Chapter Text
“This is the story of a man named Stanley.
Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee #427. Employee #427’s job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came…”
The familiar voice recited the usual lines of dialogue, just like it had for as long as Stanley could remember. The poor man knew them all by heart, and yet, they repeated day after day, with no clear plans of ceasing any time soon. Although this time around, they barely registered in Stanley’s head.
The Narrator and Stanley followed a simple protocol to begin every story. It always, always, began with Stanley stiffly standing from his office chair before venturing into the uninviting yellow corridors of his office building.
This time however, Stanley had laid his head in his arms, his upper half stretched unceremoniously across his desk in such a fashion that it seemed unlikely that he would rise anytime soon. The office around him felt as though it was spinning, a very strange phenomenon to someone like Stanley, who was quite literally coded to feel exactly the same after every reset.
The words that droned on above him came to an abrupt stop. Evidently, The Narrator had seen Stanley’s position.
“Stanely? What in the world are you doing?”
Both knew that Stanley would offer no words in response, though The Narrator strangely always left gaps in what he was saying, perhaps wishing that Stanley would speak. Despite his whole purpose being narration, The Narrator seemed to get rather tired of his silence at times.
“I’ve finished the introduction, Stanley. You may proceed through the door now. Your coworkers are missing, don’t you remember? Perhaps you’ve, ahem… missed a memo.”
Silence ensued. Stanely was obviously expected to rise and exit the office, or at least give some form of response. Electing to avoid any actions that might cause more of this…feeling, he gave no indication that he had heard the instructions.
“Well, if you’re looking for a new ending, then you’re not going to find it here. There’s absolutely nothing that can be achieved from this. In fact, I’m going to stop speaking altogether until you decide to listen to me and attempt to find your poor missing coworkers. They could be in trouble, you know.”
Much to The Narrator’s dismay, Stanley deemed this statement worthy of a small smile, before he buried his head deeper into his folded arms.
Unfortunately for Stanley, The Narrator immediately broke his vow of silence, evidently deciding that lecturing him was the more important thing to do.
“W…okay, that’s it. I didn’t think that it was possible for you to become even more sluggish than you previously were, but here we are. What are you trying to achieve? I promise you, you’re only wasting both our time.”
Unsurprisingly, there was no movement from Stanley.
“Alright, fine then.” There was a brief shuffling of papers before he spoke again, muttering in a way that made Stanley wonder whether he had meant for him to hear or not.
“I could get in terrible trouble for this, but you’ve forced my hand.”
A small click echoed through Stanley’s head, seemingly indicating that whatever The Narrator had been using to speak had been cut off. For a moment, there was only blissful, empty silence. There were no instructions being fed to him, no beeping of the computer monitors from the next room over, only merciful quiet.
…
And then, the door to office #427 creaked open.
—
Stanley startled, his head finally jolting from his arms to reveal a figure standing in the doorway.
Well, this is new…
Pale yellow lights from the corridor beyond streamed in, stinging Stanely’s eyes. A sharp flash of pain ricocheted through his head as a result. Prompting a pained gasp, Stanley decided that whatever ending that he was watching play out ultimately wasn’t worth it. Assuming that he could try for this particular ending another time, he forced his head back down.
“You are truly so unappreciative, Stanley.”
Despite his best wishes, his head seemed to rise on its own accord once more.
The distinct British voice that he had grown so accustomed to no longer seemed to echo from all directions, but rather only from the location of the unexpected visitor.
Abruptly, the tall figure stepped into the shadow of the room, revealing his features to a perpetually confused Stanley. Meticulously combed-over grey hair was evident on the man, not a strand out of place. The most noticeable feature was short, square reading glasses that balanced precariously on his nose, giving off a sort of evil-librarian look. Only adding to this, both smile and frown lines were clear on his face, although the frown lines seemed to deepen as he took in the sorry sight that was Stanley.
“Goodness, you look even worse from here.”
The voice, had in fact, been coming from this strange man. Groggily, Stanley came to the conclusion that this must be The Narrator. The all-powerful being that could shape this world to his very will. There are a great many things that Stanley could have done in that moment, had his mind not felt like mush. But alas, he did nothing but gape.
“Hm. I’m not supposed to do this, but…” The Narrator touched a finger to his chin in thought. “Close your eyes for a moment, if you would.”
On any normal day, Stanley would have disobeyed this request. Simply because that’s what he and The Narrator did. Narrator instructed, and Stanley neglected to listen. In this moment, however, closing his eyes was what he had wanted to do this entire time. With little to no hesitation, his eyes drifted closed.