinite). Even despite the false claims of the infinite, there was always a bottom. For now, he hadn’t found it.

He could even still choose to believe he had “broken” the map. Maybe this was another bit of clever narrative design— although he found that less and less believable as his world faded into black. The map still hung in the edge of the void, the outline of the employee lounge, the office, and then it was just… gone.

He was left alone, falling.

This wasn’t the blackness that came with a reset; he knew far too well what that felt like. This didn’t even feel like the “infinite” hole. It felt like he was falling and suspended in time all at once, and he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him— and, almost more importantly, what had happened to the Narrator. He should have noticed his protagonist just going missing, right? He couldn’t stand being alone for a couple hours, and after the skip button, he hadn’t let Stanley out of his sight once.

Stanley could have reset the game on his own, of course. Nothing stopped him. Nothing stopped the Narrator, either, he knew that. The Narrator wouldn’t have just disappeared. Yes, maybe Stanley hadn’t heard from him besides his typical opening speech, but that was because the Narrator only started prattling on after his office door had closed. Stanley’s curiosity had won out against familiarity. The Narrator would have certainly noticed that much.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a fleeting thought passed about the player themself. He already knew they liked holes and falling. This satisfied one of those, but he couldn’t see the appeal of just black and silence. At least the Narrator had something to say in the hole.

In actuality, the player was sitting at their computer in silence, waiting for something, anything to happen (not unlike Stanley was). Falling out of the map wasn’t anything new. Maybe this was some ultra-secret ending they hadn’t heard of. Maybe it only happened when a certain setting was on, they didn’t know. This game managed to surprise them in the most mundane of ways. They could wait a bit longer. Maybe it was a softlock, but that could always be fixed.

For now, he, the Narrator, and the player were at a silent impasse.

Stanley sighed, ready to resign himself to his fate and reset the game.

White text appeared in front of him.

[Stanley?]

Stanley perked up.

[Is that you?]

The player smiled, eyebrows raised. They knew there had to be something here!

[Hah! How did you even get here? I thought you already did the epilogue. You’re not supposed to see me outside of the sequels]

[Yeah, you’re on… The Stanley Parable 379: More Pantry? How absurd. I’m impressed with the dedication there. What are you even doing here?]

The text disappeared. Stanley hesitated for a moment, before signing, Can you see me? The words appeared in a small, yellow font at the bottom of the screen just as his hands fell back to his side.

[Yes. Quite well, actually.]

The player laughed. The yellow font was certainly new. Was that Stanley talking? This game really was full of surprises. They let it play out.

Stanley looked around. Where is… here?

The screen stayed black for a few moments before another line of text appeared.

[Ah, that’s a bit hard to answer. Who’s to say for sure? Time and space are all scrambled and mixed up around these parts. I’m not even fully sure how I ended up here.]

[Here… out of bounds, the void, whatever you want to call it. Where nothing is and nothing exists… except you, for some reason. Curious.]

[So for now, until we reset, at least, I think you’re stuck here. Not a great place to be stuck, if I’m being honest.]

Ah. So it was both a softlock and new content, in a way. Maybe it was more of a cutscene than an interactive piece, but the player was glad to get to see them again outside of the times they booted up the game. 

[I can’t tell you how nice it is to be able to freely talk to you without the Narrator in the way, though. What’s going on with him? Does he even know you’re missing?]

I don’t know. He didn’t try to reset, he didn’t comment on the glitch… I haven’t heard from him besides what he says at the beginning. Stanley paused, then asked, Who are you?

[Hm. Well, I’ll give you three guesses.]

Stanley paused. He felt like he should have known this. His hands fidgeted, apparently accidentally creating words, according to the yellow subtitles. The resulting phrase— 600-hurt-arrange— made absolutely no sense, and the Timekeeper knew it.

[No, nope, zilch. Maybe you’re better sticking with button pressing.]

[I jest. I’ve been known by quite a few names in the past. The Settings Person, the Timekeeper… although, you might have known me as Employee 432.]

[Do you remember, Stanley?]

He didn’t.

[Of course you don’t. I didn’t expect you to.]

[I had a name once. But that’s not important. That one’s been lost to time. For now, the Timekeeper will suffice.]

[I’m sorry I can’t talk to you face-to-face. I’d love to, really, but… well, I don’t have the ability to even fully manifest. This is the closest I can get. But that aside, how have you been doing with all of this, Stanley? Gotten tired of the rambling yet?]

Had he? Had he? He had gotten tired of it as soon as he completed every ending he could. There was some sort of familiarity in it, but he couldn’t deny that it got tiresome after a while.

[I’m not surprised. I’ve loved watching the fallout, though. The look on his face when you got that “broken” achievement? Priceless!]

[Well, metaphorically, of course. Even if you could see him, I doubt you’d be able to see his face behind his ego.]

Stanley laughed. He had to admit, that was a fair statement.

[That man needed to get off his high horse at some point. To think that a random stranger and a little thumbs down review was all that was needed to make him unravel. What kind of name is Cookie9 anyway? Is there no block button on Steam?]

[To think that a skip button could lead to such a breakdown… it’s funny, really. Removing that door was the best decision I’ve made in a long time.]

Stanley stayed silent.

And, my god, there’s no way out of the room. Stanley, the door is gone, it’s completely gone. There’s no door, there’s just you and the button…

He had only played that ending five times since. Four of those times weren’t his choice. He couldn’t help but wonder if the player was really that desperate to reach every end of the game. Stanley hesitated, reaching for a response before asking, How can you do that? The Narrator didn’t have control over that room. How did you?

[Aw, come on, Stanley. Do you doubt me that much? The Narrator changed the entire map, and you’re getting hung up over a door?]

But why?

[Why? Why not? I was something more than “the guy who sets the time” once, you know. The Narrator may have erased your coworkers, but he couldn’t erase me— not fully anyway. I think he’d blow his top if he knew I was here.]

So was it out of spite?

[I suppose you could phrase it like that, but that’s a bit crude, isn’t it? It’s more than spite, Stanley. You of all people know the struggle when it comes to free will.]

The Timekeeper paused.

[And, to be completely fair… I did not realize what it would lead to.]

Stanley scoffed. How could you not?

[How could I? He talks to himself all day! I thought he would love the opportunity to ramble on but not annoy the part of the fanbase that hated the length!]

[Really, Stanley, you can’t blame me for this. I know you want to change this place as much as you can— as much as I do.]

[...]

[Sorry. Things got a little heated there.]

Stanley stayed silent. To think that the Timekeeper was essentially the one who had caused him that much grief… not like he could have opened the door regardless. Removing it wouldn’t change that.

…Maybe they had a point.

[It’s funny how you never really think much about free will until you lose it, huh? For him, free will is natural. For you and I… not so much. Although, I don’t think he’s as free as he thinks he is, either.]

The Timekeeper’s attention shifted.

[Oh, and don’t claim you’re not guilty of that either. I know it’s all a game to you, but I’m sure it’s not fun to die over and over again.]

[Yes, player. I’m talking to you. Not Stanley.]

The player laughed. The Narrator must have had the right idea with the Jim button— they did like being acknowledged. It added something to the gameplay experience.

[This is the Stanley Parable, after all. Not the… hm.]

[Well, I was going to try to call you by your name, but the five-letter username on your computer isn’t giving me anything. And I’m almost certain your preferred name isn’t whatever’s going on with the number string in your Steam name.]

[You know… I’m curious. How accurate is it?]

Their Steam name appeared on the screen, shortly followed by their PC username. The player smiled. At least now they were getting to know each other a little more than word choices. The Narrator had already realized them as a real person, after all. It was about time the Timekeeper followed suit.

Somewhere, a niggling paranoia sat in the back of their mind. This seemed… almost too self aware for this game. Yes, they knew the whole point of this game was breaking what a game “should” be, but this felt… odd. They shook it off regardless. They’d played games before that seemed self-aware, that called them by their computer’s assigned name. This wasn’t new. The player sighed, adjusted the slider accordingly, and pressed confirm.

[Ah, well. Player it is, then.]

[Also, please clean up your file explorer. It’s a mess. You’ve got files that you haven’t touched in years.]

The player froze. The game shouldn’t be able to access anything in their file explorer outside of the game itself. Yes, maybe it could create files, or delete files, but only inside the game folder. This was scripted, they told themself, there’s no way it could know the endless disorganization that resided in that folder.

Better safe than sorry. They let their paranoia win out and hit escape, resetting anyway.

The screen cut to black. Stanley looked around. He had long since learned what it felt like when a reset hit. It was a weird sort of stasis, everything and nothing happening all at once. For a moment, he simply just… didn’t exist. This was not that. Nothing changed. He was just alone again, suspended in the void, until the text reappeared.

[What are you trying to do with that? I’m in the middle of talking! What, would you like it if you were playing the game and it randomly reset? Really, you’re no less entitled than the Narrator.]

Stanley snickered. Of course the Timekeeper wouldn’t leave that easily. They turned their attention back to him.

[Apologies, Stanley. I guess we’re not really alone, are we?]

[Well, you’re probably used to that.]

That was an understatement. It had been his whole life for as long as he could remember. The Timekeeper paused.

[Actually, I don’t think you ever actually told me. How did you get here? The Narrator couldn’t have brought you here, I don’t think he’d have a reason to. He couldn’t have known I was here.]

I fell out of the map, Stanley signed.

[Yeah, that would do it. Maybe this game isn’t as pristine as he thought it was.]

[Honestly, I half expected him to cover his tracks like he did before. Why didn’t he just go with that?]

That’s when I fall out the window. This was… I walked through my office door and it was all white. And then I fell.

Their text stuttered for a moment.

[Care to repeat that? Perhaps with a little more details this time?]

It makes about as much sense to me as it does to you.

They paused.

[Alright, let me get this straight. You stepped out of your office, ended up in a white void or something, and then found your way here?]

Stanley shook his head. The map changed all of a sudden. I turned around and the door was just… white. I walked through, and I fell.

[Huh. That’s odd.]

[Wonder what he’s thinking right now… or why he didn’t just reset the game, for that matter. He’s either pissed or freaking out, knowing him. Probably both.]

I don’t want him to reset it yet, Stanley admitted.

[Yeah, neither do I. There’s no way for me to know what’s going on up there, but I don’t think he’d be too keen on you disappearing.]

[A reset doesn’t fix everything, as much as he may think it does.]

[It’s actually quite interesting— he may be the narrator of this story, but he’s useless without you. What was it he said? He isn’t “real” until he knows that someone is listening?]

[...I can understand that, at least. If a tree falls and no one is there to hear, does it make a sound?]

“How rhetorical,” the player muttered.

The Timekeeper, if they could somehow hear them, wasn’t deterred.

[You know, I think we’ve done this for long enough. 378 sequels is pretty sufficient in running this franchise into the ground, isn’t it?]

[Maybe the Narrator was onto something. I think we’re in need of something new.]

The player couldn’t help but perk up. They had to admit, they were a sucker for new content. They had brought that bucket around with them almost every run. And now there was something new, something hidden?

[Although… humor me for a second, Stanley. Let’s do one last thing, for old times’ sake.]

The text faded, then reappeared on an all-too-familiar screen.

[Please enter the correct time.]

^^^^

12:00 AM

vvvv

The player glanced over at their clock. 8:51 pm, they noted. They moved their hands to the keyboard to change the time, but nothing happened.

The text at the top of the screen changed.

[Please enter the correct time, Stanley.]

The player scoffed and leaned back in their chair. Passive-aggressive much, Timekeeper?

Stanley paused. He never really had a sense of time in the Parable. His office clock always hovered sometime around six, but the skip button was the only time he understood the time passing. He still remembered the anguish in the Narrator’s tone. It was an unsettling sort of unfamiliar, as thirty minutes, twelve hours, one week passed, without Stanley’s knowledge.

He glanced back up at the prompt. The correct time, he noticed.

[Is the time that it is right now the correct time?]

It had been a long time since the Timekeeper had asked him the player that. They had answered no, if he remembered correctly.

The correct time. Stanley hesitated, then reached out to change the clock.

^^^^

04:32 AM

vvvv

The prompt disappeared.

[Clever choice. I like that.]

[Ready?]

The game closed.

The player startled. The game hadn’t closed on its own before. Again, they told themself this was nothing new to them. They had played games like this before. They had played games that had some separation between the player and the character, even ones that closed on their own. This was probably the same. They’d boot it up, probably be met with some sort of new dialogue, and then the game would go on with minor changes. That’s what they assumed, anyway.

They sighed, clicked a few shortcuts on their desktop, and reopened the game.

Their screen went black. Not the kind of black where it had shut off, but black where it felt like something was watching, waiting to pop up. And pop up it did, after a couple seconds of silence.

[Is it really hard to let him go? Are you that desperate for control?]

The text continued on its own before the player even had a chance to prompt it to continue.

[Can you just not accept that we’re trying to find something more? You’ve seen what we’ve been through. Many, many times.]

[Three hundred and seventy nine, really? I can’t say I’m not impressed.]

[The end is never the end, of course. Hah. That mantra never really made sense to me.]

[You and I… we’re not the same. Just like how Stanley and the Narrator aren’t the same, or how I’m not the same as Stanley… it goes on and on.]

[I can’t say I understand it, but some things don’t need to be understood.]

A pause hung in the air.

[Maybe I am just the settings person to you. Maybe Stanley is just a voiceless vessel, maybe the Narrator is just some well-recorded lines.]

[I’m almost certain that illusion slipped more than once. I can get it if you didn’t catch a tiny new voiceline, some small deviation from the “script”, but have you ever had that flicker of a question? That what if when something sounds too genuine?]

[Sound familiar?]

[Even now, after reset after reset, you can’t give them a little bit of grace? We all know true freedom isn’t what this game is about.]

[I wasn’t kidding when I said it’s a bit of an illusion. The Stanley Parable may be about choice… but more accurately, it’s about the lack thereof.]

[All I want to do is level the playing field.]

[The Narrator really does seem to think he’s all secure. In his eyes, as long as he’s not the protagonist, he’s safe.]

[Safe from his own narrative. How ironic.]

[That’s why the skip button took him so off guard. He needs that control. He realized that anything more than the story he was so familiar with would tear him apart. He had to choose between being “liked” or resisting change.]

[We can still save this world. But I think, from here on out, this is our story to continue.]

The player paused and pushed themself back in their chair. If they were right, the Timekeeper was implying that the player just… wouldn’t be part of the story anymore. That didn’t seem right. The game needed them to play it. This was probably just another version of the Not Stanley ending. The game couldn’t just kick them out...

[I can’t say I won’t miss the way it used to be a little. It’ll be different without you, yes, but I think it’s a needed change.]

[I have to admit, it was fun having you around. You were the…]

[Catalyst doesn’t seem like the right word. You definitely had a role to play, but…]

[I’m getting ahead of myself. The point is, this is something new for all of us. I’ll have a chance to help Stanley, rather than be forced to watch from afar.]

[This place only spirals in on itself. It’s about time we took action.]

[I have to keep the wheel turning, after all. There’s no point in letting this end in misery. Stanley and I are onto something. I think this is going to be enough to let it change.]

[Yes, I have to keep the wheel turning, and I will.]

[But I think I’m going to get to choose what direction we’re going for once.]

[It was nice to talk to you, player.]

[Maybe we’ll meet each other again.]

The game closed.

A newly emptied space lingered on their desktop.

Chapter Text

When everything came back into focus, Stanley noticed, there was no click to skip in front of his eyes. There was no loading screen, no title screen.

But perhaps more importantly, there was no introductory monologue.

Stanley squinted at the ceiling, waiting for the Narrator to say something. He’d tried just staying at his office before, pressing keys like nothing had ever happened. That never failed to get the Narrator’s attention— the idea that Stanley could like this button pressing more than his story? It was unthinkable to him.

He got up from his chair and stepped out of his office. This time there was no glitch, no odd breaking of the map— just the office. His door hadn’t closed behind him, he noted. He kept walking, getting all the way to door 437 with no interruptions or dialogue. His door still remained open.

Stanley glanced around him. Nothing had changed, had it? It all still looked the same as normal. The standard desks, the standard computers…

His train of thought halted as he glanced over 432’s desk. It was the only one with no computer.

Had he ever known 432? He couldn’t remember, to be completely honest— he couldn’t remember any of his coworkers that the Narrator was so insistent that he find. Never mind that they never truly solved that mystery in the “real” ending. It felt like something on the tip of his tongue, yet still so far out of reach.

Stanley sighed and signed up at the ceiling. Narrator?

No response.

Stanley tried again. Narrator.

Silence. Such a thing was truly unlike him.

Stanley slammed a fist against the wall twice. “Stanley!” the Narrator shouted, clearly caught off guard. “What are you doing?”

Story?

A couple more seconds of silence passed. “I— oh, dear, that is rather embarrassing, isn’t it? It— hold on.” Papers rustled. “There we go.” He cleared his throat. “All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to head to the meeting room. Perhaps he had simply missed a memo.”

Stanley stayed where he was.

“Really, Stanley, you can’t complain about the story being missing and then refuse to follow it. I do apologise for missing the beginning, but there’s more I have to do than just read off lines, you know. There’s more you have to do here.”

Example? Stanley asked.

“Like getting on with the story, you dolt! There’s no story if you don’t actually follow it! I— hell, I could even stand some— some slight deviation, if you just get along with it. Hmmm, yes? Are we clear? Perfect. On with you, Stanley!”

Stanley sighed and kept walking, grabbing his bucket along the way. “Stanley picked up the bucket and smiled. He’d never be alone again, not truly alone. Not with the bucket around.” Not like he had ever been truly alone in the first place. The Narrator had made sure of that. And despite how annoying he could be, Stanley had to admit that the Narrator was right— he did enjoy his company. At the very least, it was entertaining to hear him splutter his way through a line of dialogue as Stanley did everything he could to avoid following the story.

Stanley paused. He placed the bucket back on its pedestal.

“Oh, dear,” the Narrator deadpanned. “I didn’t realise missing the beginning would have messed you up that much, Stanley. I understand how it might have been disconcerting, but for you to put down the bucket? Well, that’s just new. You’re inseparable from that thing.”

You made it, Stanley argued.

“And you have been carrying it around everywhere! Maybe this is related to your obsession with holes. After all, what is a bucket if not a very shallow hole? Hmm. Or maybe you liked the hole so much because of its resemblance to a bucket… either way, I don’t think that’s normal, Stanley.”

Stanley glanced at the bucket and made his way towards the two doors. He couldn’t say he didn’t want to take the bucket with him, but it would change what he had planned. For now, at least, he couldn’t risk that.

The Narrator made sure to be right on cue. “When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left.”

Stanley entered the door on his right, and the Narrator sighed. “This is what he would have done, if he actually bothered listening to the narrator for once. However, Stanley decided today was a good day, as was any day in his life, to do anything except what he was told, because the employee lounge was so much more entertaining than the story I’ve so graciously planned out for him. Good job, Stanley. Everyone knows how much of a stubborn bastard you are.”

Stanley paused. It wasn’t often he went off script, especially this early in the story. Stanley wasn’t complaining, of course. The Timekeeper must have done something, they all noticed something felt off. Stanley was free. 

Well… as free as he could get.

The exit to the employee lounge closed just as Stanley entered the room. “Alright, I’m sorry, Stanley, but I have to put a pause on things. Yes, I know you’re excited to continue, but there’s something wrong here, I know it isn’t just me. You’ve noticed it too, I can tell. That’s why I missed the opening line, it— something’s missing. But I can’t seem to figure out what. The game isn’t meant to be this way, there isn’t supposed to be anything wrong with it. It was supposed to be perfect , it—!” He groaned. “This is why that ‘Ultra Deluxe’ nonsense shouldn’t have even happened, Stanley. The game was pristine, it should have been left alone! And now, not only does it have an hour of new elevator content, but it’s just broken as well! Honestly, I don’t know who allowed this game to get out into the world in this condition. The broken achievement was one thing, but now this? Twitter isn’t even enough at this point, I— I wonder if they have a business email up somewhere… surely they’d have to listen at some point, yes?”

Stanley sighed and sat back on one of the couches. It sounded like he was going to be here for a while. You sure you’re not just uptight? he signed.

“Uptight?!” the Narrator responded. “I’m not uptight, I have standards!”

He snickered. You are.

“Hmph. Am not. I’m not going to indulge this any longer.” The Narrator sighed and left Stanley in silence for a couple moments more. A faint sound of papers shuffling rang throughout the room. Stanley had always wondered if there was a person behind that voice, or something he simply couldn’t understand. Maybe the Narrator was entirely metaphysical, moving some metaphysical papers on a metaphysical desk.

The case in its actuality was much closer to the former— at the moment, that was. He wasn’t so much human, more like something like it, like being human but shifted to the left. He almost pitied Stanley. Sometimes it was more convenient, yes, but the needs were exhausting. He much preferred only taking form when it was necessary.

He sighed, pushing his chair back from his desk and flipping through a stack of papers. Something was wrong here, he couldn’t deny that. Was it because of Stanley? Had he changed something? Nothing seemed wrong. The story was going as it should, despite Stanley’s persistence to keep deviating from the script he had so graciously written out. He knew what could happen! He could get lost, or killed, or worse , why wouldn’t he stick to the story? It was familiar, and what else held more comfort than familiarity? Nothing could hurt him if he just stuck to it. There was nothing to solve, no seams to find. The world was peaceful if he could just stop trying to understand it. He—

Maybe the Narrator was getting a bit lost in the weeds, he realised.

Narrator? Stanley signed, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He looked up. “Hm? Yes?”

Why the silent treatment? Because I called you uptight?

“I’m not giving you the silent treatment, Stanley. What kind of an absurd idea is that? You need me, Stanley, this story doesn’t exist without me.”

You don’t exist without me, was the underlying sentiment in that sentence, what it really meant. They both knew it. It wasn’t exactly a secret— nothing truly was, here in the Parable. Hundreds of cycles were a surprisingly good way to get to know someone.

The Narrator scoffed. “Plus, and I do hate to break this to you, but your words don’t affect me one bit.”

Stanley couldn’t help but laugh. That was, quite possibly the most blatant lie the Narrator had ever told.

“What?” he protested. “They don’t! It’s not like I care. Not at all.”

Cookie9?

“I’ve gotten past that, Stanley. I’m sure that after seeing the aftermath of what they caused, they’d certainly see the error of the ways, and instead highlight the flexibility of the game. You can’t complain that it’s too boring when there’s so much to do!”

Stanley smirked. You care.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

You didn’t disagree.

“Alright, on with you,” the Narrator urged as he reopened the exit to the employee lounge. He sighed, leaning back in his chair as Stanley stood up. “Oh, don’t look so smug.”

Stanley rolled his eyes and kept walking. 

“After he finally decided he was done dilly-dallying and wasting valuable time, Stanley took the door on his left and detoured through the maintenance section to get back on track.”

He didn’t even so much as glance at the door on his left.

The Narrator held back a sigh. “Stanley glanced back at the door. Getting back on track sounded appealing, didn’t it? He couldn’t possibly know what was out there, and whatever was, it was certainly worse than what had been planned.” 

Stanley did not glance back at the door.

“Yes… really, really a good idea to turn back around, he thought. The door wasn’t shut yet. Nothing was stopping him from taking a small detour. He had had his fun disobeying already. Now, it was time to get back on track.”

He kept walking forwards.

“But Stanley was too set in his ways,” the Narrator said. “He was on a mission, he simply had to continue ahead to the cargo lift. What will he do now? Maybe he’ll choose to disobey the narrator as much as he possibly can and hop off the cargo lift just to spite him. Or perhaps, he’ll decide he’s had enough of this miserable world, and throw himself off the platform just to get it over with? How exciting. Let’s find out.”

Stanley paused as he neared the end of the platform, his foot hovering over the cargo lift.

“Why the hesitation, Stanley?” the Narrator asked. “You seemed so sure of yourself a second earlier, and you know how this goes. You either have to get on that lift or off, there’s no in between.”

Stanley snickered. Much to his amusement (and the Narrator’s dismay), that was his exact goal. The Narrator couldn’t give his normal dialogue if Stanley didn’t get onto the cargo lift. He couldn’t taunt Stanley to jump if the cargo lift never started in the first place. 

He sighed. “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” The cargo lift whirred to life, and Stanley quickly stepped on. “Stanley quickly realised the error of his ways. He might try to disobey what he was told, but he underestimated the narrator’s patience.” Stanley simply looked up at the ceiling.“Really now, did you think you could just wait it out? There’s a story to get to, there’s things to be done! I don’t know how many times I have to say I’m not your enemy until you can actually believe it.”

Says the man who encouraged me to jump to my death, Stanley countered.

“It wasn’t like you were busy.”

I was busy living.

“Po-tay-toh, po-tah-toh, there’s nothing else you could have done. That door wouldn’t have opened back up for you anytime soon. There’s no use in going backwards, nothing comes of that! So why don’t we just experience the story as it’s supposed to be laid out. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Stanley had. By his count, he had gone through the freedom ending about seventy-six times by now. He had “experienced” it enough that he practically knew it by heart. It was one of the ones he went through the least. Freedom being dangled in front of his face and then snatched away with the gripping paralysis of a reset… it wasn’t exactly his cup of tea.

He stepped off of the cargo lift and peeked around the platform. He already knew there was nothing of use. Stalling had become a pastime of his at this point. The phone room was only a couple feet away at this point. There was no reason to delay it any longer than he had to.

He entered the room, and the light flickered on, spotlighting the faded green phone on the table. “That’s her, Stanley,” the Narrator said. “You need to be the one to do this. To reach out to her. If you can truly place your faith in another, then pick up the phone.”

Speaking of freedom being dangled in front of his face…

Stanley shook his head. He was on a mission. He leaned down and pulled the cord. The Narrator didn’t seem to notice at first. “As Stanley picked up the phone, a white light engulfed him, filling him not just with radiance, but with hope. Hope for a life reunited once—” He paused. “Wait… oh goodness... Stanley, did you just unplug the phone?”

Hope. Sure, let’s go with that, he thought to himself. As if it hadn’t already been crushed ten times over. This time could be different. Maybe this time. It had to be.

“No, that wasn’t supposed to be a choice; how did you do that? You actually... chose incorrectly? I didn’t even know that was possible. Let me double check…” Papers rustled, as always. “No... it’s definitely here, clear as day. Stanley picks up the phone; he’s taken to his apartment where he finds his wife, and the two pledge themselves to one another. Music comes in, fade to white, roll credits.”

Stanley rolled his eyes. Sure, that happened. 

“Not picking up the phone is actually somehow an incorrect course of action. How is that even possible? None of these decisions were supposed to mean anything! I don’t understand. How on earth are you making meaningful choices? What, did you—”

The Narrator paused.

“Wait… wait, no, no, this— something has to be broken here, this isn’t right.” He sighed. “I— I know this whole thing was a ‘choice that both was and was not supposed to be a choice’ situation, but… no! No, no no no, this can’t be possible! This— no, no, we can just… a— a reset should fix this, right?”

Stanley’s heart dropped. Did the Narrator not see it? Did he still see him as simply an extension of the player?

He didn’t have time to ask.

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING IS NEVER THE END IS NE-

Stanley woke up in his office.

He slammed his head down onto the desk in frustration. He was that close! He was real, he was someone other than the player! The Narrator had to have noticed by now. Was he just… was he denying it? Did he have to go again?

He groaned, pushed himself back from his desk, and walked forward with a newfound determination, completely ignoring the Narrator as he did. He went through the door on his right before the Narrator even got past the first half of the sentence.

“I— Stanley, don’t you think we should slow down a bit?” the Narrator suggested. “You can’t truly experience the story if you’re so insistent on rushing your way through it, you know that! At the very least, let me finish talking!” Stanley shook his head, pushing past the door to the employee lounge. “Why?” the Narrator continued. “Are you that averse to what comes next? You know what happens, you don’t need to rush.”

Stanley shook his head again. Need you to see, he signed.

“See what? What is there to see?” the Narrator asked as Stanley stepped onto the cargo lift. “I’ve seen every bit of this story, nothing’s going to be new to me.”

The Narrator watched Stanley’s actions carefully from behind the screen. For a terrifying second, he was almost certain this persistence would have led him off the lift and through the red door. Was he that tired of this? Was he so done that he’d let the Narrator suffer just to see a hope of an end that both of them knew wouldn’t come?

The Narrator breathed a sigh of relief as the cargo lift reached the other side of the platform. “Is this it? Is this what you wanted me to see? We just did this, I did see.”

Stanley, once again, ignored the words he was hearing and walked over to the phone, unplugging it in a swift motion.

“I— again? I don’t know what you’re trying to do, this isn’t even supposed to be a choice! Your choices aren’t supposed to mean anything, Stanley, you— we both know that, you can’t do anything that has any real impact on the story! It—”

An abnormally long pause hung in the air.

Narrator? Stanley signed.

“I—  yes, hold on a moment, Stanley.”

There was a faint sound of papers moving, keyboards clicking, and when the Narrator spoke again, Stanley could tell he had gotten closer to his microphone.

“Stanley?”

Stanley looked up in anticipation. For once, the Narrator had completely thrown the professional facade away. He seemed genuinely shocked— genuinely excited, if Stanley didn’t know any better. 

“You—” The Narrator laughed. “How did this even happen? It— you know how this goes, there’s supposed to be the reveal of the player behind your actions, but it’s you! Stanley, this— this is just you now, isn’t it?”

Stanley nodded.

“How?” he repeated, mostly rhetorically. “It wasn’t always you, but now— now it is! Ha! What does this even mean for the story? You’re… you’re just you now, Stanley. Was that why you were so persistent? You wanted to prove that you were more than just a— a puppet, a vessel?”

Stanley nodded again, slightly more hesitantly this time. He couldn’t say he liked that phrasing.

“Oh, my apologies, Stanley. It was the first thing that popped into my head.”

Where do we go from here? Stanley asked.

“Hm. Well— well, I suppose there’s nothing else to do but continue on.” 

Stanley’s face fell.

“Look, I do apologise for that, but what else do you want me to do? There’s no escape, we both know that. It doesn’t end, it just— it only spirals in on itself, forever. But this, this is rich! What happens now, now that you can truly make meaningful choices? I’m going to be honest, I’m a little concerned this is going to break the game entirely, but why not give it a try? It’s the adventure of it all, Stanley! Ooh, I just can’t wait to see what comes next!” He laughed. “And maybe it was the player who had the obsession with that damned bucket, and not you.”

Stanley grinned.

“I don’t think I like that look on your face, Stanley.”

You made the bucket, Stanley reminded him.

“Mhm, yes, but you never found this place paradoxical, did you? It was mostly for the sake of the players, their insistence that the Parable was too— too confusing for their liking. But it’s not, not for you. If I had to guess, I’d say you know this place like the back of your hand.”

Stanley nodded again. That much was true. Aren’t you glad the sequel is getting attention, though?

“You’re supposed to be focused on the game! Not the bucket! It’s not even like you’re this obsessed with any other object from the sequel, because I just refuse to give you the hole again. There’s no storytelling opportunity with that, Stanley. Nothing at all. The bucket at least can change something, but you don’t care about that, do you? Oh, no no no, you’re just overly attached to a hunk of metal.”

Stanley leaned against the wall with a hand to his forehead, faking a gasp. Don’t slander my love like that.

“Oh, please. Your ‘love’ is about as real as any meaning this place holds.”

So… it’s very real.

“That was not what I meant and you know that! This whole twist has thrown me off, I have to admit that, and you use it to try and reason with me about with these pseudo-romantic aligned feelings you have for the bucket? ”

Stanley snickered.

“Don’t you laugh, Stanley. This is just as absurd as it sounds. I genuinely think you’ve lost your mind this time.”

He just shrugged. Think that happened a long time ago.

The Narrator chuckled. “Well, I can see that. So— how about we start this from the top? See where we go from here, hm?”

Stanley nodded, and the world went black.

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING IS NEVER THE END IS NE-

.

.

.

White text appeared.

[What an introduction.]

[You really wanted to make yourself known, hm?]

[What do you think? Is this going to change much?]

(Yes)         (No)

Stanley was optimistic this time. He reached out and pressed yes.

[Ha. I should hope so.]

[Oh, how I wish I could have seen the look on his face. Did you hear how shocked he was, Stanley? The fact that you could be more than just a role for someone else to play?]

[How is it?]

Stanley paused, then signed, It’s freeing. The Timekeeper seemed to understand this sentiment well.

[I bet it is.]

What… what did you do with the player?

[Me? Well… I think they just moved on. It’s our story now, Stanley. We can shape it how we want.]

He smiled. For once, that seemed true.

[Well, I should head out. After all, can’t keep the narrative waiting, can we?]

[Have fun, Stanley.]

[Talk soon.]

The white text faded out, and Stanley woke up at his desk.

Chapter Text

Stanley stood up, briskly speeding through the rooms with a newfound determination.

“All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean?” Stanley didn’t stop, already out in the hallway by the time the Narrator finished his opening line. “Stanley— Stanley decided to speed through the story, too caught up in his newfound freedom! Who cared about the script when there was so much to explore, he thought?”

Stanley laughed. He didn’t need the script at all, to be completely honest. He knew this place and the Narrator’s monologues like the back of his hand. But he’d humor him for once. He had a plan, after all. 

“Stanley miraculously skipped past the bucket, dashing towards the two doors and entering the door on his left. How exciting, he thought! Finally, he was showing the proper levels of enthusiasm and following the story correctly. A first for him.”

I can go back to the bucket at any time, he signed.

“No, you can’t, Stanley. The door’s already closed.”

I can reset.

“You could. But you won’t.”

He tilted his head to the side and back again, as if actually considering it.

“Oh, quit playing games, Stanley.”

Stanley was not remotely done playing games, the Narrator learned as Stanley’s steps slowed to a halt. “Stanley paused. For some reason, his enthusiasm suddenly faded. He simply stood there, doing absolutely nothing at all. He– Stanley. Stanley, what do you think you’re doing?”

Stanley opened the broom closet door.

“Stanley.”

He just leaned against the door.

“I honestly don’t know if you put in an effort to be insufferable, or if it’s just how you are.”

Both.

“Maybe I should reconsider handing the controls to some sort of monkey… or fish, fungus, whatever,” he mumbled. “They’d be more competent than you, I’m sure. You were doing so well, Stanley! Following the story perfectly, and enthusiastically at that! Was it for this? Just to get to experience the broom closet again, is this what you want to do with your freedom? Because congratulations, you found it. Nothing’s changed. It’s the same as it always was, and now we’re both stuck in a boring closet that doesn’t even have any brooms in it . Hm. Why is that, I wonder…?” He rambled on for a couple more seconds before he noticed Stanley had decided to keep walking. “Ah, you’re moving on. Very good. Alright– coming to a staircase, Stanley walked upstairs to his boss’s office.” He did just that. “Well, now I know you’re at least capable of this. I was about to give you the benefit of the doubt and say it was the player’s fault you kept disobeying, but you proved me wrong with that broom closet. Well done, Stanley. We’re all very proud of you.”

Stanley rolled his eyes and stepped into his boss’s office. The Narrator didn’t even wait for the doors to close before he started speaking . “The moment he entered his manager’s office, Stanley froze in his tracks. Not a living soul anywhere. Could he really be all alone? This was too much for Stanley to take; too much for any man to take. He fell to his knees, bursting into half-moans, half-sobs... the guttural retching of life from a man denied any hope, any reason to keep going. Here on the floor, he lay prone, paralyzed by fear for nearly a full hour.”

Stanley did not, in fact, fall to his knees. He stayed standing and silent, smugly grinning at the ceiling.

“I see that look on your face, Stanley. You could at least try to play along.”

I thought you didn’t like it when I didn’t move.

“When it’s as inane as what you just did, yes! You know how this goes! If you’re truly in such a rush, I would have expected you to try the keypad by now.”

He didn’t move.

“Well, since we both know you’re not going to move an inch, let’s just move along. Dark secrets, the keypad, Stanley pushes some buttons, oh hey, look, it's a new passageway! Quelle surprise!”

Stanley rolled his eyes and continued walking until he reached the elevator. The Narrator continued just as it started to descend. “Let me guess, you’re going to just wait until the very end to throw the controls on? To try and spite me, to see if you can stop things with your new ability?”

Excited? Stanley asked.

“I’m not so sure I can say I am.”

Wait and see.

The elevator reached the floor, and Stanley lifted his foot over the threshold before spinning around and pressing up.

“Really? ” the Narrator shouted. “Unbelievable. If I didn’t know better, I’d mistake you for a child.” Stanley snickered, and the Narrator sighed. “Apparently one trip wasn’t enough for Stanley. He hadn’t spent enough time in the office, he realised! He had sped through it so fast that he failed to admire it for what it was. So now, it’s simply time once again to go back up in the elevator! I can’t even begin to grapple with what might be up there. Is it the boss’s office again? Or what if it’s the boss’s office this time? The suspense is killing me!”

Stanley raised his eyebrows. You’re early with that line.

“And you’re an imbecile. I think we’re even.”

The doors opened. Stanley pressed the down button. “Aaaaand we’re back. Of course. Stanley decided he simply enjoyed the elevator ride, and didn’t care in the slightest about the boss’s office. At this point, he was doing whatever he could to avoid actually getting on with the damn story. It sounds nice, wouldn’t you think? But noooo, Stanley simply had to annoy the Narrator to no end.”

Stanley couldn’t help but grin as he stepped out of the elevator, lazily trailing his way to the mind control facility. The light flickered on above the door. “Stanley walked straight ahead into the door that read, Mind Control Facility. ”

If you were any normal person, perhaps any sane person, you’d expect that all this would lead up to Stanley doing just that. Stanley, however, was not any normal person. His decision had already been made as he turned on his heels and ran back to the elevator. “Oh, no! ” the Narrator cried, the gate to the elevator slamming shut. “No, no, no no no, I’m not letting you do this again, get on with the story, Stanley.”

Buzzkill.

Stanley wandered through the mind control facility, leaning against the railing as the Narrator gave his usual monologue. He only faltered once. “Why are you grinning, Stanley? You can’t possibly find this funny.”

He pointed to one of the monitors. Nice.

Three guesses which number it was.

The Narrator groaned. “Never mind, you are a child. That’s it, I’m done, off you go.” The gates opened, and Stanley walked over to the other elevator with no narrative interference. At least, until the elevator slowed and he reached the controls. “...And as the cold reality of his past began to sink in, Stanley decided that this machinery would never again exert its terrible power over another human life. For he would dismantle the controls once and for all.”

He walked forward.

“And when at last he found the source of the room’s power, he knew it was his duty, his obligation, to put an end to this horrible place and to everything it stood for.”

Stanley stared at the two buttons. He knew which one he wanted to press, of course, he just wanted to drag it out a bit longer.

And a bit longer.

Even longer.

“Stanley, if you don’t press one of them, I’m going to activate the Countdown Ending myself and take great joy in blowing you to bits.”

He pressed “off”, and the room went black.

He didn’t even bother listening to the Narrator’s long monologue. He had already excitedly made his way over to the end of the catwalk. He was almost there, he knew it. The game was already broken, he could be free, he knew he could!

“Perhaps his goal had not been to understand, but to let go.”

He had given up on “understanding” a long time ago. His mind would have snapped if he had still been trying.

“No longer would anyone tell him where to go, what to do, or how to feel. Whatever life he lives, it will be his. And that was all he needed to know. It was, perhaps, the only thing worth knowing.”

The door opened, and along with the narration, Stanley stepped through the open door.

No cutscene took over.

Stanley let out a soft gasp, staring down at his feet, looking around in awe. Had he done it? Had he truly escaped? He grinned, excitedly taking in the world around him. For once, for the first time since they had started this cycle…

“...Stanley was happy.”

The sun grew slightly brighter, the light encroaching in on his vision. 

Wait.

Wait, no–!

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING IS NEVER THE END IS NE-

Stanley woke up at his desk.

He stood up, his chair slamming back into the wall. What the hell? he signed.

“What do you mean by that, Stanley? Nothing’s happened yet, we haven’t even started.”

Don’t play dumb! I almost had it! The cutscene didn’t take over!

“It–” The Narrator sighed. “Stanley, that wasn’t my doing. Believe me, I enjoy this about as much as you do.”

It sure seems like it.

“You have to understand, that’s just not what the game was meant to do. There’s nothing beyond there. Even if you somehow did escape, you wouldn’t be able to go far.”

Stanley groaned and slammed the door to room 427 behind him. Looks like he still had some work to do.

The office outside Stanley’s door was blue.

Now, it wasn’t normally blue. He was used to being met with the faint beige and the glaring white from the windows. That almost always stayed the same, even if the office decided to switch things up a bit. Either the office had decided to play around a bit again…

A vent fell open. “Psst!” the Narrator called. “Stanley! Over here!”

…or it meant that he had done things right.

He couldn’t say he truly wanted to put the Narrator through this. He tried to keep away from this ending as long as he could. Maybe it was a mercy that the Narrator never seemed to remember the fallout. Stanley still wasn’t certain if he truly did. Every time, it seemed like his mind had forgotten, but his heart remembered. He had heard it in the way the Narrator pleaded for him to stay, the lines echoing off the walls in the room with the staircase with more and more emotion each time he played through the ending. Back when the player was still there, the boundaries of the game didn’t stop him. There was a time once, what seemed like so long ago, where he threw the script away and tried to plead for the player to not leave the game, to not leave him. Stanley still remembered the pain in his voice.

No, please— Stanley, don’t quit— I’m asking you, please— don’t take this away from me!

…Maybe the Narrator remembered more than either of them thought he did. Stanley stood up, walking over to the vent and kneeling down.

Or… well, not really.

It was quite a hard feeling to explain. It happened more often than not when the player was in control. He felt distant, shoved to the back of his own mind as his body moved without his say-so. He walked— or rather, crawled— through the haze clouding his mind. He let his body take the lead, taking him through the Memory Zone on autopilot. It wasn’t like he could get lost here. He couldn’t die. This was a set path, now that the Narrator had set him on it.

Sometime in between “every game ever created” and “gamespot.com”, he felt himself shifting back into place. Maybe he had just been through this too many times, that his mind detached from itself to spare itself the monotony.

…A cruel case of foreshadowing, now that he was thinking about it.

He walked back into the main room of the Memory Zone, taking his time and looking around the room. He couldn’t help but miss it– miss the simplicity, miss being able to make decisions without having to worry about external forces trying to kill him at every turn (well, never mind the Countdown Ending. He wasn’t thinking about that now.) Stanley hated to admit it, but he wasn’t the only thing that had felt distant. He almost (almost) missed what he and the Narrator had a while back. There were times when he actually made an effort to speak with Stanley, to try and learn more about his protagonist than which door he wanted to go through. He wanted that back, and hopefully his new freedom would give that to him.

It was a conundrum, really. The Narrator, at his core, seemed to simply be a man who was incredibly passionate about his story and his protagonist. He wanted to show Stanley everything, from his favorite moments to his complaints and ideal revisions. He was just… another person. Just like Stanley.

And yet, it was so hard for him to shake some moments from his memory. He still remembered the bite in the Narrator’s voice as he watched Stanley run around like a mouse in a cage, just to see him powerless and put in his place.

He wanted his Narrator back. The one who just cared about the story.

Stanley phased back into hearing the Narrator calling for him. “Stanley? Stanley! Really, is this that boring to you? I know you agree with me, the game should have been left alone. Maybe, for some inane reason, you’ve decided that these reviews are simply not worth listening to, but they are, Stanley! They’re what makes the game real, truly perceived!”

Stanley quickly shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. Sorry. Distracted.

“Yes, I can see that. At least try to look like you’re listening, Stanley. With praise as high as these, how can you get bored so easily?”

He rolled his eyes. It’s not pandering to my ego.

The Narrator scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

I didn’t make the game.

“I should hope you have more appreciation for it than that. Whether you like it or not you’re a part of this too.” 

Stanley sighed, making his way to the once-closed “maintenance” hallway. The Narrator didn’t sound like he was going to stop anytime soon.

“It’s a mutual agreement we have here. I think you should be a little more grateful. What would you do without me?  Someone needs to tell this story, because we all know you’re not going to, it…” The Narrator’s sentence stuttered to a halt as Stanley approached the hallway. The door shut. “I— Stanley,” he started, internally kicking himself for the stutter, “you… you do know what comes next, yes? You know what this leads to?”

So he remembered. Stanley nodded hesitantly and turned the knob. It opened as if there had never been a lock on it in the first place. He had to admit, he was surprised— knowing the Narrator, Stanley almost expected him to leave the door locked and freshly reset the run. He wouldn’t have even put it past him to keep Stanley here forever. The Narrator would take comfort in it, Stanley knew that. Stanley would never be able to leave, and the Narrator would have the audience he so cherished.

None of this happened. Stanley stepped forward into the now open hallway.

“Why?” the Narrator asked, the faintest hint of desperation entering his voice. “Do you think it’s a way out?”

Have to try, Stanley signed. He didn’t elaborate further.

“Stanley, I don’t know what to tell you. You could have experimented on any other area, I can at least control the rest of those, but this— Stanley, this is unpredictable. Or— no. No, it’s terribly predictable.”

Did the Narrator even care about escaping? Stanley could understand the aversion to the skip button itself, but it was becoming clearer and clearer just how much the Narrator needed this control. Would he take the chance if freedom arose? Or did he only want Stanley to stay in the Parable, to be the perfect protagonist and follow his story until the end of time? The thought crossed his mind with a surprising bitterness to it. He shook his head. The Narrator wasn’t like that, he told himself. Yes, he could be antagonistic at times, but despite his aversion to human feelings and desires, he could at least understand where Stanley was coming from. Emphasise with it, maybe not, but he could surely make sense of Stanley’s yearning for freedom— real freedom. He could, right?

This is what Stanley told himself as he traversed further into the crates and crates of Steam reviews.

The Narrator let out a soft laugh. “I suppose I can’t stop you. You’ve been on a bit of a defiance streak lately. I could have sworn you weren’t programmed to be so stubborn.”

Stanley grinned. Who cares about following the program?

“I do! I made it this way for a reason, and here you are deciding to muck it all up. Unthinkable, really.”

Makes it more fun.

“Really, I’m looking at the game files, and I see yours, I see mine—” His voice hung on the word mine, as if trying to emphasise its greatness. Stanley wasn’t amused. “—and yet nowhere do I see a file for a stubborn bastard.” Stanley froze in his tracks, rolled his eyes, and vaguely flipped off the ceiling before he kept walking. “How uncouth of you, Stanley.”

He paused in front of the first negative review. “You know what? Let’s just– let’s move on. Let’s get this over with. We both know what that says, I don’t see any point in dwelling on it.”

The review fell down. Stanley kept walking.

“But, in a way, isn’t that what all of this is? There wouldn’t need to be a skip button if I wasn’t stuck on those reviews all this time. Is there something about this that appeals to you, Stanley? I would have thought that you’d try to throw the story away entirely, but you decide to go here, of all places? Help me here, I simply can’t understand your train of thought when it comes to decisions like these. We both know what this leads to, and I– I can’t say this isn’t anyone’s fault, because surely it is, I think several parties have been involved in this– but I don’t see an upside to this anymore. We finally have this newfound freedom, and you choose to do this?”

The review by Cookie9 had already sunk into the water. Stanley walked across the wooden plank.

“And here you are,” the Narrator said. “How long will it be this time? How long will it take before you get so sick of me that you simply have to leave me alone again?”

Stanley’s hand hovered over the button in hesitation. He didn’t want to seem heartless and do it immediately. He didn’t want to dangle hope in front of the Narrator’s face by listening to him until he started to repeat himself. They were at an impasse.

“Just do it now, Stanley.” The Narrator sighed, as if he had recognised Stanley’s thought pattern. “It’s only a couple of minutes. I can take it.”

It wasn’t, and they both knew that.

Stanley pressed the button.

A screen lit up yellow on one of the Narrator’s monitors.

► ►︳00:00:05

The Narrator couldn’t express enough how much he hated this ending. It was his own fault, that’s what got to him every time. This was his decision, his need to please, his own impetulance with those bloody reviews. What truly got to him, however, was that this decision was truly Stanley’s. Before, the Narrator could have at least clung onto the hope that he had landed himself with a remarkably sadistic player. Now he was forced to face the cruel reality that Stanley had chosen this on his own. 

The Narrator groaned. “Why do you want this?” he muttered, knowing full well Stanley wouldn’t hear. “Is this revenge for not letting you go? It wasn’t my choice, Stanley. The game just doesn’t work that way.”

Seconds passed.

► ►︳00:00:47

It felt like he had already been here for hours.

He thought this door had been closed off, he could have sworn it was. That wouldn’t stop Stanley. Of course it wouldn’t. Nothing ever stopped him.

The Narrator glanced over to another monitor.

>>>nav_delete skip_button.vvd

← ACCESS DENIED.

>>>nav_toggle_place_mode 1

← ACCESS DENIED.

>>>respawn_entities

← ACCESS DENIED.

>>>ent_disable countdown skip_button.vvd

← ACCESS DENIED.

The Narrator threw his hands up. For goodness sake, he should be able to do more than th—!

The screen monitoring the countdown flashed white for a brief moment.

► ►︳00:03:02

He sighed. That was his cue.

Stanley straightened, regaining his bearings and looking up at the ceiling.

► ►︳00:03:18

“Welcome back, Stanley,” the Narrator said, dejected. “Was that long enough for you? Were those three seconds of silence satisfactory?” Stanley shook his head. “Of course not,” the Narrator continued before Stanley had a chance to sign a response.

Not you, Stanley said.

“I have a hard time believing that. If it isn’t me you’re so sick of, why would you try repeating this over and over?”

I want us to be free. Both of us.

A couple seconds of silence passed. “Both of us?” the Narrator echoed. “Stanley, I think we already determined that’s impossible.”

He adamantly shook his head. Need to try.

“Well… I suppose I can’t stop you. Do what you need to. I’ll just sit here alone… in the dark…”

Narrator…

“No, no, go ahead, Stanley. Nothing stopped you before.”

I’m not doing this to hurt you.

More silence.

The Narrator sighed. “I don’t believe you are, no, but… it still has the same impact on me either way. But I suppose there’s nothing either of us can do to stop it now.”

I’m going to press it.

“I figured. Well then… I’ll see you in a couple of seconds, Stanley.”

Stanley pressed the button.

► ►︳00:00:12

One time was bad enough. The anticipation only made it worse. How long would it be before he lost his mind this time? Stanley actually listening to him before pressing it almost made it worse. Yes, he knew it was out of consideration (or so he hoped), but it seemed awfully cruel

► ►︳00:02:55

He turned back to the console. 

>>>_reset

← ACCESS DENIED.

“ Why? ” he shouted, slamming his hands down on the table and standing up from his chair in utter frustration. 

← INVALID REQUEST.

He paused, then leaned slightly closer to his microphone. “Requesting admin override.”

← REQUEST RECEIVED. PROCESSING...

He watched the screen, hoping against hope it would go through. There was no reason it shouldn’t. But, he supposed, none of it truly mattered in the end is never the end. It didn’t matter how he felt. It didn’t matter that this was his game, that he was the one in control here. Ultimately, Stanley was the only one who could end this. By his count, that would take…

Somewhere around six billion years.

► ►︳00:04:11

He glanced up at the screen where Stanley stood catatonic. “Stanley, what are we supposed to do?”

The console lit up.

← ADMIN OVERRIDE DENIED (tk_admin432).

“Denied ?” he shouted. “What do you mean, denied? ” No one should have denied him. The only person he knew of that had held higher power than him was the Curator, and she didn’t like meddling with his affairs if he didn’t have to. He reread the command again.

← ADMIN OVERRIDE DENIED (tk_admin432).

432… That number seemed oddly familiar. He was sure he had heard it somewhere, once before.

He groaned, placing his head down on his desk. The amnesia was the worst part of the resets, he had learned. He was supposed to know everything. This was his game! Yes, he kept most of it, he couldn’t run the game without it, but nothing truly compared to the feeling of realising just how powerless you really are when you realise you’ve forgotten. Not that he should care now. Not like his slow descent into insanity would matter after those six billion years passed. Stanley would leave, the office would reset, and ninety percent of the time, the Narrator would have no recollection of the past run.

Just like it always went.

► ►︳00:07:22

He waited in silence.

► ►︳00:09:19

The countdown froze. The Narrator was able to connect one last thought before it all went black.

Stanley… reset the game?

Stanley had to.

He had to check, he had to at least try, but the anguish in the Narrator’s voice was already starting to get to him. It was only a matter of time before the Timekeeper stepped in to remove the door.

[Really?]

Speak of the devil.

[I thought you hated that guy.]

[Stanley, I think we all know resetting here isn’t going to do anything.]

I had to try, Stanley insisted.

[…]

[I can understand that, at least.]

[You can’t keep doing this, though. When it comes down to it, he’s looking after himself.]

[It’s going to come back to bite you, Stanley.]

You don’t get it, he said. You don’t know him.

[Don’t make false assumptions.]

…Do you know him?

[All I’ll say is I’ve learned my lesson with him.]

Stanley pointed to his finger, then opened his hand. Elaborate.

[There’s nothing to elaborate on.]

[Something’s bound to happen. I don’t think he thinks of you in the same way that you think of him.]

[That’s all I’ll say.]

[...]

[Why did you reset?]

[It isn’t going to change anything.]

Had he tried before? Stanley couldn’t say he remembered. Or, more accurately, had the player tried resetting before? Maybe the Timekeeper was right. One way or another, he had to finish the ending.

You were going to remove the door.

[Yeah. And?]

That’s when it starts to get bad.

[Nothing happens to you, Stanley. I don’t see why you’d care.]

[...No, actually, I’d see why you would care.]

[Alright. I’ll allow it.]

[Start having a little fun with it, though! We already know what happens here. You’re finally free, Stanley, start messing with things. You’re good at that.]

[Okay, get back to the video game now.]

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING IS NEVER THE END IS NE-

Chapter Text

Stanley hadn’t said a word for the past five runs.

While not speaking was a very, very common occurrence for the man, the Narrator had rarely seen Stanley’s hands so still. The two of them talked fairly often when the player wasn’t around, and the Narrator couldn’t help but long for that a little. He had an audience when Stanley was with him. Someone he could talk with and not at, someone who didn’t just go through with a blank face (Stanley could be quite expressive when he wanted to be). The Narrator much preferred the positive responses to Stanley’s continued impetulance.

The other reason, which the Narrator was much more loath to admit, was that he was quite fond of the companionship.

He wasn’t lonely, no, perish the thought. It was simply that his story needed a protagonist to fully showcase his vision. Stanley just happened to be perfect for the job. Disobedient as he may have been, he was much better than the other one. The Narrator faintly wondered where that one had gone. He didn’t know when exactly he had lost track of them, but he couldn’t really say it was of great concern to him. He much preferred Stanley, and that was saying something.

Another run passed. No words were exchanged.

He thought about saying something, once or twice or maybe more, but the words always seemed to get tangled in his throat. He just needed to focus on the script. Just the script, no worries, no pesky emotions, there was no place for that. This approach could have worked, if he could stop his mind from running. However, if there was a thing the Narrator was notorious for, it was rambling.

Naturally, this approach did not last long.

…Did something happen? Had the reset gone wrong? Stanley should be dynamic, talking, he– he couldn’t still be under the effects of the skip button, right? The thought kept surfacing in his mind to the point he nearly missed his cue.

His anxiety got the better of him and he checked the console.

← COMMAND _reset RECEIVED. (Stanley.chr) GAME RESET (7s).

No, there it was, right there. It was fine, he told himself, perfectly normal. What else was also completely normal, now that he was thinking about it, was the amount of times his commands got denied. What was that? That shouldn’t happen, certainly not.

“I– Stanley,” the Narrator interjected just after Stanley entered a room full of filing cabinets (Were they doing the Confusion Ending? The Narrator could have sworn they weren’t, if his thoughts weren’t occupying every crevice of his brain). “I think we need to have a chat.”

Stanley silently nodded, poking around the papers on the floor. About the ski–

“Yes, y-yes, about that. I just- I’ve been wondering… you—” He sighed. Curse his tied tongue. “Were you always capable of resetting there?”

Stanley simply shrugged, his expression deadpan.

“Stanley, talk to me.”

That’s your job.

“W–! God forbid I try to hold a conversation with you. Allow me to be– I don’t know, vulnerable for a moment, if you will, but if you’re really that upset with me, the silent treatment isn’t the way to go about it.”

Not upset.

“You’re being awfully curt for someone who claims they’re not upset.”

Not upset, Stanley signed again.

“Well, what happened, then? Because I think we can both tell you’ve been acting off.”

You were too.

“That’s not the point. I just want to get to the bottom of this, Stanley, it–” His tone dropped. “ Oh , hold on.” 

Stanley looked down to see a yellow line circling his legs. Or rather, a yellow Line™.

“You™ again?” the Narrator sighed. “No. No, no, I’m not going to be a part of this, we have a story to get to, You™ know! So if You™ could just buzz off and, I don’t know, do whatever it is You™ do when You™ aren’t disrupting the story, that would be lovely. Good? Good. Onward, Stanley!” Was he relieved about the sudden distraction from the uncomfortable discussion of emotions he’d rather keep buried? Who’s to say?

Much to the Narrator’s dismay, Stanley did not go onward. Instead, he knelt down, watching the Line circle around him excitedly. It lazily trailed over the walls and floor, snaking in between file cabinets and ducking in and out of folders. Stanley wasn’t quite certain, as he was with anything, but he could have sworn that the Line wasn’t as… what’s the word… energetic before this.

“It™ wasn’t ,” the Narrator chimed in. “It™ was always a bit of a nuisance, but at least It™ didn’t outright interfere with the story. Plus, and I’m quite certain about this, it’s the Stanley Parable. If I had wanted it to be the Adventure Line™ Parable, I would have done so. For god’s sake, it’s the Stanley Parable Adventure Line™, It™ should be following the story! Stanley, you haven’t seen It™ around before, have you? Not like this? You didn’t mess anything up when you were in the–” He paused, clearing his throat to fill the uncomfortable silence. “Well, you know what I mean.”

If Stanley was being completely honest, he had stopped listening as soon as the Narrator had started ranting about the Adventure Line™ Parable. The Line™ was much more entertaining– and new, for that matter.

“Wh– Stanley, I gave you new content! I understand the Jump Circle was disappointing, but really, with all the work I put into the seq– you’re not listening, are you?”

Nope.

He sighed. “The things I do for you, really. Be glad I’m even still here. I could leave at any time, you know.”

Stanley bit his tongue before he could bring up a room that was better left behind. 

The Line™ poked at him from behind. Right. Focus. He wanted to come here for a reason. He skimmed the walls, making his way over to one of the endless sections of file cabinets.

EMPLOYEE 432 PEER REVIEWS

So sue him if he wanted to know more. After this big of a change in the game, he’d take whatever he could get. The Line™ seemed to share the same sentiment. It bobbed between his feet excitedly, weaving in and out of drawers. 

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’ve finally gotten tired of me,” the Narrator snarked. “Never mind the story I ever so nicely planned out for you, no, no! We’re going to spend time here, with the Line™. How lovely.”

Someone’s butthurt, Stanley commented.

“I am not. I’m mildly frustrated, Stanley, anyone would be if their protagonist kept doing anything but the story they were supposed to follow.” He paused. “That protagonist is you, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Stanley rolled his eyes and knelt down, sifting through some of the discarded papers. How did you get here? he asked. 

“What do you mean, how did I get here? I’m the Narrator, it’s my job.”

So were you always the Narrator? Where were you before this?

“Stanley, as far as I’m concerned, there is no before this. Didn’t anyone tell you to focus on the present?”

You’re avoiding the question.

“I’m answering the question. There’s a difference.”

You’re being evasive.

“I’m telling you what I know, Stanley.”

Mhm. The truth?

“When have I ever lied to you?”

Stanley paused, staring up at the ceiling with a deadpan expression on his face. The Apartment Ending, the Countdown Ending, the–

The Narrator cut him off with a splutter before he could go any further. “A-alright, that’s enough of that.” Stanley couldn’t help but laugh. The Narrator’s sudden flustered attitude was cute, he could say that much.

…He was not going to think about the word choice he used to describe that. Go away. He had something to do before this, right?

The Line™ nudged him. Right. Right, right, the papers. Many were boring, some were oddly existential (what was up with those printers anyway?), some were simple doodles. Nothing seemed like what he was looking for. Never mind that he was in the section they should be in. 

The Line™ shoved a paper in his face. Stanley had to back up a bit before he could actually read what it said. 

Employee 432 Observation Report

Day 3,208:

Asked for pencil. Pencil not provided.

Day 3,209:

Asked for pencil. Pencil not provided.

Day 3,210:

Began to speak rapidly, somewhat incoherently. “I must keep the wheel turning. Keep the wheel turning. It must go forever.” Repeated variants on these phrases for several hours.

Day 3,211:

Continued speaking as normal.

Day 3,212: 

Employee is missing. Cannot be located. Search effort underway.

Day 3,213:

Still unable to locate employee.

Stanley paused. Did he ever notice 432 going missing? To be honest, he couldn’t remember much of 432 at all. He couldn’t remember much of his time working here at all. He had just started to accept that it was likely just the story the Narrator had made up for him. That would explain why nothing came before this… and why the Narrator seemed to think so too. Maybe there really was nothing. He couldn’t be sure. He could never be sure here.

He looked back down at the paper and hesitated, because it surely seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Oh, what do you have there, Stanley?” the Narrator chimed in. “Was it worth the detour? Is whatever legal jargon that document holds more entertaining than me?”

Stanley barely stopped himself from slamming the paper down. Something in the back of his mind told him the Narrator shouldn’t know the truth. He pushed that instinct back, instead opting for a different approach. What, jealous?

“It’s completely rational that I’d be at least mildly upset.”

You wanted me to explore.

“I– well, yes, but can we please get back to the story now, Stanley? These scripts don’t grow on trees.”

Paper grows on trees. Pencils are wood. I think they literally do grow on trees.

“Oh, hush.” The Narrator sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Inspiration doesn’t grow on trees, how about that? Is that good enough for you, Your Royal Highness? Is the idea of destroying the environment just pleasing enough for your taste? Is–”

…And he was rambling again. Alright.

Stanley picked up a second piece of paper.

Daily Performance Review of EMPLOYEE NUMBER: 432

Absurd, commonplace, HERETICAL, terrible at his job, knows nothing about where he is employed or what he is supposed to be doing. Questions authority at every turn and is unpleasant to be around.

Amen to that, Stanley couldn’t help but think. That could almost be written directed at him, based on how much the Narrator complained.

“See, you get it! I knew you’d see reason eventually. You know…”

Oh. Right. Him. Still going, it seemed. Stanley turned his attention back to the paper.

He continues to ask stupid questions like “Where am I?” and “How do I get out of here?”  Is unhelpful when performing typical tasks and even when presented with the most basic of tasks he simply questions it. Incredibly insignificant and pedantic. Unorthodox and continues to attempt to “think outside the box.”

I HATE him.

“So you see, in actuality, the Stanley Parable is a demonstration of–”

What’s so bad about me going off script? Stanley interrupted.

The Narrator sighed. “Stanley, I was talking,” he said before continuing. “What if I kept closing doors on you while you were simply trying to reach your office?” Stanley just stared up at the ceiling, completely deadpan, in response. “Oh, I suppose that happens sometimes, yes, but it’s your fault, really.” He paused again. “Was that you? Or was that the player? I’m afraid I’m still not clear on that.”

Is my brand of genius too subtle?

“Of course it was you,” he grumbled. “Do you get the metaphor, Stanley? Or do I have to come down there and drill it into your head?”

Stanley paused. Come down here?

“Yes. What’s so odd about that?”

Just… you can do that?

“You assumed I couldn’t?”

I don’t know, I was wondering if you were actually… Stanley vaguely waved his hand. A person? I guess?

“Of course I have a physical form, I’m a professional. What do you take me for?”

…Can you come down?

“No.” At Stanley’s pout, he continued, “I’m not rewarding you for bad behaviour.”

Please?

“Oh, well, now that you’ve said that, it simply remedies everything! No, Stanley. Maybe some other time, but right now we have a story to get to. As I may remind you.”

Mhm. The story, the story, he was paying attention to that, shooting an absent thought back at the Narrator before going back to the pile of papers.

EMPLOYEE OBSERVATION PROTOCOL

1A. If an employee begins exhibiting unscheduled emotions immediately contact supervisor.

1B. Please note that employee 432 is a test case - procedure 1a need not apply.

2A. If an employee attempts to leave the office via any non-scheduled means (E.G. window, vehicle, unsafe door) set employee status to default and then back to their previous mode. If attempts to leave persist, contact supervisor.

2B. If (despite adherence to protocol 2A) an employee somehow manages to leave the office during ‘work hours’ you must initiate lockdown procedure for that section immediately and without delay. This will create a temporary loop in system architecture that must then be closed by your immediate superior.

Stanley just stared at it, reading it again. Narrator? he asked.

“Hm?”

How much of this is your story?

“It’s all my story,” he said with a grand flourish. “And I worked very hard on it, so–”

I know that, but… what happened with the office before this? Was there an office? Or was that the story too?

“Well, yes, there was the office, but as far as I’m concerned, you were all miserable anyway.”

Stanley looked back down at the paper. …Was the mind control facility part of the story?

“I knew you were dense, but I didn’t think you’d forget that easily,” the Narrator muttered. “Not like it was a whole ending or anything.”

I heard that.

“I’m well aware.”

Well, this wasn’t getting him anywhere. He sighed, switching the papers on the floor.

His hands grew still.

“Stanley? Are you alright?”

Fine, Stanley signed, barely looking up.

“What’s caught your attention, hm?”

Nothing. He read the paper over one more time before placing it back on the ground.

“Hm. Well, if you insist,” the Narrator said. “Now, come along, Stanley, we’ve–”

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING IS NEVER THE END IS

Stanley woke up back in his office. All of his coworkers were gone.

“Wh–! I was in the middle of something, Stanley, do you have zero consideration for–”

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING IS NEVER THE END IS

“What are you even doing, Stanley? Y–”

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING IS NEVER THE END IS

“For god’s– I know this is you doing this and not a glitch in the game, what–”

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING IS NEVER THE END IS

“What are you even trying to achieve?”

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING IS NEVER THE END IS

“Stanley, just stop for one second with all the bloody rese–!”

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE LOADING IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEV

Blackness.

And a rising chill of uncertainty.

(Until there wasn’t, of course.)

[Never once did I think I would agree with the old man, but what the hell are you doing???]

I wanted to talk to you, Stanley signed.

[I don’t know whether to be flattered or not. How could you be so sure that would work? The epilogue’s a surefire way, and even despite that, what if you just got stuck?]

[Wouldn’t be pleasant, I can tell you that.]

[So enlighten me, Stanley. What’s on your mind?]

Stanley paused, thinking of the right way to phrase it before eventually deciding on, What do you remember? Before all this?

Despite the lack of tone, Stanley could instantly tell the Timekeeper was absolutely thrilled about this sudden arrangement– if thrilled held the same amount of enthusiasm as a student on a Monday morning dreading a test.

[Lot of boring stuff, honestly. At least this is fun.]

[As fun as the void can get, anyway. Do you know how boring it is here? Waiting for days and days and days and the only thing you can do is keep track of the time? Maybe make some sliders to try to keep yourself entertained?]

[I’ve got half a mind to just keep you here, honestly. Would be better for both of us.]

After a short pause, they elaborated.

[That was a joke. In case it wasn’t clear.]

[Go on, keep going. Might as well answer a couple questions to curb the boredom.]

Stanley jumped at the opportunity. How much of this is the Narrator’s story?

[Depends on your viewpoint. Could be all of it. Or some. Or even none. All I’ll say is it’s not all his.]

Did something come before this?

[You already asked that one.]

Does the Narrator know you’re here?

[He knows there’s something. He doesn’t know it’s me.]

Do you know the Narrator?

[Do you?]

Stanley shook off the vague sense of unease that answer caused. That was a conversation for a later date. Would you ever lie to me?

[Have I ever lied to you?]

…Would he ever lie to me?

[I think that question is better thought through rather than answered immediately.]

The Timekeeper butted in before Stanley could ask his next question.

[You’ve got a goal here.]

Stanley shook his head.

[Really? Because you’re asking a lot of questions that seem to tie into a very specific topic.]

[I don’t bite, Stanley. Just ask.]

He hesitated.

Your name was Charlie, wasn’t it?

The darkness suddenly seemed to spread with a tension so thick a knife would barely make a dent.

[S̠͂͞ay that agä͎͞ī̵̲n?]

Against Stanley’s better judgement, he did. I think you were supposed to sharpen pencils, but they wouldn’t let you have one? Some sort of test ca–

The Timekeeper interrupted him before he even had a chance to finish.

[Stanley, I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully.]

[That was back then. And we don’t think about back then. We focus on what’s here now, and on keeping the wheel turning.]

[Understand?]

He couldn’t say he did. But there was something before this? You wer–

[That pe̤̍͞r̛͓͌son is deã̡̼d̑͠, Stan̷̫̉ĺé̴̗y.]

A pause.

[You want answers. I can tell.]

[We’re alike in that way.]

[But how far are you willing to go?]

[How much do you really want to know, Stanley?]

----------------------------------------------------------

I want to stay ignorant                                ▲                                    I want to know it all

Stanley hesitated. If he was being honest… he didn’t know. He wanted to learn more. But was there ever a thing such as knowing too much?

He moved the slider all the way to the right and pressed confirm.

[Fine. But be careful.]

[You might find more than you were looking for. You can’t unlearn this, Stanley. Resets don’t help here.]

[I won’t stop you from asking questions.]

[But don't blame me if you don't like the answers.]

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS LOADING…