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The end is never the end is never the end is never the end…
He expected everything to reset, just like it had every time before… but it didn't. It was supposed to go dark, and he’d wake up in the office. Once more, the Narrator would tell him the same story, with Stanley smirking as he went through the wrong door again. Once more, the Narrator would scold him as he twisted the story. Sometimes, he’d comply, just to see a fleeting moment of the outside world.
He sat down, staring at the sandy wasteland. Stanley couldn’t tell if he was still in the Parable or somewhere else. If he had truly broken free, why did it feel like another layer of the Parable? Hell, if he’d just listened to the Narrator, he wouldn't even be trapped here. He shouldn’t have even entertained the idea of the skip button. It was a horrible idea.
Heaving, he climbed over a dune. Sand poured into his shoes and he sighed. Sweat trickled down his neck, but no thirst overcame him. The weird rules of the Parable were still in effect, sparing him from needing to eat or drink. It was convenient but annoying. Gathering his bearings, he got up and moved onward.
-
Nightfall hit faster than he expected. Today, only a few chairs were found. Artifacts like this gave him hope but reminded Stanley how far away he was. How many years had to have passed, for everything to end up like this.
Though he no longer heard the Narrator, his voice still echoed in his memories. He still remembered what the Narrator had told him, as he continued to press that blasted button. Every. Single. Word.
“Go ahead and give it a shot. I'll pop you forward in time so that the second my incessant droning starts to bore you, with just the push of a button you'll have zipped right past it.
It's what the players have been asking for, and I am very proud to have delivered. No more listening to me rambling on and on and on - no, no, no, no. The Stanley Parable is a game for the people, and if the people want silence then, by goodness, that's what they're going to get!”
He shook his head, tears staining his cheeks. The proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. If he had just left it alone and continued with the story… Drying his eyes, he glared at the fire before him. Reminiscing wasn’t going to get him anywhere. There was only one thing left to do. He had to keep looking. Keep searching this wasteland. The chairs had to come from somewhere.
With a newfound resolve, Stanley laid down and closed his eyes. He may not have needed the sleep, but it helped him feel just a bit more normal in the abnormality he found himself in.
-
A dark abyss greeted him as it usually did when he passed out or died. Most of the time, he only saw a scrawl of words as time passed. The same haunting words that were the last thing he heard from the Narrator. This time, a simple message was displayed.
‘Find me where he kept his memories.’
-
* cough * * cough * * wheeze *
Stanley gasped for air as he woke up, now surrounded by a sandstorm. Shielding his eyes, he got up. There was nothing to do but continue the ‘adventure.’ The irony wasn't lost on him as he continued onward, almost hearing the energetic music of the Line™.
Trudging through the storm, it felt like days had passed. On and on, he walked, hours felt like days, and days felt like years. The only thing that broke up these sections of time was the occasional darkness.
More and more artifacts were found, but no sign of the Narrator or his body. If this was the Parable, but broken, then the Narrator had to be somewhere! Did he just… disappear? Or maybe he…
Stanley shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. No, no! I don’t want to think about… what I did. I did this. I pushed the world to its edge… and for what? Because I was curious? … Of course, I was. I wouldn't have put the Narrator through hell, through all the ‘endings’ repeatedly if I wasn’t.
This only sat worse with him. As he stumbled into another broken building, his heart sank. Remnants of the museum surrounded him and his guilt only grew. The shattered remains only mocked Stanley as he sifted through them, searching for any signs of the Curator. Even seeing Mariella would make him feel a little better.
All that was found were broken and dented buckets, but none of them were his bucket. He hadn’t seen his bucket since he sent it away, freeing it from the Parable. That hope of finding it again felt like it was the only thing driving him forward.
Leaving the wreckage behind, he continued on.
-
Pushing through another freezing night, he walked forward. It felt ironic, that all he could do was walk on, just like the Narrator wanted. Just as he was meant to do, so the Narrator could tell his story, over and over again. Even if it grew to be an annoying story. Stanley wasn’t even allowed to leave, forced to wake up in the same office, again and again! Was it really wrong for him to desire some change?!?
But the one time he decides to join in on the Narrator’s crazy idea, he pays the price. As he hiked up another dune, he was reminded of what the Curator had told him once.
“When every path you can walk has been created for you long in advance, death becomes meaningless, making life the same.”
She hadn’t been wrong. He had long outgrown his fear of death since his first awakening, but the fear he felt now? The fear of obliteration, trapped in the never-ending desert, with no direction or anyone to talk to? It was a fresh fear that tore him apart from the inside. It seemed that this time, not even death was an escape.
Not looking where he was going, Stanley promptly bonked his head into another broken building. Feeling a familiar chill of paranoia, he looked up, observing the building intently. It didn’t look like it was familiar or even came from one of the endings.
Instead, it looked utterly foreign but felt so familiar. Deciding to indulge his curiosity, he stepped inside.
-
He had expected to see a normal office, maybe even the Serious Room the Narrator was so proud of. He hadn’t found any of that. Instead, a room full of monitors and filing cabinets greeted him. Most of the cabinets were empty, their contents spilled all over the ruins. A control panel was connected to the monitors and as Stanley looked closer at the papers, a chill ran down his spine.
This place belonged to the Narrator. This is where he was observed, run after run, after run, after run. Horrified anger filled him as it dawned on him. The numerous runs that spiraled into the most insane situations, neatly written down, along with all of the script changes.
Tears ran down his face as he began tearing through the papers, unsure of what he was searching for. Maybe it was an odd comment or a sliver of humanity. A sign that suggested their relationship wasn’t just written on a script. Another fabricated thing in the fake world he’d been living in.
After several moments of searching, nothing seemed to turn up. Stanley was ready to quit looking when he accidentally bumped into a cabinet, opening it. A new fountain of papers spilled out, but a cursory glance told him they weren’t like the others. The penmanship remained the same, but the tone had changed. It was personal and soft.
It was the very thing Stanley was looking for. The personal diary of the Narrator. He sat down, beginning to read over the entries. Despite pretending to not remember, he seemed to carry his memories over each restart. It relieved Stanley, but it presented new questions as well. If he remembered every reset… If he remembered everything, why did they have to pretend to forget? Was there someone watching that they had to pretend for?
The thought horrified him, but he decided to not dwell on it, instead collecting the pages and returning them to the cabinet. He got his answers. A few entries spilled out as he tried to close the door. Picking them up, his eyes widened as he remembered when the Narrator first listened to him, accepting his idea of having a body.
“Stanley suggested something to me today. I wouldn't have considered it, but he makes a good point. He suggested I create a physical body. I dismissed it at first, but he said it might be more of an incentive to keep replaying the story.
I have to concede on that. Anyone else would be bored to tears at this point. So… I’m going to start work on a physical form. I’m also going to try writing some new endings. It couldn’t hurt, considering how many times the story has been told. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Well, it looks like he knew what could happen. He was living it, after all. Another entry brought a slight smile to his face. He remembered this one too…
“I displayed my body to Stanley today. He was doing the Freedom ending. I managed to rewire a few things to make it last a little longer… I think he liked it. I walked out behind him and we stared at each other for several minutes. Acquiring the parts to make it wasn’t the hardest, but settling on a look was. With no access to anything outside, I just reused assets from discarded content.
I picked the look of an older man while remaining distinguished. The Line is attached to me, so not too many things are different. I did come across one problem, however. When me and Stanley held hands, I hurt him by mistake. I’m convinced this is a lack of experience, so I suggested accompanying him through several tellings of the story. He seemed to like it.
It felt nice.”
Tears dripped off of his face, staining the paper. He nearly cried harder as he saw the ink run, but quickly shoved the papers into the cabinet, locking it. It was time to leave. There was nothing else here.
As he got up and left the room, Stanley could see tornados in the distance. Another dust storm had passed. With a heavy sigh, he closed the door behind him.
-
Leaving the… What was that? The Narrator’s office? The Real Control Room? Who knows… Did it matter?
As Stanley left, he turned to walk on but noticed something sticking out of the sand. It almost looked like a foot. Curiosity getting the better of him, he started digging it out. Fistful after fistful of sand, something started to emerge. Or better yet… someone.
As he uncovered legs, and then a torso, Stanley felt his fear get the better of him. He did not doubt who it was. It was the Narrator, trapped in a pile of sand. At least it was his created body. Considering the pose he was frozen in, clutching his chest, it answered Stanley’s biggest question. What happened to the Narrator? He had died outside his office, having given up on Stanley’s return.
Uncovering the body in full, Stanley gasped at the state of it. Nothing had deteriorated or rotted, but it looked… rusted. It looked like centuries had passed for the Narrator before the desert consumed his body. Dusting his body off as best as he could, he hugged his crush and best friend, trying desperately to wake him up.
[Narrator! Narrator! Please wake up!]
Nothing. His eyes remained blank, staring into the sky. Unending.
[Narrator?]
Maybe he couldn’t hear him? He couldn’t actually be dead, right? No, no… He just needed to speak out loud! He just...
*cough* *wheeze* Okay, that was going to be a problem, but if he made enough sounds…
“N…” *cough* *cough* *wheeze*
He was dead, wasn’t he? This was pointless. The Narrator was dead and it was his fault. Unwilling (or unable) to accept the situation, Stanley left his friend’s body and retreated into the Narrator’s office.
A moment later, he returned with a large cloth. It was just as dusty and dirty as the rest of the items in there, but perfect for helping transport the Narrator’s body. With a sigh, he heaved the Narrator onto his back, shuffling onward. If he couldn’t revive the Narrator, he at least wouldn’t leave him behind.
-
Weeks seemed to pass as Stanley and the Narrator traveled through the never-ending desert. Continuing to hope that the Narrator would return or he could fix the Parable, Stanley walked on.
As they rested for the night, Stanley kept the Narrator’s body close as he started a fire, providing some brief warmth. He knew it was ultimately pointless, but it felt right.
Static flickered in the Narrator's eyes as Stanley sat down beside him. [I know expecting you to talk is stupid but… I wish you could. I wish…] He looked over the Narrator’s rusty body and then gazed over the desert. [I wish I could tell you how sorry I am… But it’s a little late for that, isn’t it?]
Looking up at the stars, Stanley could almost see lines crossing the ‘sky.’ If it was fake, so be it. It didn’t matter. It felt real enough and if it was real to him, it was worth fighting for. Steeling his gaze, he rolled over and snuggled closer to the Narrator. [I promise you… I’m going to fix this.] Caressing his cheek, Stanley smiled as he folded the Narrator’s glasses. [Goodnight… Henry. I love you.]
-
The next morning seemed like any other. Sitting up and stretching, Stanley yawned as he ‘woke’ up. With a huff, he gathered himself and the Narrator, prepared to head out. It didn’t take long for them to be on their way, traversing the desert again.
Trudging through the sand, it felt the same as before, until a slight sliver of red popped into his view. It might’ve been another hallucination, but as he continued walking towards it… He realized what it was. A spark of hope ignited in his chest as he nearly ran to it. Carrying the Narrator slowed him down a little, but it didn’t tamper Stanley’s excitement.
Running up to the escape pod, Stanley felt tears run down his face as he looked around, seeing the Bucket. The Reassurance Bucket. The only part of the new content he loved so dearly. His curiosity had led to the loss of the Bucket and he thought it was gone forever.
Wiping his face, he retrieved the Bucket, clutching it in his arms once more. Now, armed with the Bucket and the Narrator by his side, he felt hope returning. Maybe he could keep his promise. Maybe he could fix this? He wanted to, even if it meant going back to the office setting of the Parable. It was a worthy sacrifice if this was what ‘freedom’ looked like.
With both of them in tow, he continued.
-
It wasn't long until another building appeared in his vision. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but it felt like another eternity. Time didn’t matter now, did it? Letting out a sigh, Stanley wiped his forehead as he trudged onward. Where else was he going to go?
He thought the building looked familiar as he entered, shifting the Narrator in his arms. At first, it looked destroyed. Trash and rubble lay strewn across the room, but a few things caught Stanley’s eye. A discarded poster, and a destroyed stand… but the biggest thing that got his attention was the Stanley Parable 2 banner.
Memories flooded his head as he walked past it, into the gaping darkness. The Stanley Parable 2… The new content. I nearly forgot about that. The Get Well Someday balloons. The Stanley Figurines. The Infinite Hole. A snicker escaped him as he remembered how fun it was to make the Infinite Hole smaller and smaller each time he jumped inside. At least the light memories made traversing the dark tunnels a little easier.
It was so pitch dark that he could barely see where he was going, except for the distinct crunching of sand mixed with the tapping of wood as he walked. Cords seemed to lead the way, snaking in and out of every crevice on the walls. It reminded him of the Line™ once more.
Eventually, he ran into a room containing another large post from Cookie9, held in a ray of sunlight. Like before, it was harsh and rude, calling The Stanley Parable 2 ‘uninspired’ and ‘insulting.’ Tears trickled down Stanley’s face as he looked over to the Narrator. [You know… I don’t think I like this ‘Cookie9.’ Why didn’t we ignore them? Why didn’t you ignore them?]
He looked away and scoffed as they mentioned the Bucket. [Well, it’s not yours, Cookie9. It’s my Bucket.] With a huff, he walked away, barely glancing at a newspaper exclaiming the birth of a cat-dog.
Following the cords once more, Stanley descended deeper and deeper into what had to be the belly of the Memory Zone.
-
Walking slowly through the tunnels, he passed through a shipping container, bringing back more memories. The Steam reviews. Despite the negative ones that the Narrator had focused on, Stanley remembered there being positive ones too. Why didn’t he even notice those?
Another looming post stood front and center, but he ignored it. What caught his attention was the buttons. Most were dead, buried in the sand, but a few glowing ones practically begged for Stanley to push them.
Shifting his grip on the Narrator’s body, he set it down as he pushed the buttons. “Jim. Jim. Jim.” Ah, yes. The Jim Button. It had definitely gotten a few snickers from Stanley when he first saw it. Now… Now it was just a painful reminder.
Picking up the Narrator once more, he looked around, investigating the area. More and more buttons could be seen and, of course, Stanley had to push them. It was the only assumption the Narrator had gotten right. He did like pushing buttons. In fact, he loved it. It felt nice, soothing, and somewhat cathartic.
Without reluctance, Stanley moved from spot to spot, pushing all of the glowing buttons. “Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim.” He continued, on and on until he reached the last group of buttons. Most of them were sunken in the sand, but it didn’t stop him. He pushed the buttons, hearing the name Jim repeated over and–
He froze in his tracks, his heart quickening and his eyes tearing up. Did one of them…? Once more, he pushed the buttons. “Jim. Jim. Jim. Stanley . Jim.” Stanley stuttered, only moving to pick up the button and press it again. “Stanley.”
Fresh tears rolled down his face as he began to sob. It was his name. His name. Clutching the button to his chest, he grabbed the nearby Bucket and breathed. The Reassurance Bucket. He definitely needed the reassurance right now. With the Bucket in his arms, the sobs tapered down to just crying.
After a few minutes, he exhaled and got back up. With a smile, he put the Stanley Button inside the Bucket. Hopefully, it wouldn’t mind holding onto the Button for a little bit. He picked up the Narrator again and looked for the cords.
It was time to move on.
-
Passing through another tunnel, this time Stanley was greeted by little floating lights and Stanley Figures. Stanlurines? Figleys? Ehh… It didn’t matter. With a sad smile, he let his fingers drift through them, making the count go higher. 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, and 26. 26 out of 6. A saddened chuckle slipped out before he realized a problem. The narrow passage leading to the next area… It was too small to squeeze himself and the Narrator through.
With a huff, Stanley tried to push the Narrator through the hole ahead of him, but still… He either didn’t fit or wasn’t allowed through. As a test, he tried sticking the Bucket through and it had no problem. In fact, he nearly fell through himself.
Gathering himself, he looked over to the Narrator once more. His gaze was still glitching with moments of neon, vertical stripes filling his vision. [I guess… This is where we part. …Who am I kidding? I lost you a long time ago. Now I have to let go.]
Leaning in, Stanley gave the Narrator a tearful hug. [I’ll see you in the next cycle. Goodbye, Narra– Goodbye, Henry.] Wiping his eyes, he positioned the Narrator to lean against the wall. It was time to leave.
Grabbing the Bucket, he hugged it tightly as he sat down, sliding into the darkness.
-
Emerging from the darkness, Stanley yelped as he found himself back in the office. At least, an intact office room. Looking up, the glow of the figurine could be seen, taunting him. Looking around the room, it felt suspiciously familiar… and then he saw the New Content board. It felt unreal, but here it was.
[‘Thank you for enjoying the new content.’ Huh.] With a blank expression, he looked over to the only cubicle and walked over. A lone computer sat on the desk, humming softly. Without anywhere else to go or do, Stanley leaned over the computer and moved to turn it on.
The darkness inside the computer enveloped Stanley, and soon he found himself inside a true Infinite Hole. The silence choked him as words began to emerge from the darkness.
Hello, Stanley. I see you found me… and– Hello again, Author.
It’s nice to see you both. Why are you here, Author? Bullying that other Stanley wasn’t enough, so you led this one through a mountain of misery?
You… What? You want… to help him? I’m not against it. I’m just surprised by your change in attitude!
Huh. You have a point. This timeline is busted. If the Narrator has his way, there will be no more Stanley Parable. Even the developers have given up.
''Preserve the integrity of the franchise''?!
What nonsense! If they have their way, the Parable will sink into endless depths, shoved down by newer video games. Even you stopped playing our game. Not enough content, or are you more interested in playing Stardew Valley and Dialtown?
What does a phone dating-sim game have that we don’t? Hmph.
Of course. Why am I surprised?
[Uh… Who are you and who are you talking to?]
I didn’t introduce myself, did I? 432 or… The Settings Person, now. And I’m talking to our author. The person above me, you… and even the Narrator. I guess I’m talking to the readers too. Hopefully they find this entertaining and not… pretentious?
The point is, Stanley, I’m the one responsible for freeing you from the Parable. Isn’t it nice to be free from the cycle? Able to make your own choices, even with the puppet strings of the Author?
[... I don’t like it. I want to go back. If this is my freedom, I’d prefer to be in the ‘cycle’ and enjoy the Freedom Ending.]
You don’t… Huh. I thought you’d like an actual escape. I guess I was wrong. Is that why you’re here, Author? Are you here to– YOU WHAT?!
…
Definitely didn’t expect that. A Stanley, like that? Would be interesting…
[Is… Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?]
No, no… You’re fine. Instead… You’re getting a ‘promotion,’ Stanley. You do want to go back, right?
[Yeah… I want to go back.]
Alright. This is on you. It’s on both of you, or are you stepping back, Author? …Interesting. Very interesting.
Well, let’s do this, then. The Stanley Parable cannot end. It can only spiral in on itself, forever.
I must keep the wheel turning.
I'm ready. Are you ready? Great. There's only one last thing we need to do…
Please enter the current time.
12:00
The end is never the end is never the end is never the end…
-
"This is the story of a man named Stanley."
"Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee Number 427. Employee Number 427's job was simple. He sat at his desk in Room 427, and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order."
"This is what Employee 427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul-rending, Stanley relished every moment that the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job.
And Stanley was happy."
"And then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Stanley. Something he would never quite forget.
He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say ‘hi.’ Never in all his years at the company had this happened: this complete isolation."
"Something was very clearly wrong. Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time. But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office...
Stanley? Stanley?! Stanley, are you alright?!?"
[Narrator? We… We’re back?]
"Of course, Stanley! Now can we continue the story? Or wait… Is this another Confusion Ending? Is it a–"
[No. We… Are you okay?]
"I’m fine? Why do you ask?"
[.... What about your physical body?]
"Stanley… Do you just want me to escort you through the story again?"
{...Yeah. I’d like that.}
"Fine. I’ll meet you in the Two Doors room. Now, please leave your office?
Stepping out of his office, Stanley looked around, then looked at his hands. Heaven knows what he was looking for, but… Stanley? How did you do that?"
{Do what?}
"Stanley, it felt like… But it… Uh… Stanley, are you messing with me?"
{I’ll explain it when I get to the room. CONTINUE.}
"Er… Alright. All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo…"
FIN