Parallax
“All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo,” He had heard those words time and time again, the overhead, disembodied voice had become a normal part of his quotidian schedule. The quiet, monotonous drone of the lights overhead and the low hum of still running computers provided the only sound in the room outside of his office, minus the shuffling of Stanley’s shoes against the floor as he drug himself into yet another day of choices.
For a few moments, Stanley was still, mind absently filtering through thoughts. His coworkers were gone–as always. He honestly couldn’t remember if he ever had coworkers, or if he did, that he had ever seen them. A few flickering images popped into his mind of disfigured people with blurred faces, as if a memory was trying to surface, but there was a miscommunication in his mind, distorting the people he thought that he knew. Maybe he never knew anyone at all; maybe his mind was only trying to give some type of answer to something unexplainable.
“Stanley stood for a long time in one spot. It’s part of a game. He likes to see how long he can go without dying. So far he’s doing excellent, and if he just stays right where he is, I’m sure he’ll keep up that good momentum. Let’s observe the genius at work,” the Narrator’s voice pulled Stanley out of his thoughts, returning him to the world that he knew so well. Or so he thought he knew, at least; as Stanley looked around, he couldn’t help but feel something had changed, though he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. Something simply felt… different. Some subtle change that threw him into a sense of uneasiness. The once familiar surroundings of the office building made him feel alienated.
Stanley lingered in his spot a while longer; he knew the Narrator to add new things into the runs now and then, just to change things up enough to keep Stanley interested, but he was used to the Narrator simply mentioning something new so that Stanley could easily take note of it. But this didn’t seem to be the case today. He knew that if he didn’t figure it out, the Narrator would probably reset this all and remove whatever had been changed; it would kill Stanley not to know what was different. So, seeing no other options, Stanley approached one of the computers and began tapping on the keyboard. There was no real method to his madness, he simply wanted to see if anything changed. He had pressed every button on every keyboard in all the time he had been here, so he knew what usually happened–a lot of nothing. But if something was different…
“Stanley went around touching every little thing in the office, but it didn’t make a single difference, nor did it advance the story in any way.” Stanley shot a glare up to the ceiling, where he always imagined the Narrator was looking down on him from, a little short of a god. He knew the Narrator was trying to get him to follow the usual path, as always. But Stanley was determined to figure this out, whether he got help from the Narrator or not. Continuing to press buttons, the Narrator’s voice intruded his mind once again.
“Stanley seemed intent on pressing each and every key on the keyboard in front of him, despite there being no change whatsoever. The computer wasn’t even on,” the slight taunting in the Narrator’s tone brushed Stanley the wrong way; he was used to the subtle deriding whenever he went off the Narrator’s storyline, but it never failed to agitate him. With another quick glare up at the ceiling, Stanley grabbed the desk chair and pulled it out just enough for him to slip into the seat, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips as he heard the faint sigh of contempt from the Narrator.
He picked up the keyboard once he had settled comfortably in the seat, turning it over in his hands. Maybe there was some sort of passcode to the computer, or a key to one of the many doors down the hall that he hadn’t opened. Stanley picked and prodded at keys and tugged on the cord that was attached to the computer, but still nothing happened.
“Stanley poked and prodded at the keyboard, but it was useless. The keyboard was just a keyboard, nothing more. Stanley decided this was all a waste of his time, and decided to head to his boss’s office,”
But Stanley made no move to leave, continuing instead to turn the keyboard over and over again. He tried turning the computer on, and was met with a low hum before the machine cut back off. Broken, most likely; how convenient.
“Stanley, I promise you, there’s nothing interesting about that keyboard. Why do you insist on doing this? That keyboard is just a keyboard attached to a broken computer, there is literally nothing that it can do!” agitation laced the Narrator’s words, however faintly. This was Stanley’s favorite part; being able to poke fun at the Narrator, knowing he had little to no power in moments like these. With a smile of feigned innocence, Stanley held up the keyboard and looked to the ceiling, like a child showing off a prized picture to a parent.
“Why are you showing that to me, Stanley? I know what a keyboard is, unlike some people,” Stanley scoffed and lowered the keyboard, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. He knew what a keyboard was too; it was some type of bucket… right? Whatever, it didn’t matter to Stanley. He wasn’t trying to figure out what was and wasn’t a bucket, he was trying to figure out why the room seemed different. His eyes flicked back down to the keyboard and his brows furrowed slightly. Agitation prickled inside him as he failed to comprehend what could possibly have changed. Maybe this computer wasn’t it; maybe it was a different computer. But he really didn’t want to deal with every computer in the room–that would take more time than it felt worth.
Stanley stood from the seat, knocking the chair over from how quickly he got up. The keyboard was still in his hand as he stood, his fingers gripping onto the plastic until dull pain resonated under his skin.
“Finally, are you ready to continue the story, Stanley?” the Narrator seemed a little more pleased now that Stanley was out of the chair. But Stanley was far from ready to leave. His jaw clenched, Stanley pulled the keyboard to the side of his body, twisting back before he swung forwards. The corner of the keyboard crashed into the screen in front of him, the glass of the computer shattering upon impact. A sharp gasp from the Narrator caused Stanley to look up, his eyes dark with something indiscernible. Without looking away, Stanley yanked the cord of the keyboard from the computer before throwing the keyboard across the room. Only once he heard it crash into the opposite did Stanley look back to the shattered screen. He balled his hands into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms as he pulled his arm back, eyes fixed on the broken computer screen.
“Stanley, don’t–” but the Narrator’s voice just agitated him more. In all honesty, Stanley didn’t know why he was so mad in the first place; maybe it was the constant droning of the overhead lights, maybe it was the condescending way the Narrator spoke to him as he tried to guide Stanley into choosing things he didn’t want. Maybe it was the fact of this endless cycle, something he couldn’t even escape with death. He didn’t know, all he knew was that he needed it out of his system. So before he could think twice, Stanley punched the screen. The adrenaline dulled the sharp sting of the biting glass, and, blinded by rage, he didn’t see the way his knuckles split. The Narrator was speaking to him, but Stanley let the words slip one ear and out the other; he didn’t care. He wanted it all to just stop, just for a few minutes, he wanted control. Even if it took something like this to feel like he had a hold of his own life, Stanley wanted to feel, for once, that this was something he could hold in his hands and finally call it his choice.
It took several minutes for Stanley to calm down again, and by that point, the computer was almost unrecognizable. Stanley could see the insides of the machine, his eyes dancing over each wire and glimmer of metal. He panted softly, now all too aware of the stinging of glass in his hands. His eyes skimmed over the computer for a moment longer before dropping to his hands, studying the way blood covered the wounds, coating the small shards of glass that intruded his body. Emotions mixed inside him, guilt yet pride. He felt that even though he had control over what he just did… he didn’t. It twisted inside him, tugging at his heart and causing his stomach to lurch. Did he ever have control? Was this all already mapped out for him? Was anything his choice?
Silence passed over the office as Stanley quietly tried to pick out the glass from his hands. He knew that he needed to care for himself now; even if the next reset would heal his hands, he didn’t want to risk having glass stuck inside him. The fear of having something trapped under his skin loomed over him, and he had to shake his head to clear the thought.
“Stanley…” the Narrator’s voice cut into his thoughts, causing Stanley to jump just slightly. He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone. Ever. With a low grunt to signal that he was listening, Stanley waited for the Narrator to berate him. You ruined my story! Why do you insist on doing these things? Why can’t you just listen to me!
But it never came. There was another long drawl of silence, and Stanley could almost hear the Narrator mumbling under his breath, as if trying to decide what to say. As Stanley pulled out the last shards of glass, the Narrator seemed to find his voice again.
“As Stanley calmed down, he headed out of the office and to the bathroom. If he remembered correctly, there was a first aid kit under the sink that he could use to tend to the wounds,” even under the Narrator’s usual tone, Stanley could hear the faintest hint of concern. A wave of guilt washed over him; he wasn’t used to the Narrator sounding worried about him. He knew his erratic behavior had probably caused more of a disturbance than he had meant to. Heaving a quiet sigh, Stanley trudged out of the room and found his way to the bathroom. It wasn’t often that the Narrator would unlock the nearby bathroom door, but this was one of those rare occurrences where he felt inclined to.
As Stanley stepped into the bathroom, his shoes clicked against the hard tile below him, echoing off the walls. Stanley looked around for a lightswitch, but before he could find one, the lights clicked on by themselves. Likely, it was due to the Narrator, but then again there may just be motion sensors. Stanley shook the thought away; it wasn’t important. He stepped to the counter and knelt down, opening the cabinet and grabbing the first aid kit that the Narrator had previously mentioned. Stanley didn’t bother standing back up as he cleaned the cuts and scrapes in silence, only occasionally letting out a hiss of pain slip past his lips. The Narrator didn’t speak either; they both sat in silence as Stanley bandaged his hands, a certain tension in the air. Stanley tried to keep his mind from wandering as he put the kit away, hoping that the Narrator didn’t bring this up later on. He honestly didn’t know what came over him, and he didn’t really want to know. He just wanted to pretend it never happened in the first place.
He wanted all evidence gone. Sure, after the reset, everything would probably be cleaned up again, but Stanley still felt a level of responsibility for the mess he created. So, after the kit was put away, Stanley stepped out of the bathroom and backtracked to the main office. But as he continued down the hall, he noticed the walk back seemed longer than the walk down had. Maybe the Narrator was trying to get him back on track by changing things around? Pushing away the twinge of unease that settled inside him, Stanley continued to the office. He didn’t like how quiet everything was; even the hum of the lights, the drone of the computers–it was all silent.
As Stanley stepped into the main office, he was met with a strange scene. The layout was completely different now; the office had only one cubicle now, sitting right where the previously broken one was. It seemed to be the same computer, but there was no sign of damage; even stranger, the computer seemed to be running. A wave of deja vu washed over him as he tentatively stepped closer to the computer. What was he supposed to do? Break it again? Press more buttons? Maybe he should just ignore it and go on with the story. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling as he waited for any form of instructions from the Narrator, but he said nothing. Odd, he was usually so talkative. Stanley drew a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly breathing out to steady his mind. Surely this was all a part of the Narrator’s game; this was fine, he just had to follow the story. If worse came to worst, everything would reset and he’d be back in his office again, with everything back to normal.
Stanley slowly trailed his fingers across the screen, still feeling a bit baffled that the previously smashed screen was brand new now, despite no reset. His hand shifted down to the keyboard, clicking once on the space bar, just to see if anything happened. The screen flashed a bright blue before sputtering to black, with a single message left in white: “Follow the green line.”
Green line? What green line? Stanley thought, looking across the walls and over the ceiling; even the floor was barren. But as his eyes trailed around, a flicker of bright color caught his attention. There, in the hall, was the start of a green trail heading straight down the hallway.
Oh great, was this another Adventure Line? Stanley let out a humorless laugh as he crossed his arms and looked up once more, expecting some type of commentary. But still, the Narrator didn’t speak. So, with nothing better to do, Stanley walked to the hall and let his eyes follow the green line below him. Okay, maybe this wasn’t THE Adventure Line, but it sure did seem very similar, besides the fact that this line seemed to stay on the ground, taking the shortest route to its destination. Curiosity overrode the nervousness as Stanley slowly began to follow the line.
He had been through so many endings, many of them multiple times; Stanley couldn’t remember the last time there was a new ending. But this? This surely meant something new, something better perhaps. Maybe the Narrator had made something up out of pity for the previous situation, though Stanley didn’t care how this came about. He was just happy to have something to distract himself with. One hand came up to brush across the wall as he followed the line out of the hall.
“Stanley, this is it! This line is the answer to all our problems!” The Narrator’s voice has returned, warm and excited. A smile crept onto his face at the sound of the Narrator’s excitement, glad to see that everything was okay, and that he hadn’t ruined anything.
Answer to all our problems? Stanley couldn’t help but wonder what the Narrator meant by that, but he didn’t bother asking any questions. He wanted to know where the line led. Excitement rushed through him, and Stanley stumbled over his feet a few times as his pace quickened. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of freedom and possibility. For once, he wasn’t trapped in the same routine, the same paths, the same endings. It was like a whole new world opened up before him.
But at the same time, Stanley couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Why was the Narrator so eager to follow this line? He hated the Adventure Line, so why was this one so different to him? What was the Narrator’s end goal in this all? Stanley didn’t make it obvious that he had grown suspicious of the Narrator’s motives, but he made a mental note to keep his guard up. He had learned the hard way that nothing in this world was truly ever predictable.
As the line continued ahead, Stanley’s pace began to slow a little. The line led him to a staircase. This wasn’t any of the usual staircases he had seen before; Stanley noticed now that he had zoned out while he followed the line. He hardly had any idea how he had gotten where he was. But there wasn’t any going back; the door behind him had shut, and the only way forward was up the stairs. So, slowly, Stanley began to ascend the spiral staircase. The white marble stairs seemed brand new, as if it had never been touched before.
“Hurry, Stanley, you wouldn’t want to miss what I have planned!” Stanley could hear the rising excitement in the Narrator’s voice, but this time it seemed different. Something about his tone sent a shiver down Stanley’s spine. But surely it was just the rising adventure; surely Stanley was just imagining it all.
As he came to the top of the stairs, Stanley found himself in a large room with a glass ceiling, allowing sunlight to flood the room. The room was empty minus a podium with a single red button. There were no labels, no notes; nothing except the button. Stanley slowly stepped to the button, impulsively wanting to press the button. But he knew better than to press just any button he came upon. His eyes trailed up to the skylight, wondering if the Narrator was still with him. He gave a questioning look back to the button, his head cocking to the side in curiosity. He didn’t move, waiting for the Narrator to explain the button in front of him.
“Careful Stanley, that button connects to the Mind Control Facility. If you press that, it will activate the facility. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” The Narrator’s words held an undertone of warning, but for some reason, Stanley couldn’t bring himself to believe him. This? This button connected to the Mind Control Facility? Then why was it all the way up here? That just seemed inconvenient to him, and quite frankly very odd. He had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, the Narrator was lying to him. What if this button led him to a different ending; a better ending?
Stanley let his fingers dance across the button, tracing over its smooth, cool surface. He knew exactly what the facility buttons looked like, and this large red button looked nothing like them. It was possible that this button connected to the machine, but he doubted it. But still, he hesitated, not yet pressing the button. What if the Narrator was telling the truth, and he just made a fool of himself?
With a soft sigh, Stanley shook his head and stepped away from the button. It wasn’t worth the risk to him; besides, the green line seemed to turn and lead him out the back of the room anyways. Seeing that Stanley had complied, the Narrator continued to speak.
“Good. Following the green line once again, Stanley left the button behind and continued on his adventure,” and Stanley did, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He hadn’t realized until just now how long it had gotten; despite the resets, the length of his hair never did reset. Every now and then, he’d have to take a pair of scissors from his desk and touch up on it himself.
The green line led Stanley across the room to an old wooden door. The white paint was scratched, revealing the tanned undertone. Stanley lifted his hand cautiously to trail his fingers over the scratches; they seemed rather deep, as if they were from something other than a simple bump or whatever may cause a usual scuff. They seemed nearly deliberate. He wondered what had caused them, but before he could think too much about it, the door opened inward to reveal the next room. At first, it was dark–too dark to see. But as Stanley walked in, large, overhead lights clicked on.
Screens adorned the walls, raising up nearly as far as his eyes could see. As he walked down the familiar pathway, his eyes met two buttons connected to a machine; Stanley knew this place like the back of his hand. The Mind Control Facility. But why had he been brought here? Was it to show that the button really did connect to the machine like the Narrator had said? And how had he gotten here in the first place? Last time he checked, the facility wasn’t upstairs, and it definitely didn’t have a second entrance like this. Stanley was, to put it simply, baffled. He couldn’t understand why he was here, and he couldn’t understand exactly what the Narrator had expected of him. His brows knitted together, and Stanley tossed a questioning look up at the ceiling, a silent, “What do you expect me to do?” The Narrator didn’t need words to know what Stanley was asking. With a low, sinister chuckle, he spoke.
“I want you to obey, Stanley. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you. But I know how you are, you and that rebellious spirit. That’s why I brought you here; to teach you a lesson, Stanley. To show you who really holds the power,”
The coldness in his tone had Stanley shivering ever so faintly, but internally he blamed it on the sudden blast of cool air as he heard a fan click on. Odd; he never remembered the facility having an air unit. But that was the least of his concerns now. The Narrator seemed to want something from him, and he couldn’t exactly figure out what. Sure, he wanted Stanley to obey him, to follow along to his script. But then, why had he brought Stanley here of all places?
As if reading Stanley’s mind, the Narrator spoke in a demented once again. “It’s simple from here; all you have to do is press that button over there.” His tone was cold and calculated, tugging at Stanley’s emotions in some twisted way. A podium rose from the floor to the left of his body, the only thing on its surface a little green button. It wasn’t common for him to feel fear sweep over him like this; no, he was so used to the ability of resets that he didn’t fear anything, even death was no match for him. But something felt different. Deep in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Narrator had made this a real life or death situation. If he didn’t listen to the Narrator now, would he ever return?
The button glowed a sickly green. Stanley almost felt as if it were taunting him, mocking his foolish choices. If he had listened to the Narrator’s instructions more, would he be in the situation he was in now? Was this all payback for Stanley breaking that computer, for derailing the Narrator’s story? Stanley’s hand shook as he rose it to hover over the button, his heart beating faster in his chest. He didn’t like this–he didn’t like this at all.
“What does this button do?” Stanley asked cautiously, his words guarded as he tried to keep an apathetic tone. He didn’t want the Narrator to hear the waver in his words, but the flicker of fear in his dark brown eyes was clear as day. It wasn’t often he spoke, either; most conversations between him and the Narrator consisted of facial expressions or signing; typically, in a situation like this, Stanley would have chosen signing over speech, but his hands were shaking too much for his liking.
“Do you really want to know what that button does, Stanley? Don’t you think it would be easier to just listen to what I tell you to do, instead of questioning it? Personally, I think it may be easier to press that button if you don’t know what it does. You’ve done that plenty of times before, have you not? Rushed into decisions before I can explain a situation to you? Surely this can’t be any different, now can it? Come on, this isn’t the impulsive Stanley I know,”
The room was quiet for a few moments, save for the faint hum of the machinery around him. Uneasiness twisted in Stanley’s gut; god, he almost felt nauseous. Maybe he would be better off not knowing, but he just had to. It would kill him inside otherwise. Silent, Stanley nodded.
“Well, if you insist, Stanley; that button there activates a fail-safe for me. The facility would never fall into the wrong hands again. I would never have to worry about you going off course again. That button will activate the mind control facility, and from there it will never shut off again,”
And there it was again, another wave of nauseous dread. Surely the Narrator was joking; this had to all be some sort of twisted joke. He wasn’t really going to take away Stanley’s freedom like this, was he? He shook his head slowly in disbelief, stepping away from the button. He couldn’t bring himself to press it. Above him, the Narrator scoffed, his voice condescending as he spoke slowly.
“Stanley, do you really think you have a choice in this matter? You’re just a pawn, a mere puppet in my game. You’ll press that button whether you like it or not, because you–”
The Narrator didn’t get to finish his sentence before Stanley shifted himself over to the other buttons and slammed his hand down on the one labeled “on”. He knew this button would set off the self-destruct sequence, and that he’d die, but if resetting this game was what it took to keep him in his own mind, so be it.
But as his hand hit the button, a jolt of electricity shot up his arms, and he stumbled back in shock. Something was wrong–that had never happened before. Had the Narrator predicted this was how Stanley would respond? Had he changed the game just to get his way? A sudden flash of bright light blinded Stanley; it seemed to be coming from every direction. No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t escape it. His hands came up to shield his eyes as best as he could manage, trying to block out the flashing white light. The floor shook, accompanied by the deafening sounds of destruction that echoed through the facility. It sounded like everything was being torn apart; whatever this was, he hadn’t experienced it before. Uncertainty ate at his heart as Stanley attempted to blindly stumble back down the path that he came from.“All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo,” He had heard those words time and time again, the overhead, disembodied voice had become a normal part of his quotidian schedule. The quiet, monotonous drone of the lights overhead and the low hum of still running computers provided the only sound in the room outside of his office, minus the shuffling of Stanley’s shoes against the floor as he drug himself into yet another day of choices.
For a few moments, Stanley was still, mind absently filtering through thoughts. HIs coworkers were gone–as always. He honestly couldn’t remember if he ever had coworkers, or if he did, that he had ever seen them. A few flickering images popped into his mind of disfigured people with blurred faces, as if a memory was trying to surface, but there was a miscommunication in his mind, distorting the people he thought that he knew. Maybe he never knew anyone at all; maybe his mind was only trying to give some type of answer to something unexplainable.
“Stanley stood for a long time in one spot. It’s part of a game. He likes to see how long he can go without dying. So far he’s doing excellent, and if he just stays right where he is, I’m sure he’ll keep up that good momentum. Let’s observe the genius at work,” the Narrator’s voice pulled Stanley out of his thoughts, returning him to the world that he knew so well. Or so he thought he knew, at least; as Stanley looked around, he couldn’t help but feel something had changed, though he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. Something simply felt… different. Some subtle change that threw him into a sense of uneasiness. The once familiar surroundings of the office building made him feel alienated.
Stanley lingered in his spot a while longer; he knew the Narrator to add new things into the runs now and then, just to change things up enough to keep Stanley interested, but he was used to the Narrator simply mentioning something new so that Stanley could easily take note of it. But this didn’t seem to be the case today. He knew that if he didn’t figure it out, the Narrator would probably reset this all and remove whatever had been changed; it would kill Stanley not to know what was different. So, seeing no other options, Stanley approached one of the computers and began tapping on the keyboard. There was no real method to his madness, he simply wanted to see if anything changed. He had pressed every button on every keyboard in all the time he had been here, so he knew what usually happened–a lot of nothing. But if something was different…
“Stanley went around touching every little thing in the office, but it didn’t make a single difference, nor did it advance the story in any way.” Stanley shot a glare up to the ceiling, where he always imagined the Narrator was looking down on him from, a little short of a god. He knew the Narrator was trying to get him to follow the usual path, as always. But Stanley was determined to figure this out, whether he got help from the Narrator or not. Continuing to press buttons, the Narrator’s voice intruded his mind once again.
“Stanley seemed intent on pressing each and every key on the keyboard in front of him, despite there being no change whatsoever. The computer wasn’t even on,” the slight taunting in the Narrator’s tone brushed Stanley the wrong way; he was used to the subtle deriding whenever he went off the Narrator’s storyline, but it never failed to agitate him. With another quick glare up at the ceiling, Stanley grabbed the desk chair and pulled it out just enough for him to slip into the seat, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips as he heard the faint sigh of contempt from the Narrator.
He picked up the keyboard once he had settled comfortably in the seat, turning it over in his hands. Maybe there was some sort of passcode to the computer, or a key to one of the many doors down the hall that he hadn’t opened. Stanley picked and prodded at keys and tugged on the cord that was attached to the computer, but still nothing happened.
“Stanley poked and prodded at the keyboard, but it was useless. The keyboard was just a keyboard, nothing more. Stanley decided this was all a waste of his time, and decided to head to his boss’s office,”
But Stanley made no move to leave, continuing instead to turn the keyboard over and over again. He tried turning the computer on, and was met with a low hum before the machine cut back off. Broken, most likely; how convenient.
“Stanley, I promise you, there’s nothing interesting about that keyboard. Why do you insist on doing this? That keyboard is just a keyboard attached to a broken computer, there is literally nothing that it can do!” agitation laced the Narrator’s words, however faintly. This was Stanley’s favorite part; being able to poke fun at the Narrator, knowing he had little to no power in moments like these. With a smile of feigned innocence, Stanley held up the keyboard and looked to the ceiling, like a child showing off a prized picture to a parent.
“Why are you showing that to me, Stanley? I know what a keyboard is, unlike some people,” Stanley scoffed and lowered the keyboard, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. He knew what a keyboard was too; it was some type of bucket… right? Whatever, it didn’t matter to Stanley. He wasn’t trying to figure out what was and wasn’t a bucket, he was trying to figure out why the room seemed different. His eyes flicked back down to the keyboard and his brows furrowed slightly. Agitation prickled inside him as he failed to comprehend what could possibly have changed. Maybe this computer wasn’t it; maybe it was a different computer. But he really didn’t want to deal with every computer in the room–that would take more time than it felt worth.
Stanley stood from the seat, knocking the chair over from how quickly he got up. The keyboard was still in his hand as he stood, his fingers gripping onto the plastic until dull pain resonated under his skin.
“Finally, are you ready to continue the story, Stanley?” the Narrator seemed a little more pleased now that Stanley was out of the chair. But Stanley was far from ready to leave. His jaw clenched, Stanley pulled the keyboard to the side of his body, twisting back before he swung forwards. The corner of the keyboard crashed into the screen in front of him, the glass of the computer shattering upon impact. A sharp gasp from the Narrator caused Stanley to look up, his eyes dark with something indiscernible. Without looking away, Stanley yanked the cord of the keyboard from the computer before throwing the keyboard across the room. Only once he heard it crash into the opposite did Stanley look back to the shattered screen. He balled his hands into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms as he pulled his arm back, eyes fixed on the broken computer screen.
“Stanley, don’t–” but the Narrator’s voice just agitated him more. In all honesty, Stanley didn’t know why he was so mad in the first place; maybe it was the constant droning of the overhead lights, maybe it was the condescending way the Narrator spoke to him as he tried to guide Stanley into choosing things he didn’t want. Maybe it was the fact of this endless cycle, something he couldn’t even escape with death. He didn’t know, all he knew was that he needed it out of his system. So before he could think twice, Stanley punched the screen. The adrenaline dulled the sharp sting of the biting glass, and, blinded by rage, he didn’t see the way his knuckles split. The Narrator was speaking to him, but Stanley let the words slip one ear and out the other; he didn’t care. He wanted it all to just stop, just for a few minutes, he wanted control. Even if it took something like this to feel like he had a hold of his own life, Stanley wanted to feel, for once, that this was something he could hold in his hands and finally call it his choice.
It took several minutes for Stanley to calm down again, and by that point, the computer was almost unrecognizable. Stanley could see the insides of the machine, his eyes dancing over each wire and glimmer of metal. He panted softly, now all too aware of the stinging of glass in his hands. His eyes skimmed over the computer for a moment longer before dropping to his hands, studying the way blood covered the wounds, coating the small shards of glass that intruded his body. Emotions mixed inside him, guilt yet pride. He felt that even though he had control over what he just did… he didn’t. It twisted inside him, tugging at his heart and causing his stomach to lurch. Did he ever have control? Was this all already mapped out for him? Was anything his choice?
Silence passed over the office as Stanley quietly tried to pick out the glass from his hands. He knew that he needed to care for himself now; even if the next reset would heal his hands, he didn’t want to risk having glass stuck inside him. The fear of having something trapped under his skin loomed over him, and he had to shake his head to clear the thought.
“Stanley…” the Narrator’s voice cut into his thoughts, causing Stanley to jump just slightly. He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone. Ever. With a low grunt to signal that he was listening, Stanley waited for the Narrator to berate him. You ruined my story! Why do you insist on doing these things? Why can’t you just listen to me!
But it never came. There was another long drawl of silence, and Stanley could almost hear the Narrator mumbling under his breath, as if trying to decide what to say. As Stanley pulled out the last shards of glass, the Narrator seemed to find his voice again.
“As Stanley calmed down, he headed out of the office and to the bathroom. If he remembered correctly, there was a first aid kit under the sink that he could use to tend to the wounds,” even under the Narrator’s usual tone, Stanley could hear the faintest hint of concern. A wave of guilt washed over him; he wasn’t used to the Narrator sounding worried about him. He knew his erratic behavior had probably caused more of a disturbance than he had meant to. Heaving a quiet sigh, Stanley trudged out of the room and found his way to the bathroom. It wasn’t often that the Narrator would unlock the nearby bathroom door, but this was one of those rare occurrences where he felt inclined to.
As Stanley stepped into the bathroom, his shoes clicked against the hard tile below him, echoing off the walls. Stanley looked around for a lightswitch, but before he could find one, the lights clicked on by themselves. Likely, it was due to the Narrator, but then again there may just be motion sensors. Stanley shook the thought away; it wasn’t important. He stepped to the counter and knelt down, opening the cabinet and grabbing the first aid kit that the Narrator had previously mentioned. Stanley didn’t bother standing back up as he cleaned the cuts and scrapes in silence, only occasionally letting out a hiss of pain slip past his lips. The Narrator didn’t speak either; they both sat in silence as Stanley bandaged his hands, a certain tension in the air. Stanley tried to keep his mind from wandering as he put the kit away, hoping that the Narrator didn’t bring this up later on. He honestly didn’t know what came over him, and he didn’t really want to know. He just wanted to pretend it never happened in the first place.
He wanted all evidence gone. Sure, after the reset, everything would probably be cleaned up again, but Stanley still felt a level of responsibility for the mess he created. So, after the kit was put away, Stanley stepped out of the bathroom and backtracked to the main office. But as he continued down the hall, he noticed the walk back seemed longer than the walk down had. Maybe the Narrator was trying to get him back on track by changing things around? Pushing away the twinge of unease that settled inside him, Stanley continued to the office. He didn’t like how quiet everything was; even the hum of the lights, the drone of the computers–it was all silent.
As Stanley stepped into the main office, he was met with a strange scene. The layout was completely different now; the office had only one cubicle now, sitting right where the previously broken one was. It seemed to be the same computer, but there was no sign of damage; even stranger, the computer seemed to be running. A wave of deja vu washed over him as he tentatively stepped closer to the computer. What was he supposed to do? Break it again? Press more buttons? Maybe he should just ignore it and go on with the story. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling as he waited for any form of instructions from the Narrator, but he said nothing. Odd, he was usually so talkative. Stanley drew a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly breathing out to steady his mind. Surely this was all a part of the Narrator’s game; this was fine, he just had to follow the story. If worse came to worst, everything would reset and he’d be back in his office again, with everything back to normal.
Stanley slowly trailed his fingers across the screen, still feeling a bit baffled that the previously smashed screen was brand new now, despite no reset. His hand shifted down to the keyboard, clicking once on the space bar, just to see if anything happened. The screen flashed a bright blue before sputtering to black, with a single message left in white: “Follow the green line.”
Green line? What green line? Stanley thought, looking across the walls and over the ceiling; even the floor was barren. But as his eyes trailed around, a flicker of bright color caught his attention. There, in the hall, was the start of a green trail heading straight down the hallway.
Oh great, was this another Adventure Line? Stanley let out a humorless laugh as he crossed his arms and looked up once more, expecting some type of commentary. But still, the Narrator didn’t speak. So, with nothing better to do, Stanley walked to the hall and let his eyes follow the green line below him. Okay, maybe this wasn’t THE Adventure Line, but it sure did seem very similar, besides the fact that this line seemed to stay on the ground, taking the shortest route to its destination. Curiosity overrode the nervousness as Stanley slowly began to follow the line.
He had been through so many endings, many of them multiple times; Stanley couldn’t remember the last time there was a new ending. But this? This surely meant something new, something better perhaps. Maybe the Narrator had made something up out of pity for the previous situation, though Stanley didn’t care how this came about. He was just happy to have something to distract himself with. One hand came up to brush across the wall as he followed the line out of the hall.
“Stanley, this is it! This line is the answer to all our problems!” The Narrator’s voice has returned, warm and excited. A smile crept onto his face at the sound of the Narrator’s excitement, glad to see that everything was okay, and that he hadn’t ruined anything.
Answer to all our problems? Stanley couldn’t help but wonder what the Narrator meant by that, but he didn’t bother asking any questions. He wanted to know where the line led. Excitement rushed through him, and Stanley stumbled over his feet a few times as his pace quickened. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of freedom and possibility. For once, he wasn’t trapped in the same routine, the same paths, the same endings. It was like a whole new world opened up before him.
But at the same time, Stanley couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Why was the Narrator so eager to follow this line? He hated the Adventure Line, so why was this one so different to him? What was the Narrator’s end goal in this all? Stanley didn’t make it obvious that he had grown suspicious of the Narrator’s motives, but he made a mental note to keep his guard up. He had learned the hard way that nothing in this world was truly ever predictable.
As the line continued ahead, Stanley’s pace began to slow a little. The line led him to a staircase. This wasn’t any of the usual staircases he had seen before; Stanley noticed now that he had zoned out while he followed the line. He hardly had any idea how he had gotten where he was. But there wasn’t any going back; the door behind him had shut, and the only way forward was up the stairs. So, slowly, Stanley began to ascend the spiral staircase. The white marble stairs seemed brand new, as if it had never been touched before.
“Hurry, Stanley, you wouldn’t want to miss what I have planned!” Stanley could hear the rising excitement in the Narrator’s voice, but this time it seemed different. Something about his tone sent a shiver down Stanley’s spine. But surely it was just the rising adventure; surely Stanley was just imagining it all.
As he came to the top of the stairs, Stanley found himself in a large room with a glass ceiling, allowing sunlight to flood the room. The room was empty minus a podium with a single red button. There were no labels, no notes; nothing except the button. Stanley slowly stepped to the button, impulsively wanting to press the button. But he knew better than to press just any button he came upon. His eyes trailed up to the skylight, wondering if the Narrator was still with him. He gave a questioning look back to the button, his head cocking to the side in curiosity. He didn’t move, waiting for the Narrator to explain the button in front of him.
“Careful Stanley, that button connects to the Mind Control Facility. If you press that, it will activate the facility. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” The Narrator’s words held an undertone of warning, but for some reason, Stanley couldn’t bring himself to believe him. This? This button connected to the Mind Control Facility? Then why was it all the way up here? That just seemed inconvenient to him, and quite frankly very odd. He had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, the Narrator was lying to him. What if this button led him to a different ending; a better ending?
Stanley let his fingers dance across the button, tracing over its smooth, cool surface. He knew exactly what the facility buttons looked like, and this large red button looked nothing like them. It was possible that this button connected to the machine, but he doubted it. But still, he hesitated, not yet pressing the button. What if the Narrator was telling the truth, and he just made a fool of himself?
With a soft sigh, Stanley shook his head and stepped away from the button. It wasn’t worth the risk to him; besides, the green line seemed to turn and lead him out the back of the room anyways. Seeing that Stanley had complied, the Narrator continued to speak.
“Good. Following the green line once again, Stanley left the button behind and continued on his adventure,” and Stanley did, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He hadn’t realized until just now how long it had gotten; despite the resets, the length of his hair never did reset. Every now and then, he’d have to take a pair of scissors from his desk and touch up on it himself.
The green line led Stanley across the room to an old wooden door. The white paint was scratched, revealing the tanned undertone. Stanley lifted his hand cautiously to trail his fingers over the scratches; they seemed rather deep, as if they were from something other than a simple bump or whatever may cause a usual scuff. They seemed nearly deliberate. He wondered what had caused them, but before he could think too much about it, the door opened inward to reveal the next room. At first, it was dark–too dark to see. But as Stanley walked in, large, overhead lights clicked on.
Screens adorned the walls, raising up nearly as far as his eyes could see. As he walked down the familiar pathway, his eyes met two buttons connected to a machine; Stanley knew this place like the back of his hand. The Mind Control Facility. But why had he been brought here? Was it to show that the button really did connect to the machine like the Narrator had said? And how had he gotten here in the first place? Last time he checked, the facility wasn’t upstairs, and it definitely didn’t have a second entrance like this. Stanley was, to put it simply, baffled. He couldn’t understand why he was here, and he couldn’t understand exactly what the Narrator had expected of him. His brows knitted together, and Stanley tossed a questioning look up at the ceiling, a silent, “What do you expect me to do?” The Narrator didn’t need words to know what Stanley was asking. With a low, sinister chuckle, he spoke.
“I want you to obey, Stanley. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you. But I know how you are, you and that rebellious spirit. That’s why I brought you here; to teach you a lesson, Stanley. To show you who really holds the power,”
The coldness in his tone had Stanley shivering ever so faintly, but internally he blamed it on the sudden blast of cool air as he heard a fan click on. Odd; he never remembered the facility having an air unit. But that was the least of his concerns now. The Narrator seemed to want something from him, and he couldn’t exactly figure out what. Sure, he wanted Stanley to obey him, to follow along to his script. But then, why had he brought Stanley here of all places?
As if reading Stanley’s mind, the Narrator spoke in a demented once again. “It’s simple from here; all you have to do is press that button over there.” His tone was cold and calculated, tugging at Stanley’s emotions in some twisted way. A podium rose from the floor to the left of his body, the only thing on its surface a little green button. It wasn’t common for him to feel fear sweep over him like this; no, he was so used to the ability of resets that he didn’t fear anything, even death was no match for him. But something felt different. Deep in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Narrator had made this a real life or death situation. If he didn’t listen to the Narrator now, would he ever return?
The button glowed a sickly green. Stanley almost felt as if it were taunting him, mocking his foolish choices. If he had listened to the Narrator’s instructions more, would he be in the situation he was in now? Was this all payback for Stanley breaking that computer, for derailing the Narrator’s story? Stanley’s hand shook as he rose it to hover over the button, his heart beating faster in his chest. He didn’t like this–he didn’t like this at all.
“What does this button do?” Stanley asked cautiously, his words guarded as he tried to keep an apathetic tone. He didn’t want the Narrator to hear the waver in his words, but the flicker of fear in his dark brown eyes was clear as day. It wasn’t often he spoke, either; most conversations between him and the Narrator consisted of facial expressions or signing; typically, in a situation like this, Stanley would have chosen signing over speech, but his hands were shaking too much for his liking.
“Do you really want to know what that button does, Stanley? Don’t you think it would be easier to just listen to what I tell you to do, instead of questioning it? Personally, I think it may be easier to press that button if you don’t know what it does. You’ve done that plenty of times before, have you not? Rushed into decisions before I can explain a situation to you? Surely this can’t be any different, now can it? Come on, this isn’t the impulsive Stanley I know,”
The room was quiet for a few moments, save for the faint hum of the machinery around him. Uneasiness twisted in Stanley’s gut; god, he almost felt nauseous. Maybe he would be better off not knowing, but he just had to. It would kill him inside otherwise. Silent, Stanley nodded.
“Well, if you insist, Stanley; that button there activates a fail-safe for me. The facility would never fall into the wrong hands again. I would never have to worry about you going off course again. That button will activate the mind control facility, and from there it will never shut off again,”
And there it was again, another wave of nauseous dread. Surely the Narrator was joking; this had to all be some sort of twisted joke. He wasn’t really going to take away Stanley’s freedom like this, was he? He shook his head slowly in disbelief, stepping away from the button. He couldn’t bring himself to press it. Above him, the Narrator scoffed, his voice condescending as he spoke slowly.
“Stanley, do you really think you have a choice in this matter? You’re just a pawn, a mere puppet in my game. You’ll press that button whether you like it or not, because you–”
The Narrator didn’t get to finish his sentence before Stanley shifted himself over to the other buttons and slammed his hand down on the one labeled “on”. He knew this button would set off the self-destruct sequence, and that he’d die, but if resetting this game was what it took to keep him in his own mind, so be it.
But as his hand hit the button, a jolt of electricity shot up his arms, and he stumbled back in shock. Something was wrong–that had never happened before. Had the Narrator predicted this was how Stanley would respond? Had he changed the game just to get his way? A sudden flash of bright light blinded Stanley; it seemed to be coming from every direction. No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t escape it. His hands came up to shield his eyes as best as he could manage, trying to block out the flashing white light. The floor shook, accompanied by the deafening sounds of destruction that echoed through the facility. It sounded like everything was being torn apart; whatever this was, he hadn’t experienced it before. Uncertainty ate at his heart as Stanley attempted to blindly stumble back down the path that he came from.“All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo,” He had heard those words time and time again, the overhead, disembodied voice had become a normal part of his quotidian schedule. The quiet, monotonous drone of the lights overhead and the low hum of still running computers provided the only sound in the room outside of his office, minus the shuffling of Stanley’s shoes against the floor as he drug himself into yet another day of choices.
For a few moments, Stanley was still, mind absently filtering through thoughts. HIs coworkers were gone–as always. He honestly couldn’t remember if he ever had coworkers, or if he did, that he had ever seen them. A few flickering images popped into his mind of disfigured people with blurred faces, as if a memory was trying to surface, but there was a miscommunication in his mind, distorting the people he thought that he knew. Maybe he never knew anyone at all; maybe his mind was only trying to give some type of answer to something unexplainable.
“Stanley stood for a long time in one spot. It’s part of a game. He likes to see how long he can go without dying. So far he’s doing excellent, and if he just stays right where he is, I’m sure he’ll keep up that good momentum. Let’s observe the genius at work,” the Narrator’s voice pulled Stanley out of his thoughts, returning him to the world that he knew so well. Or so he thought he knew, at least; as Stanley looked around, he couldn’t help but feel something had changed, though he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. Something simply felt… different. Some subtle change that threw him into a sense of uneasiness. The once familiar surroundings of the office building made him feel alienated.
Stanley lingered in his spot a while longer; he knew the Narrator to add new things into the runs now and then, just to change things up enough to keep Stanley interested, but he was used to the Narrator simply mentioning something new so that Stanley could easily take note of it. But this didn’t seem to be the case today. He knew that if he didn’t figure it out, the Narrator would probably reset this all and remove whatever had been changed; it would kill Stanley not to know what was different. So, seeing no other options, Stanley approached one of the computers and began tapping on the keyboard. There was no real method to his madness, he simply wanted to see if anything changed. He had pressed every button on every keyboard in all the time he had been here, so he knew what usually happened–a lot of nothing. But if something was different…
“Stanley went around touching every little thing in the office, but it didn’t make a single difference, nor did it advance the story in any way.” Stanley shot a glare up to the ceiling, where he always imagined the Narrator was looking down on him from, a little short of a god. He knew the Narrator was trying to get him to follow the usual path, as always. But Stanley was determined to figure this out, whether he got help from the Narrator or not. Continuing to press buttons, the Narrator’s voice intruded his mind once again.
“Stanley seemed intent on pressing each and every key on the keyboard in front of him, despite there being no change whatsoever. The computer wasn’t even on,” the slight taunting in the Narrator’s tone brushed Stanley the wrong way; he was used to the subtle deriding whenever he went off the Narrator’s storyline, but it never failed to agitate him. With another quick glare up at the ceiling, Stanley grabbed the desk chair and pulled it out just enough for him to slip into the seat, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips as he heard the faint sigh of contempt from the Narrator.
He picked up the keyboard once he had settled comfortably in the seat, turning it over in his hands. Maybe there was some sort of passcode to the computer, or a key to one of the many doors down the hall that he hadn’t opened. Stanley picked and prodded at keys and tugged on the cord that was attached to the computer, but still nothing happened.
“Stanley poked and prodded at the keyboard, but it was useless. The keyboard was just a keyboard, nothing more. Stanley decided this was all a waste of his time, and decided to head to his boss’s office,”
But Stanley made no move to leave, continuing instead to turn the keyboard over and over again. He tried turning the computer on, and was met with a low hum before the machine cut back off. Broken, most likely; how convenient.
“Stanley, I promise you, there’s nothing interesting about that keyboard. Why do you insist on doing this? That keyboard is just a keyboard attached to a broken computer, there is literally nothing that it can do!” agitation laced the Narrator’s words, however faintly. This was Stanley’s favorite part; being able to poke fun at the Narrator, knowing he had little to no power in moments like these. With a smile of feigned innocence, Stanley held up the keyboard and looked to the ceiling, like a child showing off a prized picture to a parent.
“Why are you showing that to me, Stanley? I know what a keyboard is, unlike some people,” Stanley scoffed and lowered the keyboard, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. He knew what a keyboard was too; it was some type of bucket… right? Whatever, it didn’t matter to Stanley. He wasn’t trying to figure out what was and wasn’t a bucket, he was trying to figure out why the room seemed different. His eyes flicked back down to the keyboard and his brows furrowed slightly. Agitation prickled inside him as he failed to comprehend what could possibly have changed. Maybe this computer wasn’t it; maybe it was a different computer. But he really didn’t want to deal with every computer in the room–that would take more time than it felt worth.
Stanley stood from the seat, knocking the chair over from how quickly he got up. The keyboard was still in his hand as he stood, his fingers gripping onto the plastic until dull pain resonated under his skin.
“Finally, are you ready to continue the story, Stanley?” the Narrator seemed a little more pleased now that Stanley was out of the chair. But Stanley was far from ready to leave. His jaw clenched, Stanley pulled the keyboard to the side of his body, twisting back before he swung forwards. The corner of the keyboard crashed into the screen in front of him, the glass of the computer shattering upon impact. A sharp gasp from the Narrator caused Stanley to look up, his eyes dark with something indiscernible. Without looking away, Stanley yanked the cord of the keyboard from the computer before throwing the keyboard across the room. Only once he heard it crash into the opposite did Stanley look back to the shattered screen. He balled his hands into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms as he pulled his arm back, eyes fixed on the broken computer screen.
“Stanley, don’t–” but the Narrator’s voice just agitated him more. In all honesty, Stanley didn’t know why he was so mad in the first place; maybe it was the constant droning of the overhead lights, maybe it was the condescending way the Narrator spoke to him as he tried to guide Stanley into choosing things he didn’t want. Maybe it was the fact of this endless cycle, something he couldn’t even escape with death. He didn’t know, all he knew was that he needed it out of his system. So before he could think twice, Stanley punched the screen. The adrenaline dulled the sharp sting of the biting glass, and, blinded by rage, he didn’t see the way his knuckles split. The Narrator was speaking to him, but Stanley let the words slip one ear and out the other; he didn’t care. He wanted it all to just stop, just for a few minutes, he wanted control. Even if it took something like this to feel like he had a hold of his own life, Stanley wanted to feel, for once, that this was something he could hold in his hands and finally call it his choice.
It took several minutes for Stanley to calm down again, and by that point, the computer was almost unrecognizable. Stanley could see the insides of the machine, his eyes dancing over each wire and glimmer of metal. He panted softly, now all too aware of the stinging of glass in his hands. His eyes skimmed over the computer for a moment longer before dropping to his hands, studying the way blood covered the wounds, coating the small shards of glass that intruded his body. Emotions mixed inside him, guilt yet pride. He felt that even though he had control over what he just did… he didn’t. It twisted inside him, tugging at his heart and causing his stomach to lurch. Did he ever have control? Was this all already mapped out for him? Was anything his choice?
Silence passed over the office as Stanley quietly tried to pick out the glass from his hands. He knew that he needed to care for himself now; even if the next reset would heal his hands, he didn’t want to risk having glass stuck inside him. The fear of having something trapped under his skin loomed over him, and he had to shake his head to clear the thought.
“Stanley…” the Narrator’s voice cut into his thoughts, causing Stanley to jump just slightly. He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone. Ever. With a low grunt to signal that he was listening, Stanley waited for the Narrator to berate him. You ruined my story! Why do you insist on doing these things? Why can’t you just listen to me!
But it never came. There was another long drawl of silence, and Stanley could almost hear the Narrator mumbling under his breath, as if trying to decide what to say. As Stanley pulled out the last shards of glass, the Narrator seemed to find his voice again.
“As Stanley calmed down, he headed out of the office and to the bathroom. If he remembered correctly, there was a first aid kit under the sink that he could use to tend to the wounds,” even under the Narrator’s usual tone, Stanley could hear the faintest hint of concern. A wave of guilt washed over him; he wasn’t used to the Narrator sounding worried about him. He knew his erratic behavior had probably caused more of a disturbance than he had meant to. Heaving a quiet sigh, Stanley trudged out of the room and found his way to the bathroom. It wasn’t often that the Narrator would unlock the nearby bathroom door, but this was one of those rare occurrences where he felt inclined to.
As Stanley stepped into the bathroom, his shoes clicked against the hard tile below him, echoing off the walls. Stanley looked around for a lightswitch, but before he could find one, the lights clicked on by themselves. Likely, it was due to the Narrator, but then again there may just be motion sensors. Stanley shook the thought away; it wasn’t important. He stepped to the counter and knelt down, opening the cabinet and grabbing the first aid kit that the Narrator had previously mentioned. Stanley didn’t bother standing back up as he cleaned the cuts and scrapes in silence, only occasionally letting out a hiss of pain slip past his lips. The Narrator didn’t speak either; they both sat in silence as Stanley bandaged his hands, a certain tension in the air. Stanley tried to keep his mind from wandering as he put the kit away, hoping that the Narrator didn’t bring this up later on. He honestly didn’t know what came over him, and he didn’t really want to know. He just wanted to pretend it never happened in the first place.
He wanted all evidence gone. Sure, after the reset, everything would probably be cleaned up again, but Stanley still felt a level of responsibility for the mess he created. So, after the kit was put away, Stanley stepped out of the bathroom and backtracked to the main office. But as he continued down the hall, he noticed the walk back seemed longer than the walk down had. Maybe the Narrator was trying to get him back on track by changing things around? Pushing away the twinge of unease that settled inside him, Stanley continued to the office. He didn’t like how quiet everything was; even the hum of the lights, the drone of the computers–it was all silent.
As Stanley stepped into the main office, he was met with a strange scene. The layout was completely different now; the office had only one cubicle now, sitting right where the previously broken one was. It seemed to be the same computer, but there was no sign of damage; even stranger, the computer seemed to be running. A wave of deja vu washed over him as he tentatively stepped closer to the computer. What was he supposed to do? Break it again? Press more buttons? Maybe he should just ignore it and go on with the story. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling as he waited for any form of instructions from the Narrator, but he said nothing. Odd, he was usually so talkative. Stanley drew a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly breathing out to steady his mind. Surely this was all a part of the Narrator’s game; this was fine, he just had to follow the story. If worse came to worst, everything would reset and he’d be back in his office again, with everything back to normal.
Stanley slowly trailed his fingers across the screen, still feeling a bit baffled that the previously smashed screen was brand new now, despite no reset. His hand shifted down to the keyboard, clicking once on the space bar, just to see if anything happened. The screen flashed a bright blue before sputtering to black, with a single message left in white: “Follow the green line.”
Green line? What green line? Stanley thought, looking across the walls and over the ceiling; even the floor was barren. But as his eyes trailed around, a flicker of bright color caught his attention. There, in the hall, was the start of a green trail heading straight down the hallway.
Oh great, was this another Adventure Line? Stanley let out a humorless laugh as he crossed his arms and looked up once more, expecting some type of commentary. But still, the Narrator didn’t speak. So, with nothing better to do, Stanley walked to the hall and let his eyes follow the green line below him. Okay, maybe this wasn’t THE Adventure Line, but it sure did seem very similar, besides the fact that this line seemed to stay on the ground, taking the shortest route to its destination. Curiosity overrode the nervousness as Stanley slowly began to follow the line.
He had been through so many endings, many of them multiple times; Stanley couldn’t remember the last time there was a new ending. But this? This surely meant something new, something better perhaps. Maybe the Narrator had made something up out of pity for the previous situation, though Stanley didn’t care how this came about. He was just happy to have something to distract himself with. One hand came up to brush across the wall as he followed the line out of the hall.
“Stanley, this is it! This line is the answer to all our problems!” The Narrator’s voice has returned, warm and excited. A smile crept onto his face at the sound of the Narrator’s excitement, glad to see that everything was okay, and that he hadn’t ruined anything.
Answer to all our problems? Stanley couldn’t help but wonder what the Narrator meant by that, but he didn’t bother asking any questions. He wanted to know where the line led. Excitement rushed through him, and Stanley stumbled over his feet a few times as his pace quickened. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of freedom and possibility. For once, he wasn’t trapped in the same routine, the same paths, the same endings. It was like a whole new world opened up before him.
But at the same time, Stanley couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Why was the Narrator so eager to follow this line? He hated the Adventure Line, so why was this one so different to him? What was the Narrator’s end goal in this all? Stanley didn’t make it obvious that he had grown suspicious of the Narrator’s motives, but he made a mental note to keep his guard up. He had learned the hard way that nothing in this world was truly ever predictable.
As the line continued ahead, Stanley’s pace began to slow a little. The line led him to a staircase. This wasn’t any of the usual staircases he had seen before; Stanley noticed now that he had zoned out while he followed the line. He hardly had any idea how he had gotten where he was. But there wasn’t any going back; the door behind him had shut, and the only way forward was up the stairs. So, slowly, Stanley began to ascend the spiral staircase. The white marble stairs seemed brand new, as if it had never been touched before.
“Hurry, Stanley, you wouldn’t want to miss what I have planned!” Stanley could hear the rising excitement in the Narrator’s voice, but this time it seemed different. Something about his tone sent a shiver down Stanley’s spine. But surely it was just the rising adventure; surely Stanley was just imagining it all.
As he came to the top of the stairs, Stanley found himself in a large room with a glass ceiling, allowing sunlight to flood the room. The room was empty minus a podium with a single red button. There were no labels, no notes; nothing except the button. Stanley slowly stepped to the button, impulsively wanting to press the button. But he knew better than to press just any button he came upon. His eyes trailed up to the skylight, wondering if the Narrator was still with him. He gave a questioning look back to the button, his head cocking to the side in curiosity. He didn’t move, waiting for the Narrator to explain the button in front of him.
“Careful Stanley, that button connects to the Mind Control Facility. If you press that, it will activate the facility. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” The Narrator’s words held an undertone of warning, but for some reason, Stanley couldn’t bring himself to believe him. This? This button connected to the Mind Control Facility? Then why was it all the way up here? That just seemed inconvenient to him, and quite frankly very odd. He had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, the Narrator was lying to him. What if this button led him to a different ending; a better ending?
Stanley let his fingers dance across the button, tracing over its smooth, cool surface. He knew exactly what the facility buttons looked like, and this large red button looked nothing like them. It was possible that this button connected to the machine, but he doubted it. But still, he hesitated, not yet pressing the button. What if the Narrator was telling the truth, and he just made a fool of himself?
With a soft sigh, Stanley shook his head and stepped away from the button. It wasn’t worth the risk to him; besides, the green line seemed to turn and lead him out the back of the room anyways. Seeing that Stanley had complied, the Narrator continued to speak.
“Good. Following the green line once again, Stanley left the button behind and continued on his adventure,” and Stanley did, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He hadn’t realized until just now how long it had gotten; despite the resets, the length of his hair never did reset. Every now and then, he’d have to take a pair of scissors from his desk and touch up on it himself.
The green line led Stanley across the room to an old wooden door. The white paint was scratched, revealing the tanned undertone. Stanley lifted his hand cautiously to trail his fingers over the scratches; they seemed rather deep, as if they were from something other than a simple bump or whatever may cause a usual scuff. They seemed nearly deliberate. He wondered what had caused them, but before he could think too much about it, the door opened inward to reveal the next room. At first, it was dark–too dark to see. But as Stanley walked in, large, overhead lights clicked on.
Screens adorned the walls, raising up nearly as far as his eyes could see. As he walked down the familiar pathway, his eyes met two buttons connected to a machine; Stanley knew this place like the back of his hand. The Mind Control Facility. But why had he been brought here? Was it to show that the button really did connect to the machine like the Narrator had said? And how had he gotten here in the first place? Last time he checked, the facility wasn’t upstairs, and it definitely didn’t have a second entrance like this. Stanley was, to put it simply, baffled. He couldn’t understand why he was here, and he couldn’t understand exactly what the Narrator had expected of him. His brows knitted together, and Stanley tossed a questioning look up at the ceiling, a silent, “What do you expect me to do?” The Narrator didn’t need words to know what Stanley was asking. With a low, sinister chuckle, he spoke.
“I want you to obey, Stanley. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you. But I know how you are, you and that rebellious spirit. That’s why I brought you here; to teach you a lesson, Stanley. To show you who really holds the power,”
The coldness in his tone had Stanley shivering ever so faintly, but internally he blamed it on the sudden blast of cool air as he heard a fan click on. Odd; he never remembered the facility having an air unit. But that was the least of his concerns now. The Narrator seemed to want something from him, and he couldn’t exactly figure out what. Sure, he wanted Stanley to obey him, to follow along to his script. But then, why had he brought Stanley here of all places?
As if reading Stanley’s mind, the Narrator spoke in a demented once again. “It’s simple from here; all you have to do is press that button over there.” His tone was cold and calculated, tugging at Stanley’s emotions in some twisted way. A podium rose from the floor to the left of his body, the only thing on its surface a little green button. It wasn’t common for him to feel fear sweep over him like this; no, he was so used to the ability of resets that he didn’t fear anything, even death was no match for him. But something felt different. Deep in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Narrator had made this a real life or death situation. If he didn’t listen to the Narrator now, would he ever return?
The button glowed a sickly green. Stanley almost felt as if it were taunting him, mocking his foolish choices. If he had listened to the Narrator’s instructions more, would he be in the situation he was in now? Was this all payback for Stanley breaking that computer, for derailing the Narrator’s story? Stanley’s hand shook as he rose it to hover over the button, his heart beating faster in his chest. He didn’t like this–he didn’t like this at all.
“What does this button do?” Stanley asked cautiously, his words guarded as he tried to keep an apathetic tone. He didn’t want the Narrator to hear the waver in his words, but the flicker of fear in his dark brown eyes was clear as day. It wasn’t often he spoke, either; most conversations between him and the Narrator consisted of facial expressions or signing; typically, in a situation like this, Stanley would have chosen signing over speech, but his hands were shaking too much for his liking.
“Do you really want to know what that button does, Stanley? Don’t you think it would be easier to just listen to what I tell you to do, instead of questioning it? Personally, I think it may be easier to press that button if you don’t know what it does. You’ve done that plenty of times before, have you not? Rushed into decisions before I can explain a situation to you? Surely this can’t be any different, now can it? Come on, this isn’t the impulsive Stanley I know,”
The room was quiet for a few moments, save for the faint hum of the machinery around him. Uneasiness twisted in Stanley’s gut; god, he almost felt nauseous. Maybe he would be better off not knowing, but he just had to. It would kill him inside otherwise. Silent, Stanley nodded.
“Well, if you insist, Stanley; that button there activates a fail-safe for me. The facility would never fall into the wrong hands again. I would never have to worry about you going off course again. That button will activate the mind control facility, and from there it will never shut off again,”
And there it was again, another wave of nauseous dread. Surely the Narrator was joking; this had to all be some sort of twisted joke. He wasn’t really going to take away Stanley’s freedom like this, was he? He shook his head slowly in disbelief, stepping away from the button. He couldn’t bring himself to press it. Above him, the Narrator scoffed, his voice condescending as he spoke slowly.
“Stanley, do you really think you have a choice in this matter? You’re just a pawn, a mere puppet in my game. You’ll press that button whether you like it or not, because you–”
The Narrator didn’t get to finish his sentence before Stanley shifted himself over to the other buttons and slammed his hand down on the one labeled “on”. He knew this button would set off the self-destruct sequence, and that he’d die, but if resetting this game was what it took to keep him in his own mind, so be it.
But as his hand hit the button, a jolt of electricity shot up his arms, and he stumbled back in shock. Something was wrong–that had never happened before. Had the Narrator predicted this was how Stanley would respond? Had he changed the game just to get his way? A sudden flash of bright light blinded Stanley; it seemed to be coming from every direction. No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t escape it. His hands came up to shield his eyes as best as he could manage, trying to block out the flashing white light. The floor shook, accompanied by the deafening sounds of destruction that echoed through the facility. It sounded like everything was being torn apart; whatever this was, he hadn’t experienced it before. Uncertainty ate at his heart as Stanley attempted to blindly stumble back down the path that he came from.“All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo,” He had heard those words time and time again, the overhead, disembodied voice had become a normal part of his quotidian schedule. The quiet, monotonous drone of the lights overhead and the low hum of still running computers provided the only sound in the room outside of his office, minus the shuffling of Stanley’s shoes against the floor as he drug himself into yet another day of choices.
For a few moments, Stanley was still, mind absently filtering through thoughts. HIs coworkers were gone–as always. He honestly couldn’t remember if he ever had coworkers, or if he did, that he had ever seen them. A few flickering images popped into his mind of disfigured people with blurred faces, as if a memory was trying to surface, but there was a miscommunication in his mind, distorting the people he thought that he knew. Maybe he never knew anyone at all; maybe his mind was only trying to give some type of answer to something unexplainable.
“Stanley stood for a long time in one spot. It’s part of a game. He likes to see how long he can go without dying. So far he’s doing excellent, and if he just stays right where he is, I’m sure he’ll keep up that good momentum. Let’s observe the genius at work,” the Narrator’s voice pulled Stanley out of his thoughts, returning him to the world that he knew so well. Or so he thought he knew, at least; as Stanley looked around, he couldn’t help but feel something had changed, though he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. Something simply felt… different. Some subtle change that threw him into a sense of uneasiness. The once familiar surroundings of the office building made him feel alienated.
Stanley lingered in his spot a while longer; he knew the Narrator to add new things into the runs now and then, just to change things up enough to keep Stanley interested, but he was used to the Narrator simply mentioning something new so that Stanley could easily take note of it. But this didn’t seem to be the case today. He knew that if he didn’t figure it out, the Narrator would probably reset this all and remove whatever had been changed; it would kill Stanley not to know what was different. So, seeing no other options, Stanley approached one of the computers and began tapping on the keyboard. There was no real method to his madness, he simply wanted to see if anything changed. He had pressed every button on every keyboard in all the time he had been here, so he knew what usually happened–a lot of nothing. But if something was different…
“Stanley went around touching every little thing in the office, but it didn’t make a single difference, nor did it advance the story in any way.” Stanley shot a glare up to the ceiling, where he always imagined the Narrator was looking down on him from, a little short of a god. He knew the Narrator was trying to get him to follow the usual path, as always. But Stanley was determined to figure this out, whether he got help from the Narrator or not. Continuing to press buttons, the Narrator’s voice intruded his mind once again.
“Stanley seemed intent on pressing each and every key on the keyboard in front of him, despite there being no change whatsoever. The computer wasn’t even on,” the slight taunting in the Narrator’s tone brushed Stanley the wrong way; he was used to the subtle deriding whenever he went off the Narrator’s storyline, but it never failed to agitate him. With another quick glare up at the ceiling, Stanley grabbed the desk chair and pulled it out just enough for him to slip into the seat, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips as he heard the faint sigh of contempt from the Narrator.
He picked up the keyboard once he had settled comfortably in the seat, turning it over in his hands. Maybe there was some sort of passcode to the computer, or a key to one of the many doors down the hall that he hadn’t opened. Stanley picked and prodded at keys and tugged on the cord that was attached to the computer, but still nothing happened.
“Stanley poked and prodded at the keyboard, but it was useless. The keyboard was just a keyboard, nothing more. Stanley decided this was all a waste of his time, and decided to head to his boss’s office,”
But Stanley made no move to leave, continuing instead to turn the keyboard over and over again. He tried turning the computer on, and was met with a low hum before the machine cut back off. Broken, most likely; how convenient.
“Stanley, I promise you, there’s nothing interesting about that keyboard. Why do you insist on doing this? That keyboard is just a keyboard attached to a broken computer, there is literally nothing that it can do!” agitation laced the Narrator’s words, however faintly. This was Stanley’s favorite part; being able to poke fun at the Narrator, knowing he had little to no power in moments like these. With a smile of feigned innocence, Stanley held up the keyboard and looked to the ceiling, like a child showing off a prized picture to a parent.
“Why are you showing that to me, Stanley? I know what a keyboard is, unlike some people,” Stanley scoffed and lowered the keyboard, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. He knew what a keyboard was too; it was some type of bucket… right? Whatever, it didn’t matter to Stanley. He wasn’t trying to figure out what was and wasn’t a bucket, he was trying to figure out why the room seemed different. His eyes flicked back down to the keyboard and his brows furrowed slightly. Agitation prickled inside him as he failed to comprehend what could possibly have changed. Maybe this computer wasn’t it; maybe it was a different computer. But he really didn’t want to deal with every computer in the room–that would take more time than it felt worth.
Stanley stood from the seat, knocking the chair over from how quickly he got up. The keyboard was still in his hand as he stood, his fingers gripping onto the plastic until dull pain resonated under his skin.
“Finally, are you ready to continue the story, Stanley?” the Narrator seemed a little more pleased now that Stanley was out of the chair. But Stanley was far from ready to leave. His jaw clenched, Stanley pulled the keyboard to the side of his body, twisting back before he swung forwards. The corner of the keyboard crashed into the screen in front of him, the glass of the computer shattering upon impact. A sharp gasp from the Narrator caused Stanley to look up, his eyes dark with something indiscernible. Without looking away, Stanley yanked the cord of the keyboard from the computer before throwing the keyboard across the room. Only once he heard it crash into the opposite did Stanley look back to the shattered screen. He balled his hands into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms as he pulled his arm back, eyes fixed on the broken computer screen.
“Stanley, don’t–” but the Narrator’s voice just agitated him more. In all honesty, Stanley didn’t know why he was so mad in the first place; maybe it was the constant droning of the overhead lights, maybe it was the condescending way the Narrator spoke to him as he tried to guide Stanley into choosing things he didn’t want. Maybe it was the fact of this endless cycle, something he couldn’t even escape with death. He didn’t know, all he knew was that he needed it out of his system. So before he could think twice, Stanley punched the screen. The adrenaline dulled the sharp sting of the biting glass, and, blinded by rage, he didn’t see the way his knuckles split. The Narrator was speaking to him, but Stanley let the words slip one ear and out the other; he didn’t care. He wanted it all to just stop, just for a few minutes, he wanted control. Even if it took something like this to feel like he had a hold of his own life, Stanley wanted to feel, for once, that this was something he could hold in his hands and finally call it his choice.
It took several minutes for Stanley to calm down again, and by that point, the computer was almost unrecognizable. Stanley could see the insides of the machine, his eyes dancing over each wire and glimmer of metal. He panted softly, now all too aware of the stinging of glass in his hands. His eyes skimmed over the computer for a moment longer before dropping to his hands, studying the way blood covered the wounds, coating the small shards of glass that intruded his body. Emotions mixed inside him, guilt yet pride. He felt that even though he had control over what he just did… he didn’t. It twisted inside him, tugging at his heart and causing his stomach to lurch. Did he ever have control? Was this all already mapped out for him? Was anything his choice?
Silence passed over the office as Stanley quietly tried to pick out the glass from his hands. He knew that he needed to care for himself now; even if the next reset would heal his hands, he didn’t want to risk having glass stuck inside him. The fear of having something trapped under his skin loomed over him, and he had to shake his head to clear the thought.
“Stanley…” the Narrator’s voice cut into his thoughts, causing Stanley to jump just slightly. He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone. Ever. With a low grunt to signal that he was listening, Stanley waited for the Narrator to berate him. You ruined my story! Why do you insist on doing these things? Why can’t you just listen to me!
But it never came. There was another long drawl of silence, and Stanley could almost hear the Narrator mumbling under his breath, as if trying to decide what to say. As Stanley pulled out the last shards of glass, the Narrator seemed to find his voice again.
“As Stanley calmed down, he headed out of the office and to the bathroom. If he remembered correctly, there was a first aid kit under the sink that he could use to tend to the wounds,” even under the Narrator’s usual tone, Stanley could hear the faintest hint of concern. A wave of guilt washed over him; he wasn’t used to the Narrator sounding worried about him. He knew his erratic behavior had probably caused more of a disturbance than he had meant to. Heaving a quiet sigh, Stanley trudged out of the room and found his way to the bathroom. It wasn’t often that the Narrator would unlock the nearby bathroom door, but this was one of those rare occurrences where he felt inclined to.
As Stanley stepped into the bathroom, his shoes clicked against the hard tile below him, echoing off the walls. Stanley looked around for a lightswitch, but before he could find one, the lights clicked on by themselves. Likely, it was due to the Narrator, but then again there may just be motion sensors. Stanley shook the thought away; it wasn’t important. He stepped to the counter and knelt down, opening the cabinet and grabbing the first aid kit that the Narrator had previously mentioned. Stanley didn’t bother standing back up as he cleaned the cuts and scrapes in silence, only occasionally letting out a hiss of pain slip past his lips. The Narrator didn’t speak either; they both sat in silence as Stanley bandaged his hands, a certain tension in the air. Stanley tried to keep his mind from wandering as he put the kit away, hoping that the Narrator didn’t bring this up later on. He honestly didn’t know what came over him, and he didn’t really want to know. He just wanted to pretend it never happened in the first place.
He wanted all evidence gone. Sure, after the reset, everything would probably be cleaned up again, but Stanley still felt a level of responsibility for the mess he created. So, after the kit was put away, Stanley stepped out of the bathroom and backtracked to the main office. But as he continued down the hall, he noticed the walk back seemed longer than the walk down had. Maybe the Narrator was trying to get him back on track by changing things around? Pushing away the twinge of unease that settled inside him, Stanley continued to the office. He didn’t like how quiet everything was; even the hum of the lights, the drone of the computers–it was all silent.
As Stanley stepped into the main office, he was met with a strange scene. The layout was completely different now; the office had only one cubicle now, sitting right where the previously broken one was. It seemed to be the same computer, but there was no sign of damage; even stranger, the computer seemed to be running. A wave of deja vu washed over him as he tentatively stepped closer to the computer. What was he supposed to do? Break it again? Press more buttons? Maybe he should just ignore it and go on with the story. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling as he waited for any form of instructions from the Narrator, but he said nothing. Odd, he was usually so talkative. Stanley drew a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly breathing out to steady his mind. Surely this was all a part of the Narrator’s game; this was fine, he just had to follow the story. If worse came to worst, everything would reset and he’d be back in his office again, with everything back to normal.
Stanley slowly trailed his fingers across the screen, still feeling a bit baffled that the previously smashed screen was brand new now, despite no reset. His hand shifted down to the keyboard, clicking once on the space bar, just to see if anything happened. The screen flashed a bright blue before sputtering to black, with a single message left in white: “Follow the green line.”
Green line? What green line? Stanley thought, looking across the walls and over the ceiling; even the floor was barren. But as his eyes trailed around, a flicker of bright color caught his attention. There, in the hall, was the start of a green trail heading straight down the hallway.
Oh great, was this another Adventure Line? Stanley let out a humorless laugh as he crossed his arms and looked up once more, expecting some type of commentary. But still, the Narrator didn’t speak. So, with nothing better to do, Stanley walked to the hall and let his eyes follow the green line below him. Okay, maybe this wasn’t THE Adventure Line, but it sure did seem very similar, besides the fact that this line seemed to stay on the ground, taking the shortest route to its destination. Curiosity overrode the nervousness as Stanley slowly began to follow the line.
He had been through so many endings, many of them multiple times; Stanley couldn’t remember the last time there was a new ending. But this? This surely meant something new, something better perhaps. Maybe the Narrator had made something up out of pity for the previous situation, though Stanley didn’t care how this came about. He was just happy to have something to distract himself with. One hand came up to brush across the wall as he followed the line out of the hall.
“Stanley, this is it! This line is the answer to all our problems!” The Narrator’s voice has returned, warm and excited. A smile crept onto his face at the sound of the Narrator’s excitement, glad to see that everything was okay, and that he hadn’t ruined anything.
Answer to all our problems? Stanley couldn’t help but wonder what the Narrator meant by that, but he didn’t bother asking any questions. He wanted to know where the line led. Excitement rushed through him, and Stanley stumbled over his feet a few times as his pace quickened. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of freedom and possibility. For once, he wasn’t trapped in the same routine, the same paths, the same endings. It was like a whole new world opened up before him.
But at the same time, Stanley couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Why was the Narrator so eager to follow this line? He hated the Adventure Line, so why was this one so different to him? What was the Narrator’s end goal in this all? Stanley didn’t make it obvious that he had grown suspicious of the Narrator’s motives, but he made a mental note to keep his guard up. He had learned the hard way that nothing in this world was truly ever predictable.
As the line continued ahead, Stanley’s pace began to slow a little. The line led him to a staircase. This wasn’t any of the usual staircases he had seen before; Stanley noticed now that he had zoned out while he followed the line. He hardly had any idea how he had gotten where he was. But there wasn’t any going back; the door behind him had shut, and the only way forward was up the stairs. So, slowly, Stanley began to ascend the spiral staircase. The white marble stairs seemed brand new, as if it had never been touched before.
“Hurry, Stanley, you wouldn’t want to miss what I have planned!” Stanley could hear the rising excitement in the Narrator’s voice, but this time it seemed different. Something about his tone sent a shiver down Stanley’s spine. But surely it was just the rising adventure; surely Stanley was just imagining it all.
As he came to the top of the stairs, Stanley found himself in a large room with a glass ceiling, allowing sunlight to flood the room. The room was empty minus a podium with a single red button. There were no labels, no notes; nothing except the button. Stanley slowly stepped to the button, impulsively wanting to press the button. But he knew better than to press just any button he came upon. His eyes trailed up to the skylight, wondering if the Narrator was still with him. He gave a questioning look back to the button, his head cocking to the side in curiosity. He didn’t move, waiting for the Narrator to explain the button in front of him.
“Careful Stanley, that button connects to the Mind Control Facility. If you press that, it will activate the facility. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” The Narrator’s words held an undertone of warning, but for some reason, Stanley couldn’t bring himself to believe him. This? This button connected to the Mind Control Facility? Then why was it all the way up here? That just seemed inconvenient to him, and quite frankly very odd. He had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, the Narrator was lying to him. What if this button led him to a different ending; a better ending?
Stanley let his fingers dance across the button, tracing over its smooth, cool surface. He knew exactly what the facility buttons looked like, and this large red button looked nothing like them. It was possible that this button connected to the machine, but he doubted it. But still, he hesitated, not yet pressing the button. What if the Narrator was telling the truth, and he just made a fool of himself?
With a soft sigh, Stanley shook his head and stepped away from the button. It wasn’t worth the risk to him; besides, the green line seemed to turn and lead him out the back of the room anyways. Seeing that Stanley had complied, the Narrator continued to speak.
“Good. Following the green line once again, Stanley left the button behind and continued on his adventure,” and Stanley did, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He hadn’t realized until just now how long it had gotten; despite the resets, the length of his hair never did reset. Every now and then, he’d have to take a pair of scissors from his desk and touch up on it himself.
The green line led Stanley across the room to an old wooden door. The white paint was scratched, revealing the tanned undertone. Stanley lifted his hand cautiously to trail his fingers over the scratches; they seemed rather deep, as if they were from something other than a simple bump or whatever may cause a usual scuff. They seemed nearly deliberate. He wondered what had caused them, but before he could think too much about it, the door opened inward to reveal the next room. At first, it was dark–too dark to see. But as Stanley walked in, large, overhead lights clicked on.
Screens adorned the walls, raising up nearly as far as his eyes could see. As he walked down the familiar pathway, his eyes met two buttons connected to a machine; Stanley knew this place like the back of his hand. The Mind Control Facility. But why had he been brought here? Was it to show that the button really did connect to the machine like the Narrator had said? And how had he gotten here in the first place? Last time he checked, the facility wasn’t upstairs, and it definitely didn’t have a second entrance like this. Stanley was, to put it simply, baffled. He couldn’t understand why he was here, and he couldn’t understand exactly what the Narrator had expected of him. His brows knitted together, and Stanley tossed a questioning look up at the ceiling, a silent, “What do you expect me to do?” The Narrator didn’t need words to know what Stanley was asking. With a low, sinister chuckle, he spoke.
“I want you to obey, Stanley. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you. But I know how you are, you and that rebellious spirit. That’s why I brought you here; to teach you a lesson, Stanley. To show you who really holds the power,”
The coldness in his tone had Stanley shivering ever so faintly, but internally he blamed it on the sudden blast of cool air as he heard a fan click on. Odd; he never remembered the facility having an air unit. But that was the least of his concerns now. The Narrator seemed to want something from him, and he couldn’t exactly figure out what. Sure, he wanted Stanley to obey him, to follow along to his script. But then, why had he brought Stanley here of all places?
As if reading Stanley’s mind, the Narrator spoke in a demented once again. “It’s simple from here; all you have to do is press that button over there.” His tone was cold and calculated, tugging at Stanley’s emotions in some twisted way. A podium rose from the floor to the left of his body, the only thing on its surface a little green button. It wasn’t common for him to feel fear sweep over him like this; no, he was so used to the ability of resets that he didn’t fear anything, even death was no match for him. But something felt different. Deep in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Narrator had made this a real life or death situation. If he didn’t listen to the Narrator now, would he ever return?
The button glowed a sickly green. Stanley almost felt as if it were taunting him, mocking his foolish choices. If he had listened to the Narrator’s instructions more, would he be in the situation he was in now? Was this all payback for Stanley breaking that computer, for derailing the Narrator’s story? Stanley’s hand shook as he rose it to hover over the button, his heart beating faster in his chest. He didn’t like this–he didn’t like this at all.
“What does this button do?” Stanley asked cautiously, his words guarded as he tried to keep an apathetic tone. He didn’t want the Narrator to hear the waver in his words, but the flicker of fear in his dark brown eyes was clear as day. It wasn’t often he spoke, either; most conversations between him and the Narrator consisted of facial expressions or signing; typically, in a situation like this, Stanley would have chosen signing over speech, but his hands were shaking too much for his liking.
“Do you really want to know what that button does, Stanley? Don’t you think it would be easier to just listen to what I tell you to do, instead of questioning it? Personally, I think it may be easier to press that button if you don’t know what it does. You’ve done that plenty of times before, have you not? Rushed into decisions before I can explain a situation to you? Surely this can’t be any different, now can it? Come on, this isn’t the impulsive Stanley I know,”
The room was quiet for a few moments, save for the faint hum of the machinery around him. Uneasiness twisted in Stanley’s gut; god, he almost felt nauseous. Maybe he would be better off not knowing, but he just had to. It would kill him inside otherwise. Silent, Stanley nodded.
“Well, if you insist, Stanley; that button there activates a fail-safe for me. The facility would never fall into the wrong hands again. I would never have to worry about you going off course again. That button will activate the mind control facility, and from there it will never shut off again,”
And there it was again, another wave of nauseous dread. Surely the Narrator was joking; this had to all be some sort of twisted joke. He wasn’t really going to take away Stanley’s freedom like this, was he? He shook his head slowly in disbelief, stepping away from the button. He couldn’t bring himself to press it. Above him, the Narrator scoffed, his voice condescending as he spoke slowly.
“Stanley, do you really think you have a choice in this matter? You’re just a pawn, a mere puppet in my game. You’ll press that button whether you like it or not, because you–”
The Narrator didn’t get to finish his sentence before Stanley shifted himself over to the other buttons and slammed his hand down on the one labeled “on”. He knew this button would set off the self-destruct sequence, and that he’d die, but if resetting this game was what it took to keep him in his own mind, so be it.
But as his hand hit the button, a jolt of electricity shot up his arms, and he stumbled back in shock. Something was wrong–that had never happened before. Had the Narrator predicted this was how Stanley would respond? Had he changed the game just to get his way? A sudden flash of bright light blinded Stanley; it seemed to be coming from every direction. No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t escape it. His hands came up to shield his eyes as best as he could manage, trying to block out the flashing white light. The floor shook, accompanied by the deafening sounds of destruction that echoed through the facility. It sounded like everything was being torn apart; whatever this was, he hadn’t experienced it before. Uncertainty ate at his heart as Stanley attempted to blindly stumble back down the path that he came from.“All of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo,” He had heard those words time and time again, the overhead, disembodied voice had become a normal part of his quotidian schedule. The quiet, monotonous drone of the lights overhead and the low hum of still running computers provided the only sound in the room outside of his office, minus the shuffling of Stanley’s shoes against the floor as he drug himself into yet another day of choices.
For a few moments, Stanley was still, mind absently filtering through thoughts. HIs coworkers were gone–as always. He honestly couldn’t remember if he ever had coworkers, or if he did, that he had ever seen them. A few flickering images popped into his mind of disfigured people with blurred faces, as if a memory was trying to surface, but there was a miscommunication in his mind, distorting the people he thought that he knew. Maybe he never knew anyone at all; maybe his mind was only trying to give some type of answer to something unexplainable.
“Stanley stood for a long time in one spot. It’s part of a game. He likes to see how long he can go without dying. So far he’s doing excellent, and if he just stays right where he is, I’m sure he’ll keep up that good momentum. Let’s observe the genius at work,” the Narrator’s voice pulled Stanley out of his thoughts, returning him to the world that he knew so well. Or so he thought he knew, at least; as Stanley looked around, he couldn’t help but feel something had changed, though he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. Something simply felt… different. Some subtle change that threw him into a sense of uneasiness. The once familiar surroundings of the office building made him feel alienated.
Stanley lingered in his spot a while longer; he knew the Narrator to add new things into the runs now and then, just to change things up enough to keep Stanley interested, but he was used to the Narrator simply mentioning something new so that Stanley could easily take note of it. But this didn’t seem to be the case today. He knew that if he didn’t figure it out, the Narrator would probably reset this all and remove whatever had been changed; it would kill Stanley not to know what was different. So, seeing no other options, Stanley approached one of the computers and began tapping on the keyboard. There was no real method to his madness, he simply wanted to see if anything changed. He had pressed every button on every keyboard in all the time he had been here, so he knew what usually happened–a lot of nothing. But if something was different…
“Stanley went around touching every little thing in the office, but it didn’t make a single difference, nor did it advance the story in any way.” Stanley shot a glare up to the ceiling, where he always imagined the Narrator was looking down on him from, a little short of a god. He knew the Narrator was trying to get him to follow the usual path, as always. But Stanley was determined to figure this out, whether he got help from the Narrator or not. Continuing to press buttons, the Narrator’s voice intruded his mind once again.
“Stanley seemed intent on pressing each and every key on the keyboard in front of him, despite there being no change whatsoever. The computer wasn’t even on,” the slight taunting in the Narrator’s tone brushed Stanley the wrong way; he was used to the subtle deriding whenever he went off the Narrator’s storyline, but it never failed to agitate him. With another quick glare up at the ceiling, Stanley grabbed the desk chair and pulled it out just enough for him to slip into the seat, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips as he heard the faint sigh of contempt from the Narrator.
He picked up the keyboard once he had settled comfortably in the seat, turning it over in his hands. Maybe there was some sort of passcode to the computer, or a key to one of the many doors down the hall that he hadn’t opened. Stanley picked and prodded at keys and tugged on the cord that was attached to the computer, but still nothing happened.
“Stanley poked and prodded at the keyboard, but it was useless. The keyboard was just a keyboard, nothing more. Stanley decided this was all a waste of his time, and decided to head to his boss’s office,”
But Stanley made no move to leave, continuing instead to turn the keyboard over and over again. He tried turning the computer on, and was met with a low hum before the machine cut back off. Broken, most likely; how convenient.
“Stanley, I promise you, there’s nothing interesting about that keyboard. Why do you insist on doing this? That keyboard is just a keyboard attached to a broken computer, there is literally nothing that it can do!” agitation laced the Narrator’s words, however faintly. This was Stanley’s favorite part; being able to poke fun at the Narrator, knowing he had little to no power in moments like these. With a smile of feigned innocence, Stanley held up the keyboard and looked to the ceiling, like a child showing off a prized picture to a parent.
“Why are you showing that to me, Stanley? I know what a keyboard is, unlike some people,” Stanley scoffed and lowered the keyboard, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. He knew what a keyboard was too; it was some type of bucket… right? Whatever, it didn’t matter to Stanley. He wasn’t trying to figure out what was and wasn’t a bucket, he was trying to figure out why the room seemed different. His eyes flicked back down to the keyboard and his brows furrowed slightly. Agitation prickled inside him as he failed to comprehend what could possibly have changed. Maybe this computer wasn’t it; maybe it was a different computer. But he really didn’t want to deal with every computer in the room–that would take more time than it felt worth.
Stanley stood from the seat, knocking the chair over from how quickly he got up. The keyboard was still in his hand as he stood, his fingers gripping onto the plastic until dull pain resonated under his skin.
“Finally, are you ready to continue the story, Stanley?” the Narrator seemed a little more pleased now that Stanley was out of the chair. But Stanley was far from ready to leave. His jaw clenched, Stanley pulled the keyboard to the side of his body, twisting back before he swung forwards. The corner of the keyboard crashed into the screen in front of him, the glass of the computer shattering upon impact. A sharp gasp from the Narrator caused Stanley to look up, his eyes dark with something indiscernible. Without looking away, Stanley yanked the cord of the keyboard from the computer before throwing the keyboard across the room. Only once he heard it crash into the opposite did Stanley look back to the shattered screen. He balled his hands into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms as he pulled his arm back, eyes fixed on the broken computer screen.
“Stanley, don’t–” but the Narrator’s voice just agitated him more. In all honesty, Stanley didn’t know why he was so mad in the first place; maybe it was the constant droning of the overhead lights, maybe it was the condescending way the Narrator spoke to him as he tried to guide Stanley into choosing things he didn’t want. Maybe it was the fact of this endless cycle, something he couldn’t even escape with death. He didn’t know, all he knew was that he needed it out of his system. So before he could think twice, Stanley punched the screen. The adrenaline dulled the sharp sting of the biting glass, and, blinded by rage, he didn’t see the way his knuckles split. The Narrator was speaking to him, but Stanley let the words slip one ear and out the other; he didn’t care. He wanted it all to just stop, just for a few minutes, he wanted control. Even if it took something like this to feel like he had a hold of his own life, Stanley wanted to feel, for once, that this was something he could hold in his hands and finally call it his choice.
It took several minutes for Stanley to calm down again, and by that point, the computer was almost unrecognizable. Stanley could see the insides of the machine, his eyes dancing over each wire and glimmer of metal. He panted softly, now all too aware of the stinging of glass in his hands. His eyes skimmed over the computer for a moment longer before dropping to his hands, studying the way blood covered the wounds, coating the small shards of glass that intruded his body. Emotions mixed inside him, guilt yet pride. He felt that even though he had control over what he just did… he didn’t. It twisted inside him, tugging at his heart and causing his stomach to lurch. Did he ever have control? Was this all already mapped out for him? Was anything his choice?
Silence passed over the office as Stanley quietly tried to pick out the glass from his hands. He knew that he needed to care for himself now; even if the next reset would heal his hands, he didn’t want to risk having glass stuck inside him. The fear of having something trapped under his skin loomed over him, and he had to shake his head to clear the thought.
“Stanley…” the Narrator’s voice cut into his thoughts, causing Stanley to jump just slightly. He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone. Ever. With a low grunt to signal that he was listening, Stanley waited for the Narrator to berate him. You ruined my story! Why do you insist on doing these things? Why can’t you just listen to me!
But it never came. There was another long drawl of silence, and Stanley could almost hear the Narrator mumbling under his breath, as if trying to decide what to say. As Stanley pulled out the last shards of glass, the Narrator seemed to find his voice again.
“As Stanley calmed down, he headed out of the office and to the bathroom. If he remembered correctly, there was a first aid kit under the sink that he could use to tend to the wounds,” even under the Narrator’s usual tone, Stanley could hear the faintest hint of concern. A wave of guilt washed over him; he wasn’t used to the Narrator sounding worried about him. He knew his erratic behavior had probably caused more of a disturbance than he had meant to. Heaving a quiet sigh, Stanley trudged out of the room and found his way to the bathroom. It wasn’t often that the Narrator would unlock the nearby bathroom door, but this was one of those rare occurrences where he felt inclined to.
As Stanley stepped into the bathroom, his shoes clicked against the hard tile below him, echoing off the walls. Stanley looked around for a lightswitch, but before he could find one, the lights clicked on by themselves. Likely, it was due to the Narrator, but then again there may just be motion sensors. Stanley shook the thought away; it wasn’t important. He stepped to the counter and knelt down, opening the cabinet and grabbing the first aid kit that the Narrator had previously mentioned. Stanley didn’t bother standing back up as he cleaned the cuts and scrapes in silence, only occasionally letting out a hiss of pain slip past his lips. The Narrator didn’t speak either; they both sat in silence as Stanley bandaged his hands, a certain tension in the air. Stanley tried to keep his mind from wandering as he put the kit away, hoping that the Narrator didn’t bring this up later on. He honestly didn’t know what came over him, and he didn’t really want to know. He just wanted to pretend it never happened in the first place.
He wanted all evidence gone. Sure, after the reset, everything would probably be cleaned up again, but Stanley still felt a level of responsibility for the mess he created. So, after the kit was put away, Stanley stepped out of the bathroom and backtracked to the main office. But as he continued down the hall, he noticed the walk back seemed longer than the walk down had. Maybe the Narrator was trying to get him back on track by changing things around? Pushing away the twinge of unease that settled inside him, Stanley continued to the office. He didn’t like how quiet everything was; even the hum of the lights, the drone of the computers–it was all silent.
As Stanley stepped into the main office, he was met with a strange scene. The layout was completely different now; the office had only one cubicle now, sitting right where the previously broken one was. It seemed to be the same computer, but there was no sign of damage; even stranger, the computer seemed to be running. A wave of deja vu washed over him as he tentatively stepped closer to the computer. What was he supposed to do? Break it again? Press more buttons? Maybe he should just ignore it and go on with the story. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling as he waited for any form of instructions from the Narrator, but he said nothing. Odd, he was usually so talkative. Stanley drew a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly breathing out to steady his mind. Surely this was all a part of the Narrator’s game; this was fine, he just had to follow the story. If worse came to worst, everything would reset and he’d be back in his office again, with everything back to normal.
Stanley slowly trailed his fingers across the screen, still feeling a bit baffled that the previously smashed screen was brand new now, despite no reset. His hand shifted down to the keyboard, clicking once on the space bar, just to see if anything happened. The screen flashed a bright blue before sputtering to black, with a single message left in white: “Follow the green line.”
Green line? What green line? Stanley thought, looking across the walls and over the ceiling; even the floor was barren. But as his eyes trailed around, a flicker of bright color caught his attention. There, in the hall, was the start of a green trail heading straight down the hallway.
Oh great, was this another Adventure Line? Stanley let out a humorless laugh as he crossed his arms and looked up once more, expecting some type of commentary. But still, the Narrator didn’t speak. So, with nothing better to do, Stanley walked to the hall and let his eyes follow the green line below him. Okay, maybe this wasn’t THE Adventure Line, but it sure did seem very similar, besides the fact that this line seemed to stay on the ground, taking the shortest route to its destination. Curiosity overrode the nervousness as Stanley slowly began to follow the line.
He had been through so many endings, many of them multiple times; Stanley couldn’t remember the last time there was a new ending. But this? This surely meant something new, something better perhaps. Maybe the Narrator had made something up out of pity for the previous situation, though Stanley didn’t care how this came about. He was just happy to have something to distract himself with. One hand came up to brush across the wall as he followed the line out of the hall.
“Stanley, this is it! This line is the answer to all our problems!” The Narrator’s voice has returned, warm and excited. A smile crept onto his face at the sound of the Narrator’s excitement, glad to see that everything was okay, and that he hadn’t ruined anything.
Answer to all our problems? Stanley couldn’t help but wonder what the Narrator meant by that, but he didn’t bother asking any questions. He wanted to know where the line led. Excitement rushed through him, and Stanley stumbled over his feet a few times as his pace quickened. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of freedom and possibility. For once, he wasn’t trapped in the same routine, the same paths, the same endings. It was like a whole new world opened up before him.
But at the same time, Stanley couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Why was the Narrator so eager to follow this line? He hated the Adventure Line, so why was this one so different to him? What was the Narrator’s end goal in this all? Stanley didn’t make it obvious that he had grown suspicious of the Narrator’s motives, but he made a mental note to keep his guard up. He had learned the hard way that nothing in this world was truly ever predictable.
As the line continued ahead, Stanley’s pace began to slow a little. The line led him to a staircase. This wasn’t any of the usual staircases he had seen before; Stanley noticed now that he had zoned out while he followed the line. He hardly had any idea how he had gotten where he was. But there wasn’t any going back; the door behind him had shut, and the only way forward was up the stairs. So, slowly, Stanley began to ascend the spiral staircase. The white marble stairs seemed brand new, as if it had never been touched before.
“Hurry, Stanley, you wouldn’t want to miss what I have planned!” Stanley could hear the rising excitement in the Narrator’s voice, but this time it seemed different. Something about his tone sent a shiver down Stanley’s spine. But surely it was just the rising adventure; surely Stanley was just imagining it all.
As he came to the top of the stairs, Stanley found himself in a large room with a glass ceiling, allowing sunlight to flood the room. The room was empty minus a podium with a single red button. There were no labels, no notes; nothing except the button. Stanley slowly stepped to the button, impulsively wanting to press the button. But he knew better than to press just any button he came upon. His eyes trailed up to the skylight, wondering if the Narrator was still with him. He gave a questioning look back to the button, his head cocking to the side in curiosity. He didn’t move, waiting for the Narrator to explain the button in front of him.
“Careful Stanley, that button connects to the Mind Control Facility. If you press that, it will activate the facility. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” The Narrator’s words held an undertone of warning, but for some reason, Stanley couldn’t bring himself to believe him. This? This button connected to the Mind Control Facility? Then why was it all the way up here? That just seemed inconvenient to him, and quite frankly very odd. He had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, the Narrator was lying to him. What if this button led him to a different ending; a better ending?
Stanley let his fingers dance across the button, tracing over its smooth, cool surface. He knew exactly what the facility buttons looked like, and this large red button looked nothing like them. It was possible that this button connected to the machine, but he doubted it. But still, he hesitated, not yet pressing the button. What if the Narrator was telling the truth, and he just made a fool of himself?
With a soft sigh, Stanley shook his head and stepped away from the button. It wasn’t worth the risk to him; besides, the green line seemed to turn and lead him out the back of the room anyways. Seeing that Stanley had complied, the Narrator continued to speak.
“Good. Following the green line once again, Stanley left the button behind and continued on his adventure,” and Stanley did, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He hadn’t realized until just now how long it had gotten; despite the resets, the length of his hair never did reset. Every now and then, he’d have to take a pair of scissors from his desk and touch up on it himself.
The green line led Stanley across the room to an old wooden door. The white paint was scratched, revealing the tanned undertone. Stanley lifted his hand cautiously to trail his fingers over the scratches; they seemed rather deep, as if they were from something other than a simple bump or whatever may cause a usual scuff. They seemed nearly deliberate. He wondered what had caused them, but before he could think too much about it, the door opened inward to reveal the next room. At first, it was dark–too dark to see. But as Stanley walked in, large, overhead lights clicked on.
Screens adorned the walls, raising up nearly as far as his eyes could see. As he walked down the familiar pathway, his eyes met two buttons connected to a machine; Stanley knew this place like the back of his hand. The Mind Control Facility. But why had he been brought here? Was it to show that the button really did connect to the machine like the Narrator had said? And how had he gotten here in the first place? Last time he checked, the facility wasn’t upstairs, and it definitely didn’t have a second entrance like this. Stanley was, to put it simply, baffled. He couldn’t understand why he was here, and he couldn’t understand exactly what the Narrator had expected of him. His brows knitted together, and Stanley tossed a questioning look up at the ceiling, a silent, “What do you expect me to do?” The Narrator didn’t need words to know what Stanley was asking. With a low, sinister chuckle, he spoke.
“I want you to obey, Stanley. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you. But I know how you are, you and that rebellious spirit. That’s why I brought you here; to teach you a lesson, Stanley. To show you who really holds the power,”
The coldness in his tone had Stanley shivering ever so faintly, but internally he blamed it on the sudden blast of cool air as he heard a fan click on. Odd; he never remembered the facility having an air unit. But that was the least of his concerns now. The Narrator seemed to want something from him, and he couldn’t exactly figure out what. Sure, he wanted Stanley to obey him, to follow along to his script. But then, why had he brought Stanley here of all places?
As if reading Stanley’s mind, the Narrator spoke in a demented once again. “It’s simple from here; all you have to do is press that button over there.” His tone was cold and calculated, tugging at Stanley’s emotions in some twisted way. A podium rose from the floor to the left of his body, the only thing on its surface a little green button. It wasn’t common for him to feel fear sweep over him like this; no, he was so used to the ability of resets that he didn’t fear anything, even death was no match for him. But something felt different. Deep in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Narrator had made this a real life or death situation. If he didn’t listen to the Narrator now, would he ever return?
The button glowed a sickly green. Stanley almost felt as if it were taunting him, mocking his foolish choices. If he had listened to the Narrator’s instructions more, would he be in the situation he was in now? Was this all payback for Stanley breaking that computer, for derailing the Narrator’s story? Stanley’s hand shook as he rose it to hover over the button, his heart beating faster in his chest. He didn’t like this–he didn’t like this at all.
“What does this button do?” Stanley asked cautiously, his words guarded as he tried to keep an apathetic tone. He didn’t want the Narrator to hear the waver in his words, but the flicker of fear in his dark brown eyes was clear as day. It wasn’t often he spoke, either; most conversations between him and the Narrator consisted of facial expressions or signing; typically, in a situation like this, Stanley would have chosen signing over speech, but his hands were shaking too much for his liking.
“Do you really want to know what that button does, Stanley? Don’t you think it would be easier to just listen to what I tell you to do, instead of questioning it? Personally, I think it may be easier to press that button if you don’t know what it does. You’ve done that plenty of times before, have you not? Rushed into decisions before I can explain a situation to you? Surely this can’t be any different, now can it? Come on, this isn’t the impulsive Stanley I know,”
The room was quiet for a few moments, save for the faint hum of the machinery around him. Uneasiness twisted in Stanley’s gut; god, he almost felt nauseous. Maybe he would be better off not knowing, but he just had to. It would kill him inside otherwise. Silent, Stanley nodded.
“Well, if you insist, Stanley; that button there activates a fail-safe for me. The facility would never fall into the wrong hands again. I would never have to worry about you going off course again. That button will activate the mind control facility, and from there it will never shut off again,”
And there it was again, another wave of nauseous dread. Surely the Narrator was joking; this had to all be some sort of twisted joke. He wasn’t really going to take away Stanley’s freedom like this, was he? He shook his head slowly in disbelief, stepping away from the button. He couldn’t bring himself to press it. Above him, the Narrator scoffed, his voice condescending as he spoke slowly.
“Stanley, do you really think you have a choice in this matter? You’re just a pawn, a mere puppet in my game. You’ll press that button whether you like it or not, because you–”
The Narrator didn’t get to finish his sentence before Stanley shifted himself over to the other buttons and slammed his hand down on the one labeled “on”. He knew this button would set off the self-destruct sequence, and that he’d die, but if resetting this game was what it took to keep him in his own mind, so be it.
But as his hand hit the button, a jolt of electricity shot up his arms, and he stumbled back in shock. Something was wrong–that had never happened before. Had the Narrator predicted this was how Stanley would respond? Had he changed the game just to get his way? A sudden flash of bright light blinded Stanley; it seemed to be coming from every direction. No matter which way he turned, he couldn’t escape it. His hands came up to shield his eyes as best as he could manage, trying to block out the flashing white light. The floor shook, accompanied by the deafening sounds of destruction that echoed through the facility. It sounded like everything was being torn apart; whatever this was, he hadn’t experienced it before. Uncertainty ate at his heart as Stanley attempted to blindly stumble back down the path that he came from.
