Chapter Text
It's been at least 4 years since Stanley was created- or well technically longer if you count the supposed life he had before the parable. A life he had no recollection of. He obviously didn't have a wife, The Narrator made that clear, but he had co-workers, had a job, had friends and family. He was someone before this. He just didn't remember it. Which was probably for the better. He assumed a life where you had to drag around the fact you were forced to abandon everyone you've ever loved wouldn't be very pleasant.
So every “day” he went around the Parable doing the same things over and over. Even with multiple endings, it all got boring really fast. Sure he could break the game but that wasnt exactly “fun” if anything it could be painful if he did something wrong. And he would be lectured about how breaking things was dangerous for everything. He knew it was true, he had witnessed it first hand moments before the lecture. The Narrator tends to forget he has eyes sometimes.
This was a day like any other. He had gotten up from his desk, wandered down the halls while stopping to pick up his beloved bucket, took the right door, and was now stepping onto the cargo lift. Its motor whirred to life as The Narrator delivered his usual speech.
It was along the lines of“The bucket said” and blah blah blah. Stanley had gotten very good at tuning the annoying man out. Admittedly those new lines when the ‘Stanley Parable 2’ came out were funny but just like everything they got stale- though about the bird one- that one was still fun. He should do that one next.
Before he knew it the lift cam to a stop and he walked off to the phone. Picking it up to satisfy ‘the buckets’ wants, His vision fading into white
———————————————
His vision returns to him The very familiar voice fading in alongside the view in front of him
“This is the sad story of a man named Stanley”
He felt like a part of that line was missing. Surely there had been a second part. He did have the bucket with him right? The Narrator was doing his nonsensical imitation of his bucket, it had to be the right one! Maybe The Narrator was changing it? No that wouldn't make sense.
Stanley stood there and pondered why it would have been different then before. He was supposed to say “Stanley and his bucket”! But he just said “Stanley”… Was something else going to happen?
What was even more worrisome is that The Narrator hasn't commented on how Stanley moved in what felt like hours! Something must be really wrong- had he dont something? No- He hasn't done the freedom ending in a while. Is The Narrator just messing with him?
He took a breath to collect himself- he wasn't going to find out anything if he stood still in a dark room. So he stepped into the apartment but… the bucket wasn't there.
“Stanley worked for a publishing company as an editor. He had a wife and a house, and he had a best friend. He would frequent a cafe near his house every morning on the way to work.”
Okay, this is really weird- no this was true- Stanley didn't have a wife- he didn't have a house- he had an apartment! Like the one just like this!
What kind of joke is this? Surely this has to be a joke. There is no possible way it's true, he was created in the parable! He was nothing but 1’s and 0’s… wasn't he?
“But Stanley please for once listen to me. I'm begging you.”
But What was he even supposed to do?! In the midst of his panic, a keyboard appeared in front of him, just as it would have in a normal run.
‘Press K to listen’
He pressed K without hesitation
THEENDISNEVERTHEENDIS Loading NEVERTHEEND
———————————————
Stanley felt disoriented after that last run. Everything shattered for him. Was he human? Did he have a wife? Why would The Narrator lie to him? He started walking, he needed to clear his head… it wasn't helping The Narrator was oddly quiet. The parables walls seemed so much more bare the usual, the paint on the wall less saturated, the lights in the rooms more dim.
He sat himself down on the couch in the employee lounge… even the lounge feels sad. This immaculate incredible room felt sad… he hadn't grabbed the bucket, as much as it call out for Stanley he needed to think. Feel emotions not clouded by the comfort of the bucket. It was hard but necessary.
So he sat, and he thought. He thought for a long time. So long in fact that he got tired of thinking. He was trying to draw lines to what the Narrator had told him, but the more he looked at it the more dead ends he found.
He laid onto the couch, letting himself sink into the uncomfortable cushions a far as he could. He was tired. And the more and more he was thinking the more crowed his head became… he needed to rest. And it's Not Like The Narrator was yelling at him- or hell even presenting his existence at all. So who could care?
The last thing he thought about was The narrator before his eyelids weighted down before shutting as he drifted into a void of unknown.
——————————————————
The man parked his car, making sure not to take another step before he made sure it was locked. Once confirmed he dropped his keyring into his back trouser pocket and made his way to the front door of the building.
As he entered the receptionist greeted him with a smile
“Back to see them I presume?” She stated,that her smile never faulted
“You would be correct! Anything new?” The Man, Accustomed to the women's voice, asked just as he did every time
“Nothing yet I'm afraid… Might I ask, If it's not too personal, Why do you still come every day?”