Chapter Text
It’s been three hundred and forty seven times Stanley had opened his eyes to a blank monitor, in an office he was sure he was once rather pleased by, in a series of events that looped over and over again, accompanied only by the voice of the narration. He had, at one point, found the voice interesting, how it manifested its words not only as an audible sound but by bright yellow speech bubbles that were two dimensional. It was fascinating… until it wasn’t, and Stanley realized this wasn’t some dream, he was stuck in this loop and he couldn’t even remember who he was outside of it. Maybe there wasn’t even an outside, maybe he was the only person left in existence and the voice was a hallucination. Still as he mulled over the thought the voice chided him to keep moving, and so he did, through the right door.
He never really had a plan going into these runs anymore, so maybe it was spite fueling his disregard for the Narrator’s commentary this particular time. He hopped off the lift and ignored the usual shocked response from the narrator as he approached the other set of two doors… and something in him compelled him to listen this time. Normally at this point Stanley would have marched straight through the blue door but as he wandered through the red door the Narrator seemed suddenly content with him, remarking how they could fix things between them and how he was happy. The Narrator pleaded with him as he began to leave the room of orbiting lights, annoyed at the notion that someone who didn’t even exist outside his own mind could be happy in a place like this.
To be honest the thought of jumping from the high platform hadn’t even occurred to him, but when the Narrator seemed so concerned Stanley felt that same pull to begin the climb. Even if he did die it wouldn’t matter, he would just open his eyes to that blank screen in his office again and restart all of this over again. The Narrator continued to plead, the bubbles of text appearing less off to the side of him and more in front, like an attempt to stop him. He simply walked through their cold surfaces, continuing farther up as the pleads grew in quantity. He nearly paused when the outline of a hand reached for his shoulder as if to grab him, though it too was two dimensional and Stanley simply phased through it. The Narrator sounded like he was on the verge of tears and Stanley ignored him still.
His toes peaked out over the edge of the platform as he looked at the ground below, part of him considered that he could hit the ground and not wake up in his office. He had tested somewhere around the hundred run mark if he could feel pain in the loop and he could, but at this point it hardly mattered. So with that final bit of conviction he brought a foot out and leaned forward. He fell for maybe a second before something tugged at his abdomen, wrapped around him, and pulled him back up. Whatever it was retracted from him and left him on the edge right where he had been standing before. Stanley turned, and his gaze met the man standing behind him, eyes wide.
He was slightly smaller than Stanley, dressed in a dark blue coat with a yellow arrow decoration that ended just above the knee. Under was a turtleneck and black slacks, along with the yellow lensed glasses he wore. His skin was almost sickly pale with shallow wrinkles, though his dark hair was graying. The same two dimensional yellow formed the arrows that crossed and floated behind his back, though if Stanley had to guess they were actually tangible. Panicked mismatched eyes looked at him expectantly and the silence stretched on as the two stared at each other. Finally the man spoke,
“Stanley?” The voice of the Narrator was right in front of him, hand on the railing as if to support himself catching Stanley. When he received no response he simply took a step forward, and another, and another, until he was right in front of him. Without warning he reached up and grabbed Stanley’s face and began examining it, face slipping from panicked to horrified the longer he did so. The real touch made Stanley feel nauseous, real touch meant the Narrator was real, there was really someone watching him go through this hopelessly who could’ve-
“….You’re real?” The Narrator spoke quietly, hands slipping away from Stanley’s face as he took a step back.
“ What?” Stanley could barely form words, his head spun, how could the Narrator not think he was real?
“She- She told me you were a fake consciousness not a real human….oh my god-“ He somehow managed to look even more pale as he took another step back. Stanley wanted to throw up as he watched, watching the man who had been tormenting him endlessly realize what he had done… except he didn’t know Stanley was… real?
“I’m resetting Stanley I’m sorry I just-“ He cut himself off with a snap of his fingers, though even as Stanley stared at his computer the Narrator remained silent. He remained in his chair unable to process what had just happened.
" What do you mean, I'm real?" Stanley stared up at the ceiling the same he usually addressed the Narrator, still he remained silent. When he didn't get a response immediately Stanley asked again to the same end. Of course now the narrator learned to shut up.
" Hello? " He called out, even louder this time. " Narrator? "
"...Stanley? It's still you, right?" The Narrator's voice lacked its usual bravado, now he sounded apprehensive.
" It's always been me. " Stanley responded flatly.
"Stanley if I had known, It's just- I'm sorry." As usual he tried to avoid his usual emotions, though now Stanley had a stubborn face to match the voice.
" I want out. Since you obviously have all control over this world and you aren't just me hallucinating I know you can get me out of here. " Stanley didn't really care for the Narrator's apologies right now.
"See… I don't exactly know how to do that, I didn't make this realm, only the story attached to it." The Narrator sounded troubled at the thought.
" What do you mean- You said you created the game? " Stanley glared, even though his neck was starting to hurt from looking up.
"I did say that, didn't I… well I lied." His voice was plain, as if such a remark didn't mean anything.
" Then how can I trust you when you say you don't know how to get me out of here! How do I know you even feel bad about keeping me here! " Stanley pushed his rolling chair away from the desk, only to roll straight through the two dimensional outline of the Narrator. it shifted and looked at him with a mildly annoyed face.
"Look Stanley. I will look for a way out for you, doesn't mean I'll find one." The Narrator placed his hands on his hips, "If it's any consolation, I didn't know I could get inside until just a few moments ago."
" Why would that be consolation. " Stanley continued to glare at him.
"Keep yourself occupied Stanley, I'll let you know if I find anything." The outline sunk into the floor and Stanley let out a groan. After waiting for another hour in his office he left for run three hundred and forty eight.