Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stanley always felt odd after a reset. It wasn’t a bad kind of odd, though. 

It was similar to how he’d end up feeling during the Insanity Ending— weightless.

But he finally urged himself to get up, ready to decide what ending to attempt next.

Following the same path as usual, listening to the Narrator’s same script, Stanley would suddenly stop in front of the window on his way to the office.

Something was different. Something was wrong.

”..Yes, Stanley, what is it?” The Narrator would ask, forced to deviate from his script as he noticed his Protagonist stuck in his tracks, pointing at the window.

Peering closer at the monitor screen, the Narrator would notice it. 

There was a flickering black and white light coming from the window.

”..Huh. That’s odd..” he’d mutter. “Stanley, it’s probably nothing; don’t worry about it. Now then, how about we just simply force a reset, hmm? I’m sure this will clear up in that time.”

Stanley would offer him a thumbs up, already having turned away from the window. The flickering had irritated him enough.

“Alright then. Toodle-pip, Stanley!” The Narrator would say as he swiftly hit the big button on his desk next to the monitor that watched Stanley, labelled “RESET” in a big, bold font.

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER...

Chapter Text

Text

“..There we go, Stanley! Now, go out the office and check if that silly little error is still there.”, the Narrator would start, having already deviated from the script the minute Stanley awoke.

Getting up from his seat, Stanley would shake off that same odd feeling. Glancing at the ceiling for just a bit, he’d follow the instructions he was giving.

Making his way to that same old spot, his eyes would flick over to the window.

The flickering was gone. But in its place, the window was pitch black. Stanley would shoot a worrisome look at the ceiling.

”Yes, yes, I see it too, Stanley.” The Narrator would groan. “Look, since this is clearly not working, how about you go on and complete an ending? If a forced reset won’t fix this, then an automated reset should do just fine.”

Originally intending to go with on of the quicker endings, Stanley would grimace as he was told “No, no. One of the proper endings, Stanley.” from going back into his office, reaching for the doorknob and considering the Coward Ending.

With not being allowed to do one of the simplest endings he knew, Stanley decided to be nice and went for one of the ones that the Narrator actually appreciated. 

The Freedom ending, as he named it. Following all of the lines written in the script that the Narrator formulated. After the mishap with the blacked out window, the script had been considered as usual. 

Nothing else in the office seemed off, at least in the path that Stanley had gone. Before he knew it, he was in front of the main controls of the Mind Control Facility. 

[Everything here looks fine.] Stanley thought. There was no response from the Narrator. Either he was too focused on the script to respond to the Protagonist, or he hadn’t decided to peer into Stanley’s mind. There was no need for that, so Stanley couldn’t care more. 

Jabbing at the off button, the Narrator continued. Stanley watched as the border to the outside cleared out, slowly lowering in front of him. 

“And Stanley was happy.” The Narrator finished, watching Stanley make his way to the “outside”, walking for a bit before stopping. 

Both of them stood there, well, Stanley stood there. The Narrator sat in his chair. Both of them anticipated the reset that would soon come. 

They waited a few seconds, then a minute. 

Finally, it took two minutes before the Narrator spoke.

“That’s odd. The Parable should've been reset by now. Nevermind, I’ll do it myself.” He’d mutter, not waiting for any signal from the Protagonist. 

He hit the reset button, expecting the usual to happen. 

Nothing. 

“Maybe one more to be sure, Stanley.”

Again. 

Nothing. 

“..Okay! Third time’s the charm.”

…

“Stanley, it looks like it's broken.”

Idly standing there, the man would suddenly have a look of concern on his otherwise emotionless face. The raising of an eyebrow, the uneasy shrug of his shoulders, his hands outstretched, as if to ask “What do you mean it’s broken?”

“I mean that I can’t use it, Stanley! Nothing, nada!”

The Protagonist would roll his eyes, followed by the tapping of his left index finger to his head. The Narrator would oblige, tapping into the man’s thoughts. “What do you need to tell me?”

[What do we do since we can’t reset?] He’d ask, lowering his head to look around at his surroundings. 

“Buh- Stanley! What makes you think I know? This hasn’t happened before, never! Never at all!”

[Didn’t you create the Parable?]

“Of course I did! I meticulously coded and designed every part of this place, why would you need to–”

“Ah.”

[Mhm.]

“Stanley, I doubt that I’d leave a gap in the code, if that’s what you’re thinking. Are you sure it’s not your fault? You didn’t do anything in the last run to cause this, would you?”

[No. You saw me, all I did was repeat the ending with me and the Bucket watching the bird streams in the observatory.]

“...”

The Narrator would sigh, the sound of his chair’s wheels squeaking accompanying his voice. “-Alright, I’ll take a minute to check the code. Don’t try to leave this area, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Blinking up at the ceiling, Stanley would let out a quiet breath of air. Looking around for somewhere to sit down, he’d give up, sitting in the same spot he stood. Resting his head against his knees, he was sure he’d spend the next few minutes in silence, only to suddenly hear the Narrator mutter, “Here, while I’m busy.”, and the spawning in of a bucket in front of him. 

Stanley would pick the bucket up, holding it close to his chest as he adjusted his legs to be criss-crossed. 

Just him and the bucket.

Stanley hoped that the Narrator would figure out what the problem was.

Chapter Text

Making sure to mute his microphone, the Narrator would click his tongue, the small “tch” noise filling the silence of the office as he minimized the surveillance tab, leaving his Protagonist to his own machinations. Not that he had any. From what the Narrator gathered, he’d be too focused on zoning out.

Back to the problem at hand, the Narrator would click a program icon on his desktop, previously having been minimized.

It ran at all times, regardless of what was happening. It was the code of the Parable.

Scrolling through it, the Narrator would tap his shoe against the floor. A repetitive motion, something he’d done before whenever the office was too quiet to him.

There weren’t any noticeable gaps within the coding. In fact, it had been running just fine right now, logging down the meticulous movements that Stanley was performing right now. The Narrator could probably figure out what exactly Stanley had been doing right now with this text, only if it wasn’t a mess of binary code.

Scrolling up, he’d look for the period of time between the “Bird” ending that Stanley had mentioned, and the runs that followed it.

Nothing. No peculiarities at all.

This code was everything to the Narrator. From the moment he typed it up, to the moment he saw it run, he’d never found an error in it. He only updated it, oh, give or take a few times, but nothing had occurred like this. The flickering of a window? There was no reason for that to happen. The most effort the Narrator put into the lighting was for dramatic, theatrical scenes and the like.

Barely realizing he’d been he’d been chewing on the nail of his idle hand’s thumb, he’d yank it away.

”..Oh, for the love of..-!” He’d exclaim, pushing his chair back from the desk, throwing his hands up in frustration. Muttering absurdities to himself, letting his hands fall to his sides.

Tired eyes looking up at the dark ceiling, he’d glumly blink. There was no use to this. If the problem wasn’t to be found within the code, then where else could it be?

Then it hit him.

There was only one other place in the Parable that stored crucial aspects of the experience. Somewhere he dreaded visiting- not because it was dangerous, but any little mistake could cause it all to crumble down. Obviously, he didn’t want that.

But, ultimately, after weighing his choices. He made a decision.

Straightening his posture, wheeling his chair back to the desk. Placing his calloused hand on the mouse, swiftly minimizing the code window and popping the monitor program back on.

Flicking his microphone back on, he’d finally speak for the first time in give or take five or ten minutes.

”Stanley. Stanley, do you hear me?”

The protagonist would turn his head back to the ceiling, his arms still wrapped around the bucket, and his legs crossed.

”Good, good. Listen, I’ve figured out a solution, Stanley.”

”I can’t exactly reset the game, no, but! We can take a look at something deeper than the code I have with me.”

Feeling mildly confused, Stanley would point to himself, then to the ceiling, tilting his head.

”Yes, we as in me and you. The structure I’m after is very, very essential to the Parable. If anything happens down in your office area while I check it, I don’t want you getting hurt. Got it?” The Narrator would ask, a nervous grin creeping up on his face as he did so.

With barely any time to spare, Stanley would quickly shoot up a thumbs up. If what he was hearing was correct, then he’d be up in the Narrator’s office, right? And in turn, that could mean getting another glance at the Narrator, which he had seldom saw.

Of course, he was focused on fixing up the Parable, of course he was. But you couldn’t blame him, could you? Anyone would like to get a closer look at the person narrating every bit of their life up until now.

”Excellent, Stanley! Now, give me a bit while I execute the program to teleport you over here. Let’s hope that this doesn’t disorient you too much..” He’d mutter, already searching through the files on his computer.

And with that, Stanley waited.

And waited.

Stanley was about to ask if it usually took this long to teleport something, until suddenly, it happened all at once.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t like Stanley hadn’t seen the Narrator before. He’d only seen him one time in the past, sure. Barely a glance, but he still saw him.

The whole ordeal took place in the Curator’s museum. The Narrator said he was going on a break— something that had occurred every now and then. He left Stanley to wander. Safeguards were put into place, ensuring whatever Stanley would do during that break would be easily patched up.

Using that free time, Stanley soon noticed that even without the Narrator guiding the story, events could still be triggered by simply Stanley following the path and recreating the actions. At first, it was pretty fun running through the alternate endings that required the Bucket. Taking it to the Silly Bird Observatory, playing the classic “Is This a Bucket?” game with it, and so on. But after a while, it got boring. Even for Stanley, which was strange, seeing how devoted he was to that piece of metal.

After that point, he started going down the list of endings that he knew the Narrator particularly didn’t like; which was, well, most of the endings. The Zending was an automatic no, the Skip Button ending would just feel empty, the Insanity ending would just make him feel dizzy.

Going down the list of endings that Stanley knew off the top of his head, suddenly the Museum ending came to mind.

It was an ending he hadn’t seen often. The whole experience of it just made his head feel muddy. Sure, the fact of there being another person in the Parable was nice, but the building he had to roam and the things being told to him felt off. Stanley was used to what the Narrator offered for him.

But, gathering his wits, he decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to venture back down there. Maybe he could try to get a better look at the museum whilst communicating with the Curator, the name that the Narrator had called her.

Slouched in his office chair, his hand on his chin, he’d finally get up. Leaving the Bucket on its pedestal, Stanley would begin the rehearsed path to the Mind Control Facility. Something that he had burrowed in his head at this point.

At the point he was underground, he reflected on how eerily quiet it was without the Narrator. What did that guy even do during his breaks? As far as Stanley knew, the Narrator didn’t have any need to eat or sleep. He didn’t have bodily functions, right?

Shaking the thought off his head, Stanley would focus back onto his environment only to realize that the structure he was standing in was already approaching the metal maws, crushing everything and anything between them.

With the platform slowly trudging forward, Stanley would brace himself; already knowing what would happen next.

On cue, the crushers stopped. He’d stand there, waiting for the platform to split open underneath him. As it did inevitably happen, with a feeling of weightlessness filling his lungs, Stanley realized something.

The Curator’s voice wasn't there.

-

Landing safely onto the marble ground, he’d look up at the halls around him. There was still only silence. Stanley would begin to walk forward, waiting to see if there’d be any cue for the voice to begin talking. Was there a bug? A glitch of sorts? Maybe an issue with the audio.

Stanley just felt uneasy now, nothing was going to plan. Only barely glancing at the exhibits laid before him, he’d be more focused on looking around for anything unusual. If there really wasn’t anything, he’d simply opt for the exit and reset. But as he made his way through the marbled halls, he heard a voice. A hushed whisper of sorts. Stopping in his tracks he’d to make out what he heard.

”..Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure! I made sure to read everything over- of course it’s the best idea.”

”Hmm. Last time you tried something like this, it didn’t go so well.”

”Oh please; my work’s gotten better ever since then!”

Stanley would stand with his back against the marble pillar. He recognized both of those voices. One of them better than the other, but he could still give a name to both of them.

“You saw what they did last time. Rather, I saw it and relayed it to you.” The Curator said.

“Yes, yes.. don’t remind me how bad it went. But I promise this will be better! Improved, even!” Responded the Narrator- almost in a pleading tone near the end.

As Stanley listened, he wondered what exactly the “work” was that they were talking about. His mind drifted a bit before a realization caught up to him.

The voices he had heard came from one direction. They weren’t just projected inside of his head, cluttering around alongside his thoughts. They were actually here.

Would he be able to see them? Could he even see them? What if they weren’t even something his eyes could handle?

Still. It was now or never. Stanley didn’t know when this kind of scenario would happen again.

Fighting off the urge to just stay still, he’d finally make the move to look around the pillar. Just barely peeking his head out from the pillar, his eyes widening.

A fairly tall, average built man stood with his back facing Stanley. Thick, silver hair covered the top of his head- a few strands sticking out here and there despite most of it being gelled down.

He wore a fitted suit jacket, complete with trousers matching the same shade of black. And with it, he noticed the pair of wingtips that the man wore, impeccably shined and polished.

But in the time it took him to take all of this in, only now had he realized that the woman in front of the Narrator, a tall, beautiful lady with a dark complexion, donning a sleek, white suit, had been looking past the man’s shoulder.

Right at Stanley.

”You’ve got company, Narrator.” She’d say, interrupting whatever the Narrator had been raving about previously. Nothing about her face read shock or confusion. Had she known that Stanley was here this whole time?

The Narrator would stammer, annoyed at being cut off. Stanley watched as he stood still, processing this for a second or two, as he turned around.

Stanley could barely process the shock on his face. One minute he was there, the next it was as if he never existed.

Silence filled the room. It was just Stanley and the Curator now.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." She'd begin, as if ignoring everything that occurred before, the soft smile on her face being accompanied by the faint marks on her face. Dark streaks blended into her skin, almost like the natural cracks and marks on a piece of marble. Thick braids framed her face, trailing down to her waist. Stanley thought she was stunning.

"..You must probably love to talk more, but I think you'd be better if you headed back to the office. Especially after what you saw. Shall I force a reset?"

He'd nod his head, worry settling on his mind about the Narrator. Was he scared? Was he nervous?

But with that, everything went black.

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER...

And with that, that was the first and last time he'd ever seen the man behind the voice of the Parable. That is, well, up until now.

Despite only meeting him for a second in the past, it was as if every little detail never left his head.

Chapter Text

What felt like nothing became everything at once. One minute Stanley was sitting in the Mind Control Facility, and the next moment, it felt like he had the wind taken out of him— shoved into a new location likely miles away. Which was, in his case, probably what actually occurred.

He fought to keep himself from collapsing onto the floor, his eyesight already disoriented after going from the dark, dimly lit Facility, to whatever this bright, illuminated area was. Squinting his eyes at the lights above him, the artificial glow hitting his skin.

The smell of this place was different from the rest of the office. Stanley couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Some sort of flower, maybe?

Eagerly pulling his eyes away from the lights, he’d look around. He ended up teleporting to the middle of a hallway. Despite the fragrant scent, there was nothing else special about this hall. It matched the mundane, industrial setting of warehouse. 

Suddenly, Stanley heard the click of a door unlocking from behind him. He turned around just in time to see the Narrator peering out.

”Ah, hello there Stanley!” He said. There was a grin on his face, moving to open the door further. “Come in, come in! The sooner we get this checked and patched up, the sooner we can continue our usual routine.” Turning his back to the room again, he’d wave his hand, beckoning Stanley to follow.

Stepping into the room, the atmosphere had almost entirely changed. It was a fairly small room, the main pieces of furniture being a desk, chair, a filing cabinet, and a bookshelf. Across from the door sat the large, dark wooden desk, accompanied by a black office swivel chair. In the center of the desk was an old, worn down monitor and keyboard, strikingly similar to the ones back in the office. There was nothing different about it, apart from the fact it could actually run stuff on it, Stanley assumed. The real kicker was the absolute mess on the desk. What Stanley assumed to be in a neat stack was a handful of papers strewn about.

Stanley didn’t bother questioning it; he had so much to observe before the Narrator would shoo him away after this. 

To the left of the office was a shelving unit, taking up the entire wall. There were dozens of books on these shelves. They looked well-used, one could even say they looked loved. Stanley couldn’t make out any of the titles in this lighting, though. The only sources of illumination in the room seemed to come from the monitor screen, and the door open to the hallway.

There wasn’t anything special about the filing cabinet, situation next to the door to the hallway. Stanley noticed a paper or two sticking out from the drawers- but that was about it.

”..Stanley, Stanley are you listening at all?” The Narrator would ask.

[Shoot, sorry.] Was all Stanley could say to him, turning away from the door to meet his face. It took quite a bit for Stanley to not freak out at getting to see him again, he thought this would’ve been a more exciting moment- but oh well. To each their own.

”It’s fine, Stanley. I’ll repeat myself. And for your knowledge, the papers on my desk are organized. It’s just a system you wouldn’t get.” Continued the Narrator, a small falter in his actions as he spoke. Had he heard what Stanley thought? Whatever that was, it’d be quickly buried down and flushed out as he spoke.

”Now, where was I?” He’d ask again, tutting to himself. “Ah, that’s right- come here, Stanley. Make sure not to touch anything.”

The Narrator would open the door he was standing next to- situated to the right of the office.

”We’ll only be here for just a second, once I’m sure this is stable, then.. well, I’ve already given you the rundown.” He’d tell the Protagonist, who was much more interested in him right now.

As the Narrator fished a key out of his pockets, Stanley took in all the physical changes from the last time they met each other in the museum. His hair was still the same length, with that small chunk of silver strands out of place. He wore glasses now, were they purely just there to make him seem smarter? Were they a fashion statement? And with that, he still wore the same suit as before. But now, the button up and tie that Stanley previously saw had been switched out for a thick, cozy turtleneck.

”No, they are not a fashion statement, Stanley.” He’d audibly mutter, just loud enough for Stanley to hear.

Unlocking the door while Stanley analyzing the Narrator’s outfit, he’d gently yank the key back out, slipping it into his pocket.

”Now come on, stop focusing on my outfit. Remember, don’t touch anything. Nothing at all.”

[I think I’ve gotten the idea already.]

“And yet, you’re known for being bad at following directions.” The Narrator would grin, his hand settling back onto the doorknob. “Ready, Stanley?”

[Ready as I’ll ever be.]

And with the twist of a knob, the very center of the Parable would be revealed to Stanley.

Chapter Text

The concept of the Parable having a core seemed weird to Stanley. Up until this point, he just assumed whatever the Narrator had coded into his monitor was the extent of it.

Keeping that in mind, Stanley was confused– and also underwhelmed when the Narrator had finally opened the closet door, revealing yet another monitor in there.

The closet was fairly small- just big enough to house a desk that the monitor sat upon, complete with the matching keyboard and mouse. Was this really the core of the Parable? It looked old and worn down, a horrible travesty when compared to the condition of the other monitor on the Narrator’s desk.

[That’s it?] Stanley asked. 

“Of course that’s not just it, Stanley! There’s more to this! Who do you take me to be?” The Narrator huffed, leaving the door open as he stepped in front of the monitor, jabbing his finger at the red button to turn it on. 

“This monitor’s probably one of the oldest things here. Before you were brought into this place, the Parable had to be tested until I found it was suitable. It was simply minor stuff, the adjusting of the environment, adding and taking away endings.. You know the drill.” he rambled, his hand settling on the mouse and navigating the antique desktop. Stanley took note of how the monitor screen was shaped ever so slightly rounder than the one back in his office. Apart from that, there was nothing he could really point out besides the coloration of certain keys on the keyboard.

“You can’t force the Parable itself to change, Stanley. It ebbs and flows– the programming on my other monitor simply gives it instructions on what to do. Most of the time, it follows everything perfectly.”

[So are you saying that the Parable’s a living thing?]

“Not quite, Stanley. In a sense, yes. But, eh..” The Narrator would trail off, glancing over at a chunk of text on the screen. Followed by a “Sorry, just a moment..”, The Narrator would hit one of the keys below his other hand, forcing the monitor to reload whatever content it displayed. 

“Now, where was I? Yes- in a sense it’s alive. But it was never something that could easily be spoken to. We had to control it in some way to ensure it’d remain stable. With time, we-”

[Who do you mean by we?] Stanley would ask, soon adding [Sorry for interrupting.]

The Narrator would grumble, continuing. “It’s fine. I meant we as in me and the Curator.”
“We eventually were able to cooperate with the Parable, shaping it into something akin to how it looks today. But we couldn’t be sure that the Parable would promise to stay as it is. We had to take ehh.. Extra measures. If that makes sense to you.”

[What?] Was all Stanley could ask after being given this information, his eyes focused on the Narrator, hunched over the old monitor. His hands were shaky, his typing flopping back and forth between quick and seamless, to just plain uncertain, stopping to constantly hit the backspace key. Stanley couldn’t get a good view at just what exactly the Narrator was typing. 

“In order to ensure we could have proper control of the Parable, we needed it to embody something. Or at least have something that embodies it.“ 

[And why isn’t that somebody just you? Or the Curator? Why’d you just pick this monitor?]

“We’re meant to only oversee the Parable. Could you even imagine me having control over every single little thing in here?”

[You’re confusing me. Up until now I thought you had that power, didn’t you?]

“No, Stanley. Neither me nor the Curator wanted to deal with that. So, in turn, I just made the decision to.. eh..” He trailed off again.

The sounds of the Narrator’s hands typing away at the keyboard were the only sound in that closet.

Stanley didn’t know what he wanted to do. More specifically, he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Or what he even was supposed to feel in this situation. He couldn’t make sense of any of this.

“..Apologies for rambling, Stanley.” He’d suddenly pipe up again. Something about his tone wasn’t right. “Look, the sooner I finish up with this, the sooner we can leave this closet. The sooner we can forget about any of this.”

[No, you have more you need to tell me. I- what are you even typing?] Stanley would respond, moving to finally get a view over the Narrator’s shoulder.

The Narrator would block him off, adjusting his back to continue obscuring his view. Frustrated, Stanley would stand there a bit, before suddenly dashing to the side the Narrator left exposed.

“Stanley! Stop that- get back behind me!” The Narrator said, the expression on his face being obscured by the opaque yellow glasses covering his eyes.

[Stop it, I just want to see!] Responded Stanley, swatting away the hand Narrator reached towards him.

Stanley didn’t know why he needed to see this so badly. But if the Narrator didn’t want to continue talking about just what exactly this monitor even contained, then that was fine with him if it meant figuring it out on his own.

Squished against the closet wall and the Narrator- with one of his hands gripping the other’s messy button up, Stanley would grab the monitor with his two hands, twisting it into his view.

Whatever the Narrator exclaimed next had faded out. A horrid ringing filled Stanley’s ears as he focused on the monitor.

The screen was almost completely black. The only thing that stood out was white text upon the screen, in a font that was all too familiar.

I must keep the wheel turning.

Stanley’s head hurt. Really, really, hurt. He turned to look at the Narrator, the man clearly trying to tell him something, muffled out by the ringing.

Desperately pointing to the monitor, Stanley would then point to the Narrator. He needed an explanation, now.

Chapter Text

Stanley didn’t know how long it took for the ringing to go away. The Narrator had moved him out of the closet, making him sit down on the swivel chair.

Every now and then, the Narrator would trail back and forth from the closet to the chair, checking on Stanley. After a while, he finally saw Stanley staring at him once he came back from the closet.

[I want you to tell me what you did. Regardless of whether or not it’s something you want me to hear.] Stanley said. The expression on his face was mixed with frustration and worry.

The Narrator would sigh, torn between what he should do, before ultimately giving Stanley what he wanted. Tearing his eyes away from Stanley’s own and onto the old monitor across from them, he’d exhale shakily.

“Me and the Curator felt no need to deal with having total, full control over the Parable. We only wanted to do the extent we were meant to do.” He said, his hands moving to pick at the ends of his suit jacket. “I made the decision to set that power onto another NPC. A vessel? An employee of yours. Whatever name seems to work best for you, Stanley.”

”At first it all seemed like it was fine. It went smoothly- I programmed the..ehem, let’s just call them an employee, why don’t we?” The Narrator asked.

Stanley would respond with a nod, his eyes still set on the Narrator.

”Yes, yes.. I programmed the employee to simply follow all of our necessary instructions and orders. If we ever needed something altered about the Parable, we could ask them, and they wouldn’t have any need to say no.”

[Did they still work in the office around that time?]

“No, no.. after I figured out that the transporting of the Parable’s power had actually worked, I just decided to place them.. Somewhere else for safekeeping. Out of bounds, away from the office.”

[That sounds bad. Could you imagine going around the office, enjoying your daily life before suddenly being taken away and blocked off from it all?]

“No, not really, Stanley.” He’d answer bluntly. 

[You weren’t supposed to answer that seriously, Narrator.]

“Well in my defense, it looked like the employee didn’t mind it! In fact, they seemed like they enjoyed being away from the office.”

[Really?]

“Yes, really! They could do whatever they wanted in that little void of theirs as long as they followed our orders.”

[Then what happened that caused them to end up where they are now?]

“Over time, they started acting like they desired more.”

“They started going out of their way adding bouts of new content. I’m not sure if they intended to hide it from me, it didn’t take long for me to find out. I never quite figured out what exactly they wanted that they couldn’t simply directly tell me about.”

[And then?]

“I figured it’d be easy to control them more by confining them to a monitor. The monitor allowed me to oversee any further physical changes they wanted to add to the Parable. Quality control, if you’d call it that.” The Narrator would casually mutter, his hand making a waving-off motion. 

Stanley’s only response was an expression of pure and utter confusion. The Narrator glanced at him barely before looking back at the monitor. “Oh don’t give me that look, Stanley.”

[Excuse me? Are you not hearing how horrible you sound right now? You- you literally decided to force someone to handle the possibilities and raw power of the Parable, only gave them attention when it was necessary, and then what, you decided to trap them in something that only would agitate and hurt them further? You’re acting like this isn’t a big deal, is it because you only saw that employee as someone who wouldn’t be remembered or cared about?] Stanley would rant, getting up from the chair and forcing the Narrator to stare at him. [Honestly, I’m surprised I’m even able to comprehend any of this. Specifically, how rude you’ve been to that person, and you can’t even realize how they’ve felt throughout all of this.]

The Narrator’s eyes would meet Stanley’s. The silence between the two was unbearably loud. If Stanley had physically said all of that, he’d probably be catching his breath right now. He was surprised his ears hadn’t started ringing again from the previous moment.  

“..Stanley, I don’t think you’re getting the full picture.” The Narrator said. His voice was much quieter now. 

[I don’t think I am either. Neither are you. I want to talk to them on the monitor.]

“I- excuse me?” he asked, stepping forward as Stanley turned, making his way to the monitor’s closet. 

Stanley would stop in front of the doorway. [Look. This is all already hard enough to grasp as it is. I don’t know what your intentions are or were, or if you meant all of this with good intent, but I’m having trouble trusting your side of the story.] He’d say, turning his head to look back at the Narrator. [If you want me to stop seeing you as the one at fault, at least give me a chance to see the other side of the story. It won’t make me think of you as a better person, but it’s a step closer to it.] Turning his head away as he finished what he needed to say. 

He stood there for a moment, waiting for the Narrator’s response. He was so tempted to just talk to the employee without permission, but things had already taken a turn for the worse. 

Stanley thought that this run would simply consist of getting to know the Narrator better; finally getting to see him in person again. He technically did still get to know more about him, except the information was more alarming than he expected. 

It wasn’t supposed to be alarming at all. He wanted to just relax with the Narrator– maybe even learn about the books he liked to read once the Parable was repaired. He wanted to know about how he felt in the past. Was he scared when Stanley saw him in the Museum? Was he truly mad at Stanly every time he decided to follow through with the Countdown ending. And was he scared during the Zen-

“Okay.” The Narrator suddenly said. “You can talk to them. You can get whatever it is you need from them, Stanley.”

[Thank you. I know you don’t like it, but it’d be great if you stopped listening to my thoughts while I’m in there.]

Walking further into the closet, Stanley would make sure to close the door behind him. 

Leaning down to be level with the monitor, he’d nudge the mouse. The screensaver would instantly flicker out, and in its place would be that same white text. 

There were a few tweaks made from the last time Stanley saw it. For one, the text was no longer centered– this time it was aligned to be on the left of the screen. 

The second factor that Stanley noticed was that he wasn’t confined to having to pick between two answers. At the bottom of the screen was a text entry field, likely designed to send messages to the employee. Was this what the Narrator was typing?

There were no past messages from the Narrator on the screen. The only message on the screen was in the top left corner. It read, “<432> I must keep the wheel turning.”

Right. The employee was the 432nd one. A factor that felt hazy for Stanley to call to mind.

Bringing his tense hands to the keyboard, Stanley would start with a simple message. 

[Hello?]

For good measure, he’d add an extra message just in case.

[It’s Stanley.]

–

The Narrator let out an exhale as Stanley shut the door. Following what he asked, he’d closed his eyes for a bit as he made the mental action of severing Stanley’s thoughts from his own.

Opening his eyes, he’d stare at the door in front of him.

He couldn’t do anything to remedy what happened between him and Stanley, that much he was sure of. Reaching one of his hands to his face, he’d take off his glasses, his other hand gently pinching the bridge of his nose.

He did everything with good reason, right?

His head lowered, the hand at his nose dropping to his side whilst the other still held onto his glasses. 

Up until now, he assumed that everything he had done was within reason. He didn’t neglect that employee. He just wanted everything tailored to his preferences, and that very employee was incredibly helpful in doing so.

Sure, there were moments where communication was difficult, but it wasn’t anything that a few adjustments and regulations could fix.

But, running it back in his head, the Narrator noticed how that probably did sound quite bad.

-

What did you intend to learn from communicating with me?

Stanley would blink at the question. His hands already typing away, having sent a few other messages in the time being. Nothing major had been discussed in the last few minutes, consisting of Stanley introducing himself and explaining how the Narrator wouldn’t be able to see what they were telling each other.

[The Narrator told me about what happened to you in the past.]

[I was wondering if you could tell me how you felt about it, and what you did.]

In that case, what did he tell you already?

[He left off on how he trapped you in this monitor.]

Ah.

Did he tell you about what took place before that?

[I’m pretty sure he did. I want to know about the rest of the story, if it’s not too much for you to explain. Also, how did he even get you into that monitor if you’re the one who has the power of the Parable?]

Of course. He tricked me into creating the very monitor I’m in now. It was pretty ironic, in my opinion.

Originally he gave me the idea of creating it in order to get back communication with the office.

I told him that it’d conflict with their idea of how I disappeared. They seemed fine enough with my disappearance. In fact, I’m pretty sure they hated me.

I should’ve questioned it more. But he said it’d be a good change, and I assumed that it’d be good to give it a chance.

He gave me instruction after instruction, making sure every function of the monitor was perfect. I gave him a USB drive that would’ve allowed him to import any data from his own computer into the other.

I’ll admit it, for a second I was excited to communicate with the other employees again. Staying away from it all was getting boring, even with all the power in the Parable. Regardless if my coworkers liked me or not.

But that was it. Once I made the move to transfer what was left of my physical body into the computer and the Narrator made the move to boot whatever programming he made into it, he locked me inside of it.

I was stuck there.

I remember him picking up that monitor, or rather, me, and leaving it in some old model of the Parable.

He told me I had gone too far. I didn’t even know what I did. I just wanted to grow the Parable. To expand it. I wanted it to keep going. 

I had the power of the Parable. I was directly connected to it. I didn’t want to just let it remain as it were. It wasn’t supposed to conform to anything.

Are you still there?

Stanley’s hands shook as he read message after message. The story he came up with up to this point had slowly started unraveling. The ringing was back in his ears, racking at his mind. He tried his best to ignore it.

He forced himself to keep typing.

[Yeah, I’m still here. It’s just a lot to take in.]

You can take a break, you know.

[No. I want to hear the rest of what you have to say.]

Okay.

During my time left alone in that old model, I realized he only confined me to be unable to physically alter the Parable. Outside of it. I still had some sort of ability.

Initially. I figured out I was still able to mess with the settings of everything. 

And by extension, I figured out that from that point on that I could communicate through screens of text.

I tried reaching out to you first.

I thought it worked. I had no clue if you actually remembered any of our conversations, but I could talk to you. That was enough.

There was no need to try and communicate with the Narrator.

I reached out to the Curator next.

To my surprise, it worked. She described it as blacking out. Something she didn’t even think was possible.

We talked for who knows how long. With you, I tried segmenting our conversations into small intervals. I didn’t want you to think too hard to the point it hurted. It was like a microdosing on information.

She knew about me from the start. She didn’t know what had happened to me once the Narrator trapped me in this monitor. She thought I had died.

Our discovery led me to have just a bit more freedom. One time, I even got to convince her to get all the way down to that old model of the Parable to help me with something. It was only temporary though. It wasn’t enough.

Altering the game was a concept back open to me. I don’t think the Narrator ever remembered what happened with what I altered.

Stanley.

I need you to do something for me.

Are you still listening?

Stanley stared at the screen. 

–

Okay. Maybe what he has done was wrong.

Stanley still wasn’t out of the closet. The Narrator, for the past few minutes, had been sitting at his desk, scribbling down his thoughts onto stray pieces of paper. Reviewing each and every detail of what had led up to this moment.

Yes, he could’ve gone about dealing with that employee better. Yes, it was wrong to trap them inside a monitor that he helped them construct. And yes it was indeed maybe a bad idea to dump said monitor into an unnecessary cold, dark spot for who knows how long.

But, the Narrator figured out a plan. Once Stanley finally comes out of that closet, the Narrator could try to apologize to both Stanley and the person he stuck in the monitor.

Clicking the pen he held shut, the Narrator would place it back down on the table.

Stanley would come out of that closet soon. The Narrator knew it.

–

I need you to click the prompt that’ll allow you to give me my powers back.

The Curator was too scared to do it. But I know you can, Stanley.

Get me out of this monitor. Help me.

Let me keep the wheel turning.

Stanley’s eyes would nervously dart from the closet door, back to the monitor.

Planting his hand on the mouse, he’d stare at the words fading onto the screen.

   Help me.

Yes.        No.

Forcing his hand to move the mouse, he’d hover over the left option.

This is what he wanted, right? This is what they both wanted. If 432 were free, it could all be resolved. They could talk it out with the Narrator. They could make amends.

Stanley hated knowing the extent of the Narrator's actions. He needed him to know he was wrong, to realize he had to apologize for what he did.

It was the best call.

Stanley clicked on the “Yes” button.

–

Stanley still hadn’t exited the closet yet. The Narrator understood he needed time, but this was far too much.

Getting up from his swivel chair, the Narrator would straighten his suit jacket, making his way to the closet door.

He’d raise his hand, holding his glasses in the other.

Knock, knock.

–

Stanley stepped back, finally stretching his back after constantly leaning down.

Nothing happened yet. 

Suddenly, he heard a knocking on the door behind him.

–

Busy setting his glasses back on his nose, the Narrator would step back a bit as he saw the door creak open.

“-Ah, Stanley! Look, I’ve had some time to think about everything, and.. Stanley, what did you do to the computer?”

Confused, Stanley would look back at the technology behind him.

–

Stanley was wrong about thinking nothing had happened. As the Narrator asked him about what was behind him, he realized it.

The screen was replaced with a pure yellow backdrop, a large sideways frowning face in the corner of it.

–

They both focused on it for barely a few seconds.

“Stanley, what did you do?” the Narrator asked, the feeling of worry creeping up in his tone.

But before he could get any kind of response, it all came crashing down.

–

The screen of the monitor shattered, spreading glass shards all over the closet space. Stanley backed up, bumping into the Narrator as one of the shards grazed his tanned face.

Smoke fizzled out of the broken insides of the computer. From within the wreck, the white outline of a hand gripped the edge of broken glass.

Pulling themself out of the mess of glass and circuitry, they’d peer out into the Parable for the first time in ages.

–

Stanley didn’t know what he was looking at. Was this 432?

They were barely perceivable. Ages of being alone had worn away at them.

“Thank you, Stanley.” A cold voice spoke out.

-

A shocked expression overcame the Narrator’s face as he heard this, staring down at the shorter man in front of him. “Stanley, did you–”

“Stop it.” the voice interrupted, a mouth barely visible amongst the mess of lines.

–

“I thought you would’ve had at least some sort of change after all this time. Did you even regret anything you did?” They asked.

“Of course I did, look– I was just about to tell you!” He exclaimed, backing away.

“No. Even if you did manage to apologize, it won’t make up for what you’ve done to me over these years.”

“I’ll show you how much I hurt. I’ll show you how it feels to be trapped, powerless.”

–
Stanley felt sick while he listened to this. Was it because he caused it? No, no. He didn’t cause it. He didn’t expect this to happen.

He felt the Narrator grip onto the back of his shirt.

The silhouette of lines in front of them began crackling with a yellow light.

They became more defined. Pain filled their eyes as they pulled themself out of the monitor. Raising their hand to the ceiling, they’d let out an unbearably loud shriek as they brought it down, directed at the Narrator.

–

The Narrator tightened his grip on Stanley’s shirt. 

Whatever was going to happen wouldn’t go to plan. He’d take Stanley with him. That was enough to hopefully reverse whatever was going to happen.

Bracing himself, feeling his Protagonist tense up, he’d suddenly feel a wave of unexplainable pain.

A stinging, paralyzing burn that ate away at the Narrator’s body. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream.

And then everything went black.

Chapter Text

A heaviness weighed down Stanley’s chest. That was the first thing he noticed when he woke up. He reached to his chest, his hands already resting there from when he gained his conscience, trying to pull at whatever was there.

Nothing. 

Almost as if it was like a part of him, not something that could be felt from the inside. Stanley was used to feeling almost hollow in a sense. There was no need for him to have an actual body. 

Thinking again, he realized the heaviness wasn’t just in his chest. 

It spread throughout every bit of him– something that was a part of him. Did he change somehow?

The floral smell of the Narrator’s office had left his nose. The only thing that replaced it was something cleaner, void of any fragrance.

Forcing himself to sit up, he’d gasp at the unfamiliar, prickly sensation under his hands. With his hands darting down to the floor, he’d realize he’d be on a patch of grass this entire time.

All he could do for a few seconds was just blink, and rub his hand against the grass beneath him as he tried to recall what happened.

His eyes widened as he remembered the image of 432 raising their arm, yellow static and electricity radiating around them.

Stanley scrambled, looking around himself, wondering what happened to the Narrator.

He was already awake, Stanley realized when he finally found him just a few feet away, his legs criss-crossed on the soft grass as his hands fell into his lap. The expression on his face was utter shock.

They met each other’s eyes.

“Stanley. What did you tell them?” The Narrator asked. His voice was shaky. Stanley couldn’t tell if it was because of the aforementioned shock, or approaching anger.

Stanley tapped the side of his head quickly, trying to organize his thoughts.

[I didn’t think they’d do this, I just wanted to free them.] He thought, holding his hands up in front of him. 

[Look, I thought at the very least they wanted to talk to you. Maybe have an actual discussion with you that didn’t consist of them being stuck in that monitor.]

[I know the Curator was scared to free them, but come on, I couldn’t just-]

“Stanley.” The Narrator interrupted. 

“I can’t hear your thoughts.” He said, his eyes moving to stare at the ground beneath him.

Stanley did the same as he made the realization. 

Suddenly he got up, making his way to where the Narrator sat. He nudged his shoe with his own, a small tapping noise being made. When the Narrator looked up at him, Stanley tapped the side of his head again.

“I already tried it again, Stanley. Nothing.” He responded. 

Stanley stood there, uncertain of what to do next. 

He looked at his surroundings while the Narrator sat there.

The sky above them was a muted grey– a mess of soupy clouds blocking out the sun. 

They were in the middle of a small grass field, gated off by iron fencing. 

Stanley squinted, peering out at what laid past the fencing. 

People passed by, without a care in the world. They looked as if they were going about their daily lives, wrapped up in varying sets of clothes meant to fight off the cold in the air. 

“This is great.” The Narrator suddenly said, piercing through the silence that filled Stanley’s head as he watched the people passing by. 

Stanley’s eyes darted back to him, the taller man adjusting his position to get up from the ground. 

“This is simply amazing, Stanley.” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“First, there’s an error in the Parable’s environment– I invite you to my office to help me fix it, nothing big– and then secondly I begin telling you the history of it all, expecting that you would understand my point of view of it all! But no!” He laughed, frustration creeping up within him as he spoke.

“You- you couldn’t bother seeing my opinion whatsoever, that was fine, I decided to let you talk to Employee 432, also fine!” He stepped back, looking at everything while Stanley stared at him.

“Next, you decide to make the grand idea of freeing 432! I have no clue what urged you to do it, but whatever it was, it wasn’t the best idea you’ve had! Not at all!”

“Look, I get it! I really do! I was stuck in the office while you talked to them, and– news flash– I made an effort to reflect on myself!” he exclaimed, pressing his fingertips against his chest as he backed up every so slightly. “I realized that, hey, imprisoning an employee inside a hunk of technology for decades maybe wasn’t the best idea! I saw whatever it was you wanted me to see!” The Narrator ranted, his voice growing with intensity.

“But, Stanley, you could’ve at least made an effort to inform me that ‘Oh hey Narrator, I’m thinking about releasing 432 from that monitor cooped up in your closet. Are you cool with that?’”

“No! No, you didn’t do that at all, Stanley, and now look what happened!”

“They have complete control over the Parable! With nothing to regulate them, nothing to keep them in check! Who knows what they’re going to do with their power when it’s paired up with their newfound anger?”

“And- here’s the kicker, Stanley, neither of us can check on the Parable because they decided that it’d be a good idea to dump us out here! Here in this disgusting, miserable place, filled with who knows what!” He’d toss his hands into the air, looking up at the sky. Stanley was sure that they were getting weird looks from the people walking past the area. The Narrator’s hands fell back to his sides. It didn’t seem like he was done talking yet.

“We don’t even know if they’ll ever decide to take us back! What if we’re stuck here for the rest of our lives?! We can’t just wait it out, we’re either going to age to death or die of some idiotic predicament! I don’t think you’ve figured it out Stanley, but guess what?!” The Narrator would ask, looking back at Stanley, who now was trying to walk up to him and close the distance between them.

“We’re human, Stanley! Disgusting, living, breathing, fragile humans! I’m- we’re not supposed to feel this gross weight inside our bodies! Neither of us had anything in there! It was just a mess of code! But no! Stanley I can quite literally feel the fact I have organs now, as disgusting as it sounds!”

“We’re flesh and blood now, whether we like it or not! We’re not supposed to be like this! We’re supposed to be back up in the Parable– wherever it is now, if it even still exists!”

Stanley raised his hand to the Narrator’s, cautiously reaching out. It was the best thing he could do without being able to tell the Narrator his thoughts.

“We have bodily functions now, Stanley! We need to eat, sleep, drink– everything I made sure the Parable didn’t have!” he’d say, looking down at Stanley’s hand.

He’d huff, realizing the gesture Stanley was trying to do as he turned his palm up to the sky.

He wanted to hold hands? Really? At a time like this?

The Narrator scoffed. Despite what he thought, his hand easily found its way into Stanley’s own.

Stanley gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He’d look up at the Narrator, letting out a quiet exhale.

“I just– this is terrible, Stanley. Utterly terrible. Nothing is going the way I intended.”

“We don’t know what to do out here, we don’t know what's happening back in the Parable.”

“I can’t use any of my abilities out here. I am horribly, utterly, undeniably, a human.” He’d sigh, looking down at the hand Stanley held.

Suddenly, he’d feel Stanley tug at his hand. The Narrator would look up at him, watching as he stared out at one of the nearby buildings.

“Stanley, no. We can’t leave this place, we have to wait for..” he’d trail off, being pulled by Stanley already walking to the exit of this gated area.

He finished the thought in his head, remembering he had said the exact answer earlier.

They couldn’t just wait it out, staying in this area wouldn’t do any good for them.

“..Fine, fine. We have to start somewhere, right Stanley?” he’d ask, letting go of his hand to catch up with the pace of the shorter man.

Stanley would smile, nodding at the Narrator.

Chapter Text

Entering the building that Stanley led him into, the Narrator would be hit with an earthy smell, mixed in with notes of vanilla and almond.

There was a large curved rosewood desk in the center of the entrance. The desk’s space was taken over by small plastic holders containing pamphlets.

The Narrator would pluck one of the papers out of the holder bringing it close to his face.

At the very top of the front page, it listed: 

“LIBRARY OPENING HOURS

9 AM TO 7 PM”

He turned it over in his hands, skimming the text that detailed upcoming events, job opportunities, and more. He had one of these in his office- albeit just a small shelf. It was nothing compared to where the two stood now.

He entertained the idea of expanding that area in his office, but never got around to it due to never even having enough books he could declare that he liked. He never did have much time to read more than a few pages every now and then.

He’d look away from the pamphlet, noticing that Stanley had still stood by his side, idly staring at the shelves past the desks and presumably staff working there.

“Stanley, have you ever heard of one of these places?” He’d ask, handing the pamphlet to him.

Stanley took it from him, staring at the text at the top. As expected, he shook his head. The Narrator knew his response long before Stanley even made it, there weren’t many places Stanley could look at in the Parable. 

”That’s quite alright, Stanley.” The Narrator would respond, his footsteps muffled against the dark carpeted floor.

Stanley would follow him, his eyes darting to and fro from the large labels on each of the rosewood shelves they passed. He fidgeted with the corners of the pamphlet as he registered each of the genres listed on the shelves. Fantasy, horror, mystery..

Stanley was never really one for reading books. He found it hard to concentrate, for the most part. He was always walking around in the Parable. It was baffling to know there were hundreds, probably thousands of books in this place.

“You know, Stanley, I based that little bookshelf in my office off of one of these places. I never understood the whole portion of lending the books out to other people, though.” The Narrator said, turning to go into one of the shelves. Stanley would continue following him, unsure of where they were going. 

“I don’t think you ever showed any interest in reading. Meanwhile, the Curator would likely decide to borrow one of my books and constantly forget to bring it back,” he muttered, “I thought it’d be better to just leave them on my shelf. I even organized them all by alphabetical order.”

Stanley’s soft smile would be hidden as he followed behind the Narrator. He was just happy to see he still wasn’t ranting and yelling like how he did back outside. The topic of the Parable seemed to be off the taller man’s mind as he looked through the shelves of books. 

 “-Ah, look at this one, Stanley.” The Narrator suddenly said whilst they had been going through another section. He’d take a book off of the shelf, handing it to Stanley. “This was one of the books I had back at the office.”

Stanley blinked, staring at the title, holding the book in one of his hands whilst still holding onto the pamphlet in the other. It read, “The Picture of Dorian Gray”.

He’d look back up at the Narrator, who was already turned around, looking at the other books.

He knew nothing about this book, about any of the books in here at all. But, as he brushed his fingers against the elaborate design of the cover, he wondered just how strong exactly was the bond between the Parable and the real world. 432 was easily able to drop them in here, meanwhile the Narrator was seemingly able to take material of this world and put it into the Parable, seen with the book he was just given. 

Stanley forced himself to shake it off, though. Placing the ornate book back from the spot the Narrator took it from, Stanley would continue following him, the Narrator already turning a corner for the next aisle.

–

This went on for the next handful of minutes, consisting of the two walking together as the Narrator rambled about a varying collection of things, handing Stanley books here and there. Eventually, they ended up in a section of the library labelled “Lifestyle”.

The Narrator ending up staying in this section longer than the rest. He was enthralled, having found numerous books detailing various things  he considered to be a staple for him and Stanley.

The books described things that weren’t normal or familiar to either of them; things that they would’ve usually be fine without.

After a while, the Narrator finally got tired of standing in the middle of the section while he skimmed the pages of the books.

“Stanley, can you help me pick out a few of these books while we look for somewhere to sit?” The Narrator asked, gently closing the book he held in his hands.

Looking up from the pamphlet, Stanley would nod, focusing on the shelf next to him. He didn’t know what exactly to pick, or what exactly the Narrator wanted. He plucked a random assortment of books from the selection closest to him, accumulating a small stack in his hands.

“This is quite the jackpot, don’t you think?” The Narrator said as he picked out a stack of his own books, gently tilting his head for a split second to let Stanley know to follow him.

A few feet away from the section they were standing in, there was a small table with a chair next to it. The Narrator placed down his books first, making sure Stanley had enough space on the table to do the same.

“I’ll likely be here for a while reading these.” The Narrator muttered, reaching for a chair at a nearby table. He’d drag it over to the small table, setting it across from the first chair.

“Did you want to look around some more? You’re more than welcome to.” He asked as he watched Stanley place down the other stack of books.

Stanley would shake his head, tossing the pamphlet onto the table as he moved to take his seat.

“Is that so?” The Narrator smiled, taking his own seat. He’d reach for the book at the top of one of the stacks, dusting it off.

Stanley would give him a thumbs-up.

“Alright then. Help me out with reading these, Stanley.”

Stanley would reach out to the other stack of books, picking up one that revolved around what seemed to be cooking.

As he opened the cover up, he wondered about what could be happening back in the Parable.

Hopefully everything was okay.

Chapter Text

Time was often overlooked within the Parable. Paired with the constant resets within the office portion of it all, the hours that went by could be thrown to the wind with no remorse.

Despite this, the Curator kept a small clock within her own dwelling. It was a storage room of sorts that held emergency materials if something in the Museum ever broke or stopped working as intended.

The Museum did not reset alongside the office. That was evident from the very start. Over time, the Curator found purpose in reshaping and repairing old materials from other models of the office, piecing them together in a sort of love letter to the Parable. She had no use for narrating, this was far more entertaining to her. Being able to maintain and take care of this place rather than watching it all automatically repair and revert was a beautiful concept for her.

Placing a small box of replacement number buttons on one of the large storage shelves, she’d look at the small analog clock on the wall to her left. Her gray irises would shine, reflecting off of the cheap lightbulb hanging just above her.

It was about to be 8:00 again. If it was AM or PM, the Curator didn’t really know. The Parable didn’t have a day and night cycle; she simply relied on just how many time the hands passed the numbers she and the Narrator agreed on.

She’d pat the box in front of her, turning to leave the storage area. Opposite to the wall with the clock, the other wall opened up into a barren hallway. The Curator pushed on the door at the end of the hall, opening up to the rest of the Museum.

This area was fairly hidden. It was at the back of the Museum, among the hall with the large chapel-like windows. The door was disguised as one of the window panels— a wall of white LEDs to mimic the idea of light flowing in.

Every other time the hands on the clock hit 8:00, the Narrator and the Curator would meet up in the Museum. There was no reason to do so most of the time, usually it was just to catch up and have a break from their usual routines.

The Curator’s heels clicked against the floor, echoing across the halls that the Curator had spent her life meticulously perfecting.

She took longer than usual to make her way to the front of the Museum, knowing that the Narrator usually had trouble keeping track of time in his own office. If she remembered correctly, all he had was a pop-up programmed into his monitor that would go off every time the monitor’s internal time hit eight. The monitor’s clock apparently ran off a twenty-four hour clock, so that helped to clear up the confusion a bit.

Once the Curator made it to the front area, she looked for where the Narrator usually would stand upon entering.

Was he late? The Curator thought. Maybe he’s busy finishing up an ending.

She’d dust off herself as she waited, minuscule bits of dirt and other grime accumulated from organizing some old assets.

It wouldn’t hurt to wait a bit longer. The Narrator never forgot about their meetings; eventually he’d come to the Museum.

Five minutes should be enough, she thought. She pulled up her left sleeve, staring at the intricate watch that laid under it.

–

Five minutes had gone by. Maybe five more minutes were needed. The Curator didn’t mind; she didn’t have anything to do as of right now.

–

Another five minutes passed. The Curator grumbled to herself, what exactly had the Narrator been doing that took up the time they allotted for each other?

She contemplated giving him another five minutes, but enough was enough. They could simply cover it next time they had a chance to talk, there was nothing wrong with that. 

Straightening her sleeve back over the watch, the Curator would simply turn around, making her way back to the storage room. She’d occupy herself with cleaning up more unused assets, organizing them into separate storage boxes. After that, she contemplated, she could always dust off each of the exhibit labels one by one.

Upon entering one of the exhibits, she’d stop in her tracks. In front of her would be a dark, pitch black silhouette, peering down into the wooden model of the old Zending layout.

She couldn’t discern any of their details from this angle. 

“You designed all of this, didn’t you?” The silhouette asked, not bothering to look over at the Curator.

The Curator didn’t want to move from where she stood. She squinted her eyes, focusing on the way small parts and fragments of the being in front of her would crackle like electricity.

Their form was unstable, struggling to stay intact as they spoke. Or moreso, it was getting used to the idea of being intact and materializing.

“I can’t remember how long the Zending looked like this, but you reconstructed it awfully well. Props to you.” They said casually, straightening their back as they finally turned their head to look at the Curator.

Their voice sounded awfully familiar to her. It was much more distorted now, but there was a warmth that the Curator recognized. 

An analog clock in place of where an eye should be looked back at the Curator as she spoke to them. 

“Is that you, 432?” She asked, her eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Correct,” They began. “It’s only thanks to Stanley that I was able to finally get out.”  

She’d cautiously step forward. 

“I’m sorry for not letting you out the last time we spoke.” The Curator said. Her words practically spilled out of her mouth, saying things she intended to say years ago. “I trusted the Narrator’s opinion more than your own. I knew how much you were struggling, and yet I buried it all away. I-”

“That’s all in the past now. It’s fine, I got rid of him for now. I came here because I needed your help with something.” 432 waved off dismissively, looking around at the rest of the room. They walked towards the Curator, peering to get a look at the exhibit behind her. 

“What do you mean you got rid of him?” She’d worriedly ask, making space for 432 to walk past her. 

“Look, in my defense, I was angry.”

“I may or may not have decided to, ahem, chuck him out of the Parable and send him to the world outside of the Parable. It's fine, I’ll take him back later once I’m done making changes. And now, that’s where you come in, see-”

“No, no. What do you mean you took him outside of the Parable?” The Curator would cut them off, trailing behind them as they started walking away from the previous exhibit. 

“I put him in the real world.” The hands within the clock resembling one of their eyes would quickly turn clockwise, faster than how they’d currently been ticking forward as they presumably rolled their eyes. 

“He’s not meant to be out there, 432. He’s meant to be in here, narrating, and.. Wait, what about Stanley? If the Narrator’s gone, then what is he doing?”

“He sort of got caught in the crossfire. I intended to only send off the Narrator, but he was apparently holding onto Stanley in some sense.”

“I had specifically used my power on the Narrator in a way where anything attached to him would go with him too, like his glasses, his outfit.. You get the gist. But by holding onto Stanley..” They’d ramble, wringing their hands as they walked into yet another exhibit, “Yeah. You get it.”

A look of pure shock was on the Curator’s face. She stopped walking, which in turn caused 432 to stop as well. 

“Neither of them are supposed to be out there. They’re crucial aspects of the Parable. Not only that, but did you bother to send them out with anything? You do know how different the real world is, don’t you?” She asked.

“The people out there have hundreds of concepts and ideas that we don’t abide by. The only thing Stanley and the Narrator have are their names. Did you even give them anything like a form of identification? Some sort of starting money? You can’t expect them to survive off of scavenging for food and shelter every day.”

432 stared at the Curator as she spoke, the hands in their clock-eye slowly ticking forward.

“I get that you were angry. I can’t understand how it must’ve felt to be stuck in that monitor for so long. And I get that sending them out of the Parable must’ve been some way to show them how helpless you felt. But are you really better than the Narrator if you just enact the same as he had done to you?”

432 placed one of their hands on their hip, staring down at the ground now. 

The Curator continued to stare at them, interlocking her hands together. The Museum was painfully quiet. The Curator worried that she said something she wasn’t meant to. 

Eventually 432 groaned, their hand dropping back to their side.

“Fine. If I at least give them what you asked about, will you be willing to help me?” They asked. 

“Yes.” 

–

After a few minutes, they worked out the details of everything that was necessary. 432 created and enclosed everything within a manila envelope, generated from the power of what they held, handing it to the Curator to write whatever message she needed onto it.

They stood within the storage room, with 432 resting against the wall opposite to the primary storage shelf as the Curator used the surface of a box and a pen from her pocket to write her message out. The ink flowed out of the elaborate pen, almost immediately drying as it made contact with the cool air.

“There. I’m done.” She said, capping her pen and slipping it back into her suit jacket’s front pocket. 432 took the envelope, glancing over what had been written.

“How exactly did you know so much about what the real world requires for you to.. Well, know how to properly live in it?” 432 asked, waving the envelope away with a single hand motion. One minute it was there, and the next it was gone. A wave of yellow static reverberated across 432’s body as they sent away the envelope.

“Both the Narrator and I took what we needed from the other world. The Narrator stuck to collecting books through looking up reviews on his monitor, meanwhile I used the ability to perfect the layout of my Museum; to know how an actual one looks. From time to time I took breaks to learn about what else was out there, though.”

“The concept of living and aging was fascinating to me.” The Curator contemplated, focused on the ticking within 432’s singular eye.

After a few seconds, she clapped her hands together. “Now then. I’ve got what I wanted. It’s only common courtesy to repay you. What did you need from me?”

“Right. Do you know if the Narrator ever saved the old files and programs of the other employees?”

–

Somewhere else, Stanley felt something stiff land softly upon his head.

Chapter Text

Stanley had no clue how long he’d been sitting here with the Narrator. It was awfully quiet, with only a person or two passing by every now and then.

He had given up on focusing a while ago. The last book he tried to read was already closed, set off to the side. The pamphlet he had been previously fidgeting with had been neatly placed on top of it.

Stanley sat with his hands in his lap as he looked around at his surroundings.

Across from him sat the Narrator, who had already skimmed through quite a few books. At this point, the Narrator had been gathering bits of information from all of the lifestyle books that he and Stanley took off of the shelves. There were additional books added to the pile, taken from the magazine and the cooking sections that they discovered when they took a break via walking around. They even got ahold of a dictionary from the section labeled “References”.

If the Narrator got ahold of paper and a pen, he’d probably be scribbling down who knows how many notes right now. Earlier, he kept piping up about what he figured out from each of the books. But as of right now, he was fairly quiet as he focused. Every now and then, he’d look up at Stanley, and back at the book in his hands.

As Stanley stared at the shelves near them, he wondered about what they’d do next. Besides being aware he had organs now, Stanley wasn’t sure what else made him human. How did being human even feel? The Narrator mentioned topics such as healthy sleep cycles and requiring food and water, but Stanley had no clue how any of that felt. Up until now, all he really felt was an empty sort of feeling from where his stomach was. It gave off a dull sort of pain, not too bad, but it was a bit annoying. Maybe that was how hunger felt?

He sighed, raising his arms to stretch. But as he did so, he suddenly felt a soft thud on his head.

”Wha- Stanley?!-“ the Narrator suddenly exclaimed, looking up from his book and watching the other stagger in his seat as something flat bounced off his head, hitting the floor with the muffled sound of impact.

Stanley looked fine though; thankfully not falling out of his chair. He stared at the Narrator, then back at what had landed on the floor near him.

”Stanley, where did that come from?” the Narrator asked, his eyes registering what looked to be a manila envelope, neatly shut.

Stanley shrugged, bending down in his chair to pick it up. He cautiously picked it up, turning it around in his hands as comfortably sat back down in his chair. In the center of the front side of the envelope was a message written in black ink.

“You’ll need these things while you’re out in the real world. Try not to lose anything.

432 will take you guys back eventually. You just have to hold out for now. Remember that you’re still human for now.

The Curator”

The message was written in cursive, taking Stanley more than a few seconds to properly understand it. Once he was done, he stretched his hand over the table, eager to show it to the Narrator as he waved it in his face. The book the Narrator previous held was already pushed to the side as he took the manila envelope from the other’s hand.

His eyes easily looked over the fancy writing, gliding over it as if he’d seen the handwriting thousands of times before.

“Do you mind if I open it, Stanley?” The Narrator asked, one of his hands resting over the flap of the envelope that contained whatever contents were sealed inside. Stanley simply scooted his chair over a bit to get a better view of what was inside.

The Narrator repositioned the packet so one of his hands held the bottom of the container as the other reached inside.

First, he pulled out what looked to be two printed out résumés.

Next was another envelope from within the previous one. Placing the main form of packaging aside, the Narrator had taken the white letter envelope into his hands, flipping the seal flap open with ease; not having been sealed shut unlike the larger envelope. Within it held a neat stack of various twenty-dollar bills.

The Narrator placed the white envelope on top of the resumes on the table-space in front of him.

The last item that was included was a set of identification cards. The Narrator clicked his tongue as he finished emptying the envelope.

“Well this is quite nice.” He said, slipping the envelope of money back into the original container to just barely clear up the cluttered table. For good measure, he put away the résumés as well.

Stanley decides to get up, walking over to the Narrator’s side as he picked up the identification card meant for him.

He wondered how 432 decided what the surname on the card would be, but the bigger detail he focused on was the image on the card. He’d seen photos of himself in the Parable before, mainly in the cardboard cutouts with his likeness from the Sequel Expo. Despite this, there was a certain fascination that he found in this photo that 432 made of him. He’d place it back on the table, not trusting himself to put it inside of his pocket.

The Narrator eventually did the same, picking up his own identification card. Almost instantly, there was a frown on his face. “That’s a stupid name.” He mumbled, proceeding to look at the backside of the card, before placing it in the envelope.

“Well, Stanley, we have more items to help us now..” he spoke up, holding the envelope and tapping it on the table, making sure all of the contents neatly ended up at the bottom of it.

“Should we stay here?” He asked. “We could always read more of these books.” The Narrator said, looking up at Stanley.

Instead of holding up a hand signal, Stanley would reach over to one of the books he had tried to read, holding it up in front of the Narrator and pointing at the cover.

“Excuse me?” The Narrator asked. The book was from the food section, with something called a burger on the front of the cover.

“What does this mean, Stanley? Are you hungry?”, he said, before quickly correcting his question. “Do you think you’re hungry?”

Stanley initially shrugged, before lightly shaking his head, and then finally making an enthusiastic thumbs up at the Narrator.

The Narrator stared at Stanley. He tiredly blinked at him, before looking back at the table.

“Alright then. First we’ll have to put away all of these books we took out, though.” He said. “I’ll deal with the cooking books, the magazines, and the dictionary. You’re fine with taking care of the lifestyle books, yes? It shouldn’t be too hard, since they’re all majorly in one section and you don’t have to wander around like I have to.”

Stanley smiled, reaching for his stack of books. He’d have to make a few trips back and forth from the section to the table, but he didn’t mind it. It was better than sitting down and zoning out for what would probably be the rest of the day.

—

The sky was no longer grey once Stanley and the Narrator finally exited the library. The pavement was illuminated by primarily street lamps, and the sky took on a deeper shade, the faint outline of the moon reflecting down on the two as they walked side to side.

The Narrator held onto the envelope, and for some reason Stanley still had that pamphlet.

“Do you think there’d even be any food places open around this time, Stanley? We’ve barely seen anybody out here.” The Narrator said. “It’s awfully cold, too. Why would anybody even be out here?”

“Maybe they could’ve sent us a scarf, while they were at it.” The Narrator continued as the two turned the corner. Suddenly, they saw the illumination of light from something that wasn’t just a street lamp.

The building they focused on was obviously smaller than the library. But as they both agreed to walk forward, they got a better look at the front of the building. Through the window they peered through, the only one void of any advertisements, there were a number of seating areas on one side, and the other held a staff area behind a counter. There was only two or three other people in the building that seemed to be customers. One was sitting by themself, opening a brown bag in front of them. The other two people looked as if they were in a line that led to the front of the staff counter.

The posters plastered on the windows displayed large images of food, a dead giveaway that this was, indeed, a place that sold food.

”Do you want to eat here?” The Narrator asked, making his way to the door.

Stanley gave him a thumbs up, the Narrator soon yanking the door open and holding it open for Stanley

—

The building was filled with the quiet chatter from the staff, accompanied by the beeping of various machines behind the counter. 

Stanley and the Narrator made their way to stand in the line, staring up at the menu on the wall.

“This looks awfully confusing, Stanley. Why are there so many different combinations?” The Narrator asked.

Stanley shrugged, trying to look for whatever option was the easiest to order. He tapped the Narrator’s shoulder, before holding up the number seven with his hands.

“Seven? What does that.. ah, I see.” The Narrator muttered, seeing the giant seven that was plastered on the menu.

—

When their turn finally came up, the Narrator explained his order to the staff in front of him. Two burgers, fries, and a water.

The Narrator had to take the money from the envelope, the change he was given being placed in that same piece of paper, alongside a receipt.

The Narrator and Stanley stood off to the side, patiently waiting for their order. 

Eventually the Narrator was called up to pick the tray up that contained their food. He handed the envelope to Stanley as he went up to the counter, bringing the contents to a nearby table.

The contents on the tray were warm— hot, even, besides the capped cup of water they got with their meal.

They’d sit across from each other yet again. Placing the paper contents to the side, Stanley took one of the burgers and placed it closer to himself. As for the other burger, he slid it closer to the Narrator.

“Thank you, Stanley, but I’m not hungry.” He said, watching as the man unwrapped his burger.

Stanley looked confused as he took in the Narrator’s response, shaking it off as he bit into his burger.

Only now had Stanley realized that he never truly experienced anything regarding taste. He couldn’t describe taste at all, or what he was feeling in his mouth, but he happily took another bite.

And another.

And, again, another.

The Narrator watched as the man in front of him absolutely destroyed this burger. Stanley acted like he hadn’t eaten in years.

Within barely a few minutes, he was done with the burger, the dull pain in his stomach was gone, and he felt immensely better now.

He reached for one of the napkins on the tray, wiping any excess ketchup off of his face.

”You know, I think I’ll just save this for later, Stanley.” The Narrator said, putting his own unwrapped burger to the side.

”You seem happier now, Stanley. Now that we’ve handled food, ah, what’s next..” he muttered as Stanley reached for a french fry.

“Right; we should look for a place to rest, shouldn’t we? I read about something called a hotel in one of those magazines— surely they have one of those around here. Would you like to hear about them?” He asked, looking over at the man who was currently shoving three french fries into his mouth at once.

Stanley gave him a thumbs up, getting comfortable in his chair as he pulled the container of fries closer to his section of the tray.

Chapter Text

By the time the Narrator finished rambling about the concept of hotels and by extension, motels, it seemed that the place they were staying at had begun to close.

The Narrator looked for a trashcan to get rid of the paper waste accumulated on the tray. He found one a few feet behind where they sat, tilting the tray so everything slid into the disposal. He tapped it against the edge of the can, before making his way to leave the empty tray on the staff counter.

Back at the table, Stanley collected the envelope and the pamphlet, holding them under one of his arms as he picked up the unwrapped burger in one hand, and the half-full container of water in the other. He got up, making his way over to the Narrator.

“Ready to leave, Stanley?” The Narrator asked, taking the papers from under Stanley’s arm. He nodded at the Narrator as the both of them made their way to the entrance; the Narrator pushing and holding the door open for Stanley.

“You know, that was quite easier than expected.” He said as he let go of the door, the cold gently hitting both of them as they left the fast food place. “Ordering the food, I mean. I read all about it in this book about being.. ah, what was the term?” 

“I think it was about being kind and sociable, yes.” He continued, breathing in the chilled air. 

Stanley wondered how much time had passed since they arrived in the real world. Was it considered the evening now? Was it late? He hadn’t seen as many people as he did before he entered the library.

“So now we’ve had food and water, or well- more so you’ve had it, I’ve yet to indulge in my share. We’ve gotten knowledge from that library, including what 432 and the Curator sent us, what else..”

“Right, the hotel. The information I had looked into told me that there’s usually a good handful of those buildings that stay open when it’s late. Surely we should find one if we walk far enough, right? The same happened with the food place, so surely it’ll happen again, yes?”

Stanley simply gave him a single nod in response. He just wanted to get out of the cold that was growing on him.

—

Upon opening the filing cabinet within the Narrator’s office, 432 came to realize that the man had no sense of organization at all.

Despite the papers being neatly stacked and separated into different folders, they each seemed to be parts of different scripts or were scrapped notes and ideas.

“How does he manage with a system like this?” 432 asked.

“I never looked into his portion of the Parable. All I handled was the Museum and unwanted assets.” The Curator responded. “He never gave me anything pertaining to the past employees, so your best bet is that it’s in here.”

432 was crouched in front of the cabinet, slowly looking through each piece of paper as the Curator stood off to the side, near the bookshelf. “What do you even need the records and files for?” She asked.

“I want to bring them back and make them resemble the old thing as close as possible.” 432 bluntly stated.

“What is that meant to do? How would you fit them into the story? The Parable isn’t meant to handle something like that.”

“I’ll figure out a new story while the Narrator’s gone. It wouldn’t hurt to change it a bit.” 432 pulled out a piece of lined paper from the cabinet. Various messy drawings done with pen were done on it, mainly of Stanley. They tilted their head, setting it in the pile with the rest of the papers.

“You can’t just force the Parable to do something like that so quickly, 432. Up until now, it’s only processed the sentience of a small handful of people.”

“That’s true. But you need to remember two things. One, I’m still connected to the Parable. I can control it just fine. And two, we both know all of my fellow employees existed in the past. The Narrator even mentioned them being erased in one of those endings he liked to do.”

The Curator sighed, turning to look at the monitor on the Narrator’s desk.

“I still want to help you, but is it really necessary to make such a big change? How do you think the Narrator and Stanley would even take it?”

“I’ve wanted to change the Parable for a while now. It needs to change. I know it does. The Narrator and Stanley will just have to get used to it once they’re back here.”

“The Narrator will just have to get used to the fact that everything can’t stay as perfect as he intended it.” 432 muttered, taking out a messily stapled packet of notes that seemed to be an analysis of a novel. 432 squinted their clock eye, trying their best to at least understand a single sentence, especially with how poorly lit the office was.

“I don’t think we’re making any progress with these papers. Did the Narrator ever store anything specific on his own monitor?” They asked, tossing the packet to the pile of papers.

“Not that I know. He only ever told me about the code he developed.”

“That’s better than nothing.”

432 snapped their fingers, neatly placing all of the papers back into the filing cabinet. They left the drawings and the packet on top of the cabinet though, contemplating giving them a closer look later.

They stood up, looking over at the screensaver on the Narrator’s monitor.

—

Water started falling from the sky.

Taking in a breath, something about it was strangely comforting to Stanley.

The water wasn’t harsh. Despite reminding him of something in the Parable that he’d rather forget, Stanley was fascinated with the gentle touch of the cold water drops.

To the left of him, he saw the Narrator shield the important papers under his open suit jacket.

“Ugh. Hopefully we find a hotel somewhere before this gets bad, Stanley.” He said.

Stanley stared at the buildings around them. It was hard to differentiate them from each other in the dim lighting, but he caught his eye on one that appeared slightly larger than the rest in the distance. He tapped the Narrator’s shoulder with the hand that held the cup of water, trying to point at the structure. The Narrator let out a small “Huh?-“ as he stopped in his tracks, looking for where Stanley was pointing

There seemed to be a logo situated at the top of the building, impossible to read from where the two stood. But by the way the building was structured, with windows that seemed to belong to countless rooms strewn along the walls of the building, it seemed like they could trust the assumption that it was, indeed, a hotel.

“Hmm.” The Narrator hummed. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it, Stanley?” He asked

“Oh what am I saying, come on, let’s keep walking. I don’t want my clothes to be soggy.” The Narrator quickly added, tucking the papers deeper within his jacket as he resumed walking. Stanley followed suit, sticking by his side.

—

“Ugh, just look at all of this.” 432 muttered. They sat in front of the Narrator’s monitor, scrolling through the file containing all of the code that had been written.

The Curator had moved to the closet, picking at the broken shards of glass against the floor. She groaned, walking over and reaching for the waste basket next to 432.

She had nothing better to do. 432 was focused on figuring out what happened to their employees, and the Curator didn’t feel like leaving them alone. She busied herself with tidying up the office in the meantime.

“Was he always this messy, Curator?” 432 asked.

“I’m not sure.” She responded, careful not to cut her hands as she picked up the bigger pieces of broken glass, chucking them into the waste basket. “I think he’s always just been naturally disorganized. He manages it well, though.”

“Well I’ve gotta ideas for the Parable now, and those involve him being neater when he comes back.” 432 said, giving up on scrolling and opting to push down the “CTRL” and “F” keys at the same time, opening up the lookup tool. Despite the appearance, the functions of the actual monitor itself were modernized to an extent. They began typing in specific keywords, seeing if anything would pop up within the code.

The Curator heard the sound of 432 typing as she disposed of the glass, moving to take care of the bits on the small table that held the broken computer.

432 suddenly stopped typing, the quiet ticking from their eye being heard even all the way from the closet where the Curator stood.

432 shifted in the swivel seat, looking at the back of the Curator.

“Can I ask you something?” They asked.

“Hm?” The Curator placed the waste basket back down, turning to look at the Curator.

432 pointed at a specific line code they found.

“He didn’t get rid of Mariella?”

Chapter Text

By the time Stanley and the Narrator reached the hotel, they were sufficiently drenched in water.

Once they entered, the lobby of the hotel looked fairly simple. They weren’t sure what exactly to expect. There was a woman who sat at the reception desk, a pair of elevators to one side of her, and a staircase on the other.

Stanley shivered as he looked around, his waterlogged button-up clinging to his body. He noticed a lounge situated near the front of the lobby, magazines scattered on the surface of the table in the center.

“This should be as easy as last time, Stanley.” The Narrator said, making his way to the front desk, rainwater dripping off of him onto the tiled floor.  

“Ahem! Excuse me?” He asked, standing in front of the desk. The lady in charge of it looked up from her computer screen, squinting as she saw this strange soggy man in front of him.

“..Yes?” She responded, scooting her chair ever so slightly to get a look at Stanley, who stood behind him. 

“We would like to order a room, please. The cheapest one possible.” The Narrator confidently said.

“Do you mean you’d like to check out a room?” The lady asked, looking back at her computer. 

“Yes, exactly! You do take cash, correct?” He asked, reaching under his soaked jacket for the manila envelope. 

“..Yes. Do you have your ID with you? I’ll need that too if you want a room.” She continued. She noticed the man behind the one speaking to her was now next to his side. He looked around quietly, with one hand in his pocket, and the other holding a plastic cup full of water. He was equally as soaked as the other man. 

The Narrator carefully opened the envelope up, reaching in and pulling out the plastic card that had his image on it. He placed it on the desk, sliding it over to the lady. 

She picked it up, keying in some sort of information on the keyboard as she looked at the computer. 

“Our cheapest room right now is seventy bucks a night. One bed too; is that alright with you?” She asked, sliding the ID back to the man. 

“Ah, one minute.” The Narrator said. He looked at Stanley, quietly asking “Is one bed enough?”, only for Stanley to shrug in response. 

“Yes, I think one bed will be enough.” The Narrator responded to the lady, pulling out a white envelope from the one he previously held. He handed the manila envelope to Stanley. Stanley took one of his hands out of his pocket, grabbing onto it. The Narrator made sure to take the ID from the desk, placing it back into the envelope that Stanley now held. 

The Narrator tutted to himself, taking out a neat stack of twenty-dollar bills, along with a ten dollar bill that he had received as change from the fast food place. 

He placed them on the counter, waiting for the woman to take them.

“You pay when you check out of the hotel, sir.” She said, gently sliding the dollar bills back to him. 

“Ah. Is that so?” He asked, simply taking the money back and slipping it into the white envelope. 

“..Yes. Check out time’s at 12:00 pm tomorrow. When you’re done with your room, come back up to this desk and let the staff know. That’s when you’ll have to pay. Do you understand?” She explained, staring at the two. 

“Yes, I understand now. Do we just head to the room now, or..?”

The lady sighed, placing a keycard on the desk. “Your room’s just above this floor, take the elevator or the stairs. Have a nice stay.” She sounded tired with that last statement, not desiring to continue talking to the men in front of her any longer as she looked back at her computer. 

The Narrator took the envelope that Stanley held, placing the smaller envelope of money back inside of it. He grabbed the keycard with his other hand. 

“Alright then; follow me, Stanley!” The Narrator said, walking over to the staircase. 

“She said our room was located just above this one, right Stanley? Oooh I wonder if there’s anything we can take with us in the morning.”
“It sounds rude, sure, but I think it’d do us quite some good, Stanley.” He continued, slowly ascending up the stairs. “Do you think there’s any way for us to dry our clothes once we get to the room? One of the books I read told me that we could get sick if we stay in these for too long. Eugh, I don’t even want to think of how it’d feel to be sick. Maybe the room will have spare clothes of some sort.”

“Honestly, how do humans stay out of the rain? Do they have a special fabric that helps shield them from it? Do they just stay indoors?” He continued. The two of them left the stairway at the nearest opening, leading to a hall lined with various doors.

“..What number was it again?” The Narrator asked, completely abandoning his previous topic, looking back down at the keycard. “It has a one and an eight on here. I’m assuming the one stands for the floor number, so that’d mean there’s a room corresponding to the number eight.”

Stanley followed closely by the Narrator as they walked down the hallway, looking at the numbers etched onto the plaques in front of each door. 

“Eight! This must be it, Stanley.” The Narrator cheered. For a second he was unsure on how to unlock the door, before realizing he had to press the keycard against the lock.

A quiet “click” was heard. The Narrator grinned, gripping onto the door handle and pushing it down. He proceeded to push the door forward, successfully opening it up.

The room took on an environment similar to the lobby room. There was a small hallway from the door, leading to what looked like a mix between a bedroom and a living room. In front of them was a small table accompanied by two seats. To the left of the furniture set up was a stand that a fairly large television sat upon, and to the right would be the foot of a bed that was roughly the same width of the television. It was almost identical to the bed in Stanley’s apartment that he had seen in the Parable. 

After taking out his shoes and leaving them by the laminated floor next to the door, Stanley walked through the small hallway, finally able to put down the cup of water he got from the fast food place. The Narrator slightly grimaced, closing the door behind him only to see Stanley pull out a wrapped, somewhat squished cheeseburger from his pocket. He placed it next to the water, moving away to look at the rest of the room. To the right of the bed would be the wall with the window, and to the left, there was a small closet. 

The Narrator exhaled, finally able to relax. He followed suit, placing his shoes next to Stanley’s. Stepping onto the carpet, he’d notice a door next to the television setup. “This is quite nice, isn’t it, Stanley?” He’d ask, opening the door with the hand that still held the keycard. “Ah, look at this, Stanley!” 

The Narrator was pleased to find that there was a bathroom within their hotel room. It was fairly small and had just enough room to squeeze in a sink, toilet, and shower, but it was better than nothing. 

“One of the books I read told me that it’s a good idea to wash off before you sleep. Do you want to go first? It’s quite easy, apparently all you have to do is twist that knob over there and it allows you to decide how hot the water is, isn’t that fascinating? And then once the water’s running, you use liquid soap to wash off whatever grime and dirt from the outside world. The hotel should’ve provided us with the soap.” The Narrator seemed eager to continue talking, but prevented himself from doing so as he waited for Stanley’s response.

Stanley gave him a thumbs up as he made his way into the bathroom. He reached for the door, slowly closing it in front of the Narrator.

“Do let me know if there are any spare clothes in there, Stanley! If you need any help or if anything happens, knock on the wall!” The Narrator said, hoping Stanley heard it through the closed door.

–

As he was left alone, the Narrator made his way over to the small table. He finally put down the papers and the keycard, taking a moment to look at everything.

Most of the furniture seemed to be made out of a dark wood, reminding him of his office back in the Parable. Apart from what sounded like the pipes running, perhaps Stanley managed to turn the water on, it was as silent as it was in the office, too.

The Narrator sighed, pulling out one of the seats to sit down. 

There wasn’t much to do while Stanley was busy. The Narrator looked back at the table, contemplating looking over the papers they were given again, but he suddenly remembered the squished cheeseburger that was meant to be his.

It looked like it had seen better days. The Narrator had no clue when Stanley had stored it in his pocket. Still, Stanley had asked for the extra burger with the intent of letting the Narrator try it.

After weighing out the various pros and cons, the Narrator ultimately decided to grab the burger. It looked bad, sure, but Stanley seemed to enjoy his own a lot.

He carefully unwrapped the yellow wax paper around it, clicking his tongue as he noticed some of the burger’s sauce spread to the wrapper.

He gripped the food with both of his hands, opening his mouth to take a bite.

The Narrator sat there for a bit, tentatively chewing.

He swallowed, processing the flavor. He muttered something to himself, taking another bite. He didn’t want to admit it, but it did taste pretty good.

Chapter Text

“Do let me know if there are any spare clothes in there, Stanley! If you need any help or if anything happens, knock on the wall!” The Narrator said, his voice muffled from the door between them. 

Stanley quietly looked around the bathroom, his eyes focusing on the shower that the Narrator had mentioned. He grabbed onto the handle of the glass door in front of it, pulling it open.

Stanley squinted a bit, wondering how far he was supposed to turn the knob. He moved close enough to simply grab onto the knob, but not close enough to actually be in the shower, twisting it enough to be in the middle. Suddenly, he heard the rattling of pipes, and a stream of water shot out from the contraption situated far above the knob.

He watched the water flow down onto the flooring that was separated from the rest of the bathroom by the glass panels. Putting his hand up to test the water, he noticed it was still fairly cold. 

[Did it need time to warm up?] Stanley wondered, turning around to see what else he could find in the bathroom. 

He went over to the sink, pulling open the cabinets underneath. To his surprise, he found two stacks of fabrics within. He took a look at the first stack, finding a plain white towel in his hands. He draped it over one of his arms as he grabbed at the other stack. It was made out of the same material as the towel, except it was fashioned to look like a robe of some sort. 

Stanley draped it over the same arm that held the towel, opening the door to the rest of the hotel room. He stepped out, looking for the Narrator. Stanley frowned as he saw him eating the burger that had been sitting in his pocket for who knows how long. 

“Ah, hello Stanley!” the Narrator said, sitting at the small table they’d been provided. Stanley walked over, taking the robe from his arm and showing him it. 

“So they do have spare clothes?” he asked, smiling a bit. “That is quite a relief, I- Stanley, what are you doing?” 

Stanley had draped the robe back over his arm, only to take the half eaten cheeseburger from the Narrator. He shook his head, looking around for any sort of waste basket to dispose of the sad, probably soggy burger. He was surprised the Narrator bothered to even try eating it at all. 

“Stanley, I’m sure it was fine!” The Narrator sighed, watching the damp office worker dump it in a metal disposal bucket near the front door. Stanley shook his head at the Narrator again, making his way back into the bathroom. 

“Well I hope you enjoy your shower, Stanley. Ah- and while you’re in there, go ahead and figure out how to use the toilet, why don’t you? You remember what I told you after reading one of the books back in the library, it told me that it’s incredibly important to use it before you sleep, and it consists of simply–”

Stanley’s hand popped out, giving him a thumbs down. He definitely did not want to hear about how that worked again. 

“Yep, got it! Sorry, carry on!” The Narrator finished, with Stanley shutting the bathroom door again.

He placed the towel and the robe down on the sink countertop, going back to the shower that was still running. He checked the temperature again, still cold. Stanley sighed, messing with the knob some more to see if that’d get the water to be hotter. He’d have to give it a few more minutes to properly heat up. 

–

With his burger gone, the Narrator had nothing else to do while he waited for Stanley. He didn’t want to touch the manila envelope right now, his hands having an uncomfortable residue from the wrapper of the cheeseburger. 

He’d sigh, looking at the clock that sat above the front door that led to the rest of the hotel. Squinting his eyes, he’d try to focus on it from this distance. 

He was never one for keeping track of time. The Parable never had any use for it, besides keeping track of how much time Stanley had left in the Countdown ending. The Curator was more focused on the concept of time. The Narrator never quite grasped it, no matter how much the Curator tried explaining it to him. She’d always tell him how precious it was, how special each minute could be. He’d scoff, reminding her how there was no use for it.

But now that he was here, there was indeed a use for it. Time defined a number of things here, and he’d have to get used to it. 

He got up, trying to make the effort of reading the clock in the room. In the past he could read these just fine but it proved to be a bit of a challenge now, seeing as he relied on the digital clocks within his office and on his monitor. The shorter hand of the clock was at the number nine, that was all the Narrator needed to know. 

He had no clue what time it was when they first arrived in the real world. Judging from how much the sky had changed, initially being a soupy gray before becoming what now looked like pure darkness, it had definitely been more than just a small handful of hours. 

The Narrator huffed, making his way back to the chair. He was still horribly soggy from the rain.

–

The water was hot, but not enough to the point where it hurt Stanley.

Just a few moments after waiting for the water to heat up, Staley decided to use the toilet, washed his hands, and properly undressed to get into the shower.

It all felt odd to Stanley. He wasn’t supposed to eat, drink, or do anything else related to the matter. He wasn’t even sure if he was ever supposed to see the skin under his clothes. There was no need to take them off in the Parable.

He first realized it looked wrong to him when he first got rid of his shirts. The skin underneath wasn’t just perfectly clear as he expected it to be– there were various blemishes and moles all over. Imperfections that he assumed wouldn’t exist. But the main thing that he noticed was the fact he liked them. He liked everything he experienced so far, how could he not? At that point, he couldn’t consider it to have looked wrong. At the most, his body was simply very strange to behold.

He reflected on this as he felt the water drip onto his body. Enveloped in steam and hot water, he looked around him to see if there was any soap provided. Conveniently, there were two small bottles in the corner of the shower, upon a ledge. He reached for one of the bottles, reading the label. Body wash.

Stanley uncapped it, squirting some of it onto his hand. He placed the bottle back on the ledge, using both hands to spread the soap on his body, starting with his arms.

He felt comfortable as the suds were washed off by the water. Stanley repeated the action of applying soap to his body, this time to his torso area. He gently dug his nails into his skin, trying his best to scrub out whatever grime there could be.

–

Eventually Stanley finished up washing his body, grabbing the other bottle on the ledge. This one read the words “Shampoo and Conditioner Two-in-One”, and in fine print underneath the text, he read the words “Hair Care”. 

He uncapped this bottle too, this time simply pouring the solution straight onto his head. Careful not to waste anything by letting it fall to the floor, Stanley made sure not to tilt his head as he placed the bottle back on the ledge once he was done. 

He raised his hands, working them through his hair. He moved his head out of the way of the stream of water, wanting to allow the soap enough time to soak into his hair before being washed off.

The texture of his hair was thick, with Stanley being careful not to tangle his fingers within the locks of dark brown hair. He closed his eyes as he did so, careful as to not get any soap in them. 

Once he was done working the soap in, he tilted his head back into the flowing water, continuing to brush his hands through his hair to help the water get rid of the soap. As he ensured all of the soap was rinsed off, he decided to turn the water off. 

As the shower was shut off, all that was left was a gentle dripping from what the water flowed out of. Stanley reached for the glass panel he closed when he got in, pulling it to the side to open it up. 

The cold air hit him as he stepped out. He stepped over the pile of soggy clothes he previously wore, reaching for the towel on the sink. He wrapped it around himself, providing him just a bit of warmth as it soaked up some of the remaining water. 

After a few seconds of simply standing there, Stanley finally made the effort to dry off the rest of his body before using the towel to dry off his hair. He took more than a few minutes, trying to get rid of as much water as possible.

Having been sufficiently dried off, Stanley took the wet towel, switching it out for the robe on the sink. He slipped his arms through the holes in the garment, reaching around the waist area of it to tie the robe closed. He grabbed the towel on the sink, taking it with him to find a place to let it dry as he turned the knob of the bathroom down, pulling it open.

For extra measure, before he stepped out of the bathroom, Stanley opened up the sink cabinets to make sure the Narrator could find the towels easily. Feeling satisfied, he made his way into the main room.

“Ah, you’re finally done, Stanley!” he heard the Narrator say. Stanley looked over at the table where he assumed he’d find the man. Instead, he turned around to see him standing in front of the front door. Confused, Stanley tilted his head, before turning around to rest his wet towel on one of the chairs.  

“I was just looking at the clock, what else do you expect me to do while I wait?” He said, his eyes peering through his opaque yellow glasses, staring at Stanley. 

Stanley shrugged, making his way over to the bed. He sat himself on the ledge on the left side of the bed, the feeling after taking a warm shower slowly setting in.

“Now then, there are other towels and robes in there, correct?” The Narrator asked. Stanley shifted, letting himself lay down on the side of the bed, on top of the covers while he heard the Narrator moving around in the bathroom. “Nevermind, I found them!” the Narrator soon added. Leaving the cabinets open for him was a good idea.

“I’ll be just a minute, Stanley. Maybe a bit more, we still have to figure out where to hang our clothes to let them dry. Ooh, we could hang them on the television, Stanley! It’s perfectly wide enough to support most of our clothes, and I doubt we’ll want to use it anytime soon. We’ll have to wring out most of the moisture from our clothes, though. I don’t think they’d appreciate it if too much water seeped into their electronics.” The Narrator rambled, the faint sound of water running likely being from him washing his hands at the sink. 

Stanley changed his position to lay on his back, his hands resting on his stomach.

“Alright then– toodle pip, Stanley!” The Narrator said, followed by the sound of the bathroom door shutting. 

Staring up at the ceiling, Stanley felt the need to shut his eyes. He took a deep breath in, barely noticing the sound of the pipes rattling within the walls. 

He felt oddly comfortable here, exhaling as his eyelids felt too heavy to open.

Before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

Chapter Text

The Narrator hummed, opening the door as he stepped out of the bathroom, now wearing one of the bathrobes as he held his wet towel. His other hand gingerly held onto his folded up glasses.

“Stanley, did you try tasting the soap at all?” He asked, draping his towel over the empty chair. “I thought you were meant to wash your mouth with it— but it tasted absolutely disgusting. I suppose we’ll have to go back to the library and figure out if there’s a proper soap for that. You know, apart from that, the shower was quite nice, Stanley. I could get used to—“ he stopped, looking at the bed.

Stanley rested on his back, his hands against his stomach. His eyes were closed, and his breaths were soft.

“Stanley, are you okay?” The Narrator would walk over next to the side Stanley rested on. “Stanley?” He asked again, gently poking the man’s arm.

“Are you asleep? Is this what sleep looks like?” He wondered audibly. He jabbed at his arm again, a bit harder. Stanley gently shifted, turning his back to the Narrator. 

“That’s alright, Stanley. I’ll go ahead and take care of the clothes while you do that.” The Narrator said, turning his back on Stanley. As he did so, he’d unfold his glasses, placing them back on his face.

He made his way back into the bathroom, flicking the lights back on. In the corner sat a pile of their soggy, dirty clothes. 

The Narrator grimaced as he picked up his sweater from the pile, using only his thumb and index finger to do so. He could always simply wring out any rainwater and leave it to dry on the available ledges, but they wouldn’t really be as clean as desired.

He sighed, looking back at the rest of the pile. As far as he knew, there were no machines in the building that one of his trusty lifestyle books described using. But he could always replicate the purposes they served. All the machines really did, as far as he knew, was soak the clothes in soapy water and rinse them out. 

The Narrator suddenly got an idea, looking at the floor of the shower. 

–

“I want to bring the other employees back now.”

The Curator looked up from the book she’d been looking over, at the dark silhouette that stood at the monitor. Neither of them had said anything for a while. 432 was seemingly busy processing what they discovered in the code, and the Curator let them take as much time as they needed. She passed the time by dumping the rest of the broken monitor in the trash, leaving the waste basket outside of the Narrator’s office. After that, she looked through the selection of books the Narrator owned. 

“What?” She responded, closing up the book she had in her hands. 

“I said that I’m ready to bring them back now.” 432 repeated, stepping away from the monitor, the strings of programming still being displayed on it. 

The Curator tried to find what to say next. From the moment she agreed to help them, she knew this is what they wanted. But something about this still felt off, deep down within her, despite how much she tried hearing them out. 

“Are you sure you’re even able to do that? You told me you couldn’t even track down their files, and the-”

“The Parable can’t handle it, you’ve told me that already, Curator. Look, I’ve made up my mind.” 432 said, looking away from the monitor, peering into the Curator’s eyes.

“Sure, I can’t find their files, but that doesn’t mean I don't have the power to bring them back. I can control the Parable, and I remember what they were like. That should be easy enough to replicate.”

“The Parable will be just fine if it’s eased into the change. Mariella’s been active ever since the scrapping of the older map. Your Museum displays old bits of the older versions, too. If it can handle that, it can handle changing a bit more. I know it can. Here, I think we’ve spent enough time in this room.” 

–

The Narrator squeezed the soapy water out of his sweater. Getting up from the floor of the shower, he’d hang it over the ledge of the glass panel of the shower.

He placed his hands on his hips, smiling confidently as he finished washing off and hanging the garment to dry. Now, he just had to do this about ten or so more times with the rest of the clothes.

There was probably a more efficient way to do this.

–

The lavender fragrance from the Narrator’s office dissipated as they teleported to the actual office building.

Dusting herself off, the Curator watched as 432 started walking around. The two of them teleported just outside of Stanley’s room. 

“We just need to fix the place up a bit. After that, I can bring everybody back in, one by one. We don’t need the Narrator’s story anymore. We can just stick to this. You'll still have your Museum, and I’ll be back to what I used to be.” 432 reached for a few messy papers on a desk, reading them over.

“What about Stanley and the Narrator?” She asked, looking back at the door that led to Stanley’s office.

“I’ll still bring them back once all of the changes have been finalized. They’ll just have to get used to this. This is all for the best; it’ll keep the wheel turning.” 432 said, having put the paper down. They started looking at the rest of the cubicle they stood in, with the Curator unsure as to what they were looking for.   

The Curator sighed, her eyes flicking around the empty office. This is how it functioned for years. There was no need for other people. As far as she knew, the Narrator and Stanley managed it just fine.

She knew she couldn’t get 432 to budge, though. They were eager to change the Parable, getting it back to how it used to be before it even had a story. Did it even need a story at all? She wasn’t sure what to believe.

Inhaling deeply, she’d look back at them.

“And you’re sure nothing will go wrong?” she asked. 

It was all she could manage to say. She knew if she tried debating anything at all with them, they’d shoot it down somehow. There was no way to change their mind, even if that was a fact she didn’t like.

She agreed to help them, and that was that.

“Nothing at all. I’ll make sure it all stays stable.” 432 answered, looking away from the reflection of one of the monitors.

“...”

“Okay. What are you thinking of fixing first?”

–

The Narrator gave up on the idea of cleaning the clothes one by one. Instead, he nudged the pile of soggy clothes into the shower with his foot, the shower pouring water down onto the pile. He grabbed the liquid soap from the sink that was meant for washing hands, twisting the cap open and dumping it onto the clothes.

He pulled up the sleeves of his robe as he turned off the shower, reaching for his suit jacket in the pile. Gently scrubbing the fabric, he’d hum to himself.

Having scrubbed it enough, he made a new pile off to the other side of the shower where he decided he’d put the soapy garments to rinse once he was done.

He repeated the cycle with the fitted tank top he wore under his swear, his slacks, his socks, his undergarments, and so on.

Once he finished moving all of his clothes to the soapy pile, he’d start on Stanley’s clothes.

First was the button up, then the t-shirt that was worn underneath.

The Narrator frowned as he pulled a soapy belt out from the pile. He set it off to the side before continuing.

Next he washed Stanley’s pants, socks, and finally his undergarments as well.

Satisfied, he began the process of rinsing everything off, making sure to wring them as dry as he could once he was done rinsing them, taking various breaks to figure out where he could hang the items.

Once he was done, he changed into another bathrobe from the stack underneath the sink, water having been splashed on it from cleaning the clothes. He made sure to find a place to hang the used robe, too.

Before he left the bathroom, he made sure he could dry the leather belt as best as he could, leaving it on the sink countertop as he flicked the lights off.

Closing the door behind him, the Narrator would make his way up to the clock, staring at it. The short hand was now pointed at the number eleven.

On his way to the bed, he’d stop in front of the various switches that controlled the lights, flicking them off.

Turning away, he’d make his way to the other side of the bed. He’d mimic what Stanley had done, resting on his back, putting his hands against his stomach. 

He wondered how exactly he was supposed to sleep. Did he have to just close his eyes for a long time? Did he have to think anything specific? Maybe there were tutorials on how to sleep, back at the library. That was something he’d make sure to check.

–

With the snap of their fingers, the Mind Control Facility was gone. 

“There we go. We won’t need that now that we aren’t following the Narrator’s story anymore.” 432 said, clapping their hands together and turning away from what was now a cemented wall. To the left of it still stood the passage to the Museum.

The Curator followed them. She could’ve sworn she heard the sound of something cracking.

It was nothing to worry about.

It’d all be fine.

Chapter Text

Stanley groaned softly, his eyes opening up to an empty space next to him. 

He almost didn’t want to get up, his body having experienced a period of rest that he probably needed for a long time. But with the absence of the Narrator whom he expected to be next to him, he stretched his arms. He’d plant them against the bed, easing himself to get up. 

Looking around the room that was bathed in the light from the sun, he noticed that his clothes had been neatly folded up and placed upon the foot of the bed.

Stanley reached open, picking up the stack and bringing it close to himself. It smelled like the soap that he used to wash his hands.

With the sound of a door opening, Stanley would suddenly look up, only to see the Narrator stepping out of the bathroom. He was no longer in the bathrobe, now wearing his actual outfit. “Oh, you’re finally awake, Stanley!” He happily said, moving over to the small table. “I’ve been awake for a bit. I was able to sleep for a while, but I woke up quite early and found it hard to fall back asleep.” The Narrator took the papers from the table, looking over at Stanley. 

“Last night, I decided to wash our clothes. Why don’t you go ahead and get dressed? We need to check out soon, if I’m correct.” He continued, making sure to grab the keycard.

Stanley was already busy easing himself out of bed, holding the clothes close to him. He gave the Narrator a thumbs up, making his way to the bathroom. 

“I’ll be waiting near the front door, make sure not to take too long, Stanley!” He said, soon followed by the sound of Stanley closing the bathroom door. 

–

With Stanley having been occupied, the Narrator stopped in front of the front door, bending down and placing the manila envelope and keycard next to him as he put his shoes on. As he did so, he’d run over what the plan was for today. 

First, they’d have to check out of the room and pay, returning the keycard to the front desk. Once that was taken care of, they’d have to go back to the library. That was easy enough, the Narrator jotted down the directions within his mind that the two of them took from the library, to the fast food place, all the way to the hotel. Once they were there, they could look at more books regarding what else would be optimal to do in the real world. 

The Narrator wasn’t sure what to do afterwards. Maybe make a map of sorts? This place was confusing enough, and remembering the path to the library was already complicated enough.

Grabbing the papers and the keycard, the Narrator would stand up, peering at the clock above him. 

The smaller hand was pointed directly at the number twelve. They’d be right on time, it seems. That was good. 

–

Stanley reached for the button-up, the last thing he needed to put on. He slipped arms through the holes in the fabric, adjusting the cuffs at the ends of his sleeves.

He’d move to button the shirt up, carefully slipping the buttons through each of the holes, careful not to mess up. Once he was finished, he took the old robe he previously wore, draping it over the glass panel of the shower where the other used robes were. 

He’d flip the switch to the bathroom light off before opening the door and making his way to the front of the room

“Alright, the sooner we take care of checking out, the sooner we can get to the library, Stanley!” The Narrator said, watching as standing looked down to put his shoes on, simply jamming his feet into them instead of properly bending down and slipping them on. 

“Ready?” The Narrator would ask. Stanley stood back up, nodding at him. 

–

Closing the front door behind them, the two of them would make their way down the hallway, back to the staircase they came up the night before.

Trailing down the steps one by one, soon they’d exit back into the lobby.

Unlike the night before, various people stood in front of the desk, with two staff members behind them. Most if not all of the people were on one side of the desk, so the Narrator made his way to the other side, holding onto the papers and the keycard. Stanley followed, his hands in his pockets.

“Excuse me, can I talk to you to check out?” The Narrator asked. The man behind the desk looked up from his computer screen. 

“Yep, do you have your keycard with you?” He asked. 

“Right here; here you go.” The Narrator said, quickly placing the keycard on the desk. The man from behind took it, scanning it on one of the machines on the desk. 

“Great; the cost will be displayed on the small screen right here.” The man pointed at one of the other electronic machines on the desk, displaying a set of numbers. “Are you paying with cash or card?”

“I’ll simply be paying with cash. Stanley, can you hold this?” The Narrator would ask, already having taken the envelope of cash out of the manila one. Stanley simply took his hands out of his pockets, holding onto it as the Narrator took out the necessary money. He handed it to the worker, waiting for the change in return. 

Receiving a handful of coins, the Narrator would place them into the white envelope.

“Would you like your receipt too?” The man asked. 

“Yes, thank you very much.” The Narrator responded, closing up the envelope again as he received the white paper with black printed text, unsure of what it actually was. He’d gotten one of these from the fast food place, but hadn’t bothered to read it over. 

“Is that all?” The Narrator asked.

“Yes, you’re all set, now. I hope you enjoyed your stay; feel free to check in with us another time.” The man smiled, before looking back at his computer.

“Alright then; this way, Stanley!” the Narrator said, making his way to exit the hotel. As he walked, he messily folded the receipt up, placing it inside the envelope. Stanley followed close behind, holding the manila envelope.

“Now then, it’ll just be a short walk to the library. There’s a number of books that I’ve been dying to read. Maybe I’ll see what other genres there are, as long as they help us out with functioning in this place.”

The two walked side by side, the Narrator’s rambling continuing as they made their way through the streets filled with people, coming and going.

Chapter Text

“Alright then, Stanley!” The Narrator said as they made their way into one of the shelves. “I’ll go ahead and take out a few more books. Why don’t you find some of your own? We can meet back up at the table we sat at last time.”

With the two of them just past the front desk, Stanley would hold up a thumbs up at the Narrator, a faint smile on the office worker’s face. 

“Great; I’ll see you soon, then!” The Narrator said, turning around and walking away from Stanley, manila envelope in hand. 

Stanley stood idle for a bit, unsure as to where he should look. 

–

The Curator barely recognized the Boss’s Office now. 

She didn’t recognize it when she first left the passage that led to it from where the Mind Control Facility used to be, either. This was one of the areas that was seemingly barely edited in the past; only a few times had she needed to take care of an old model meant for this area. 

“See? Look here; you’ll be able to manage anything you need from here.” 432 said, spawning in a monitor onto the desk they just replaced. 

Within the time the two had exited the secret passage to the now-gone Mind Control Facility, 432 had gotten to work on altering the rest of Parable, starting with the Boss’s Office. The paintings were deleted, alongside the chairs that sat in front of the old desk. There was a new desk in its place, sleek and modernized, painted white. 

The red wallpaper on the walls was now replaced with a dark grey paint, and most of the wood was painted with a white finish that replaced the dark brown, 432 intended for it to match the aesthetic of the Museum. 

The Curator looked around at everything. Despite the Museum being the inspiration, this room just looked boring now. 432 had even gotten rid of the shelves of books on the sides, saying they weren’t important due to the fact none of them actually had anything written in them. 

“Are you replacing everything in this room?” She asked, gently crossing her arms, a quiet cracking echoing within her ears.

“Not everything. I’m not going too overboard, right? I just want to make sure this room’s perfect for you, that’s all.”
The Curator sighed. Interior design was definitely not 432’s strong suit. 

Back in the passageway, 432 explained to the Curator that in order to alter the Parable back to the way it needed to be, they needed to make sure it could function like an actual office again. They wanted the Curator to aid in it, taking care of a small part of the building that wasn’t likely to be visited by the employees. There would be no reason for them to speak directly to their boss, especially when any information could simply just be relayed to whoever would be the receptionist in the front, so it’d be the best job for her.

“It looks fine. I don’t think it’s necessary, though. I’d be fine working with how it originally looked.” She said. 

The Curator left the wall she rested against, walking over and looking at the monitor on the desk. The clicking of her heels against the floor were muffled by the large, dark grey rug that spread across the room. Despite the rest of the Boss’s office being modified, the monitor that was added had no distinction from the others back in the rest of the office. It was still the usual aged, yellowed model. It could’ve even just been the one from the Narrator’s office, taken and teleported over here. 

“Oh please , I never really liked how it looked. It was due for a change. You agreeing to take over the job– or, well, beginning it, just gives me an excuse to change it.” They said, replacing the model of the piano in the corner with a slightly newer one. “If anything, I can make minor adjustments here and there once the building starts functioning again.”

“I think I’d like that.”

“Alright. I think I’m done with this room for now. Why don’t we find something else to get rid of? Personally, I don’t think there’s any need for that exposition that the Narrator made. You know, the one with the Mostly Infinite Hole?”

–

Stanley ended up back in the section of shelves dedicated to cooking. None of the other genres he saw on his way here had really interested him. 

He picked up a book from the section closest to him, flipping through the pages. The main thing he appreciated with these kinds of books was he didn’t have to read or take anything in. Most of these books consisted of pictures that were pleasing to his eyes, and small lists of ingredients and directions on how to make the image shown.

He had no experience in cooking. He never even heard of the concept until now. All he ate was a cheeseburger, but that was enough to interest him in cooking. 

This segment of the book he held detailed the instructions on how to make something called marinara pasta. He focused on the ingredients listed. Whole peeled tomatoes, tomato paste, garlic, basil.

He’d never even heard of any of these things before. He wanted to try them, though. Shouldn’t there be a place to get them? Stanley now knew there were places to get books, a place to sleep, and readily made food. With that being known, Stanley closed the book, holding it in one of his hands. He’d probably be able to find some way to figure this out.

He’d turn away from the shelf, making his way out of the section.

–

As he made his way to the table the two sat the last time, Stanley stopped in front of a section he didn’t notice last time. It was tucked into the corner; consisting of a printer next to a desk that held a monitor, keyboard, and mouse. Something he was actually familiar with, for once. He noticed a small plastic cup full of cheap ballpoint pens next to the mouse. A small sticky-note on the cup read “Please return after use.”

Stanley stood there for a second, an idea sparking in his mind.

He opened the drawer built into the printer, taking out a sheet of paper. He’d close it, grabbing one of the pens in the cup next to the mouse before he left the corner.

–

Placing a large stack of books onto the table, and setting the manila envelope off to the side, the Narrator would reach to pull out the chair next to him. Settling down, he’d reach for the book at the top, suddenly hearing the faint sound of footsteps near him.

“Ah, you’re back already? What did you find while you were– did you only get one book?” He’d ask.

Stanley shook his head. He’d place the singular cooking book on the Narrator’s stack, placing the piece of printer paper on the table.

“Where did you even get that, Stanley?” the Narrator would watch as the man uncapped a pen he obtained, scribbling a message on the paper.

He’d place the pen down, holding the paper up at the Narrator. It read,

I can use this to talk to you.

The Narrator would blink, looking at Stanley, and then back at the paper, and back at Stanley.

“This is amazing, Stanley!” he softly exclaimed. “I don’t even know how we didn’t think of this yesterday! Well, maybe it was because we didn’t find any paper or pens, but still! Ooh, maybe we can take some more paper and that pen with us!” The Narrator would smile, watching as Stanley took his seat that was opposite to the Narrator. Stanley would continue writing, showing the paper to the Narrator again.

I got the paper in a printer that was connected to a computer. Do you think we could use that to look up more information?

“Yes, precisely! Then again, I already took all of these books off the shelves.. Gah, we can just take them with us. Would you mind it if we split the stack up between us, Stanley?”

Stanley would give the Narrator a thumbs up, folding up the printer paper. He’d slip it in his pocket alongside the now capped pen, reaching for the segment of the stack that the Narrator made for him.

He’d grab onto it, watching as the Narrator grabbed his own, alongside the manila envelope, placing it on top of the stack.

“Alright then Stanley; show me where that computer is!”

Stanley would smile, turning around and leading the way.

Chapter Text

“You know, Stanley, this isn’t too different from the monitor I had back in my office.” The Narrator said, his hand rested on the mouse, clicking away. “If anything, the main difference is how thin the screen is.”

Stanley watched off to the side, next to the other table where they both put all of their belongings and books.

“Look at this, Stanley; It’s just what I hoped for!” Softly exclaiming, he motioned to point at the screen with his free hand, looking over to make sure Stanley was looking.

“It’s got a browser, do you know what that is? I had one of those installed onto my own monitor- although it only looked up stuff that I logged into the Parable’s code, for organization of course.”

Stanley squinted his eyes as he watched the Narrator look through the rest of what the computer offered from what was already installed. He never saw any of this on his own monitor; having been modified to tell him what keys to press, and how long to press them for.

“All we’ll need for now is the internet browser. Did you have anything you wanted to know about?” He asked.

Stanley thought for a bit, before reaching over to the unfolded paper on the desk, taking out the pen in his pocket.

He walked up to him, showing the Narrator the note. Whilst the Narrator read it, Stanley reached for the book about cooking he grabbed earlier, flipping to the page that interested him.

I want to know where I can get this. Or make it., the paper read. The Narrator turned his attention over to the page with the marinara pasta on it.

“Really?” The Narrator wondered aloud. “That’s quite an odd request, but I don’t see why we can’t try it! I think it’d be more satisfying if we tried making it, don’t you think?”

Stanley would nod, followed by the Narrator turning around, opening the internet browser back up, typing in perfect grammar: “Where do you get the ingredients for the dish known as ‘marinara pasta’?”.

Humming to himself, the Narrator would scroll through the page. 

“Nothing there. What if we look for a specific ingredient from that book of yours?” 

Stanley would watch as the Narrator proceeded to type into the search bar, “Where to find whole peeled tomatoes?”.

Various images of what seemed to contained the said ingredient popped up on the screen.

“Now we’re getting somewhere, Stanley.” He said, his eyes glancing over at the man who stood next to him.

“Look at that section. ‘In stores nearby’?” The Narrator clicked on one of the images under the caption. “It says here that it’s about three miles away. I don’t know what a mile is, but it sounds short, especially if there’s only three of them.”

The Narrator opened up another tab, proceeding to look up the directions to the store that was listed. He’d simultaneously press a few keys, bringing up a window that allowed him to print what was on the screen.

“Could you please grab that for me, Stanley?” He’d ask. “Let me check how long it takes to walk three miles while you do that.”

Stanley moved over to the printer, holding the cooking book and page of notes in one hand as he held out his other, listening to the machine’s insides whirr to life.

Just seconds later, a black and white image of directions from the library to the store had popped out of the printer, ending up in the small built in tray.

“That’s no good.” Stanley heard the Narrator mutter. “Apparently, it takes an average of an hour to walk three miles.”

The Narrator continued typing as he spoke. “Personally, I still have no idea what an hour is; but it’s composed of sixty minutes. That sounds like a lot, Stanley.”

“Did the printed image turn out okay?” He glanced over to see Stanley nodding, his eyes focused on the paper he now held.

“Good. Now then, as far as I know, the people around here use vehicles to get around. I barely know about them, I only bothered to add at least one to the Parable. But! If these results are correct, we can always use one that’s open to the public.” A small click from the mouse could be heard as he spoke. “A lot of people who don’t own personal vehicles seem to opt for whats called a bus.”

Stanley blinked, looking over at the screen.

“There’s one just about a five minute walk away from here, or at least it says it’s a station where you wait for one, Stanley. I reckon we’d have to wait a bit more and look for something that’d let us know if it’d even take us to the store, but personally, I think it’d be worth trying. What do you think?”

Stanley shrugged, motioning a finger over to point at the Narrator, then nodding; not bothering to put down the items he held to write down a message on the piece of paper he’d been using.

”I’m going to assume that means you agree with me.”

—

The Curator sighed, opening the doors to the room that led up to the office she now owned.

With the deletion of the Stanley Parable 2 Expo, the red and blue doors, the telephone, and Stanley’s apartment, 432 told her that everything would be fine to start running. They told her that by the time she made her way to the office, most of the employees would be active.

There wasn’t much that she’d have to worry about. The receptionist would handle anything that could come up, and her own job would just be to watch rest of the building through the monitor she was given, making sure nobody went somewhere that wasn’t developed yet. She thought 432 was moving things along too quickly. They hadn’t even bothered to model the rest of the building, or even the outside.

But as she turned the corner to go to the office, she stopped in her tracks. 

Behind the receptionist desk sat a lady with dirty blonde hair. She wore a dark beige suit jacket, paired with what looked to be a yellow scarf. She looked up from her monitor, smiling.

To the Curator, there was something about her that was all too familiar to her.

“You must be the boss, aren’t you? It’s a pleasure to meet you!” She said, happily getting up and walking over to the Curator.

“I’m the new receptionist; you can call me Mariella.”

Chapter Text

432 stood in the executive bathroom, peering at themself.

They hadn’t realized how hard it was to make a form they actually liked.

Up until now, they had been roaming around as what could be considered the rawest form of their energy, or at least the rawest form that could be properly perceived. 

Stanley, The Curator, and The Narrator processed it just fine. 432 would’ve been fine continuing to look like how they did right now

They weren’t so sure about how the other employees would take it, though.

pressing their hand against the skin under clock eye they had, they’d focus on the quiet tick-tick-tick that it made.

They’d tap it. It felt similar to the protective glass a clock face usually had.

Moving their hand away from their face, they’d snap their fingers. Within an instant, the clock was replaced by an actual eye. They’d snap their fingers again for good measure, the eye being mirrored on the other side of their face too. 

432 stared closely at the mirror, focusing on color of their irises. They gave up on the gesture of snapping their fingers, the hum of the building around them being the only source of noise as they cycled through various eye colors. 

After that, they figured they needed other actual physical features as well in order to blend in. Next came a nose, a set of ears, and then a mouth.

As they did so, they realized that up until now, they never experienced any of these senses at all. Of course, they were able to hear and see, and they could speak just fine, but smelling and even just breathing? There was no need for those. 

Nobody in the Parable possessed these senses. But, as 432 noticed with the people they knew up to now, they all liked mimicking the concept of having those senses. The act of taking in and exhaling air, the faint smell of cheap cologne in the bathroom, even the lavender scent in the Narrator’s office that 432 couldn’t sense at all, but one that the Curator complained about. There was something charming about it all. 

432 couldn’t remember being able to experience any of that before they were stuck in that monitor. Maybe it was a quality of life update of sorts that the Narrator entered as a prompt to the monitor; they really couldn’t remember.

Resting the hands against the sink, a mess of dark hair would appear on their head. They’d cycle through various lengths of hair, ending up with the black hair being pinned up into a bun, with locks of hair parting in half at the front. For fun, they spawned in an unsharpened pencil, sticking it through the bun as an added detail.

Bit by bit, they build themself up. The next factor would be their outfit. They didn’t put too much thought into it, simply spawning a set of clothes on themself that was almost identical to what Stanley wore. They rolled their sleeves up for just a bit of individuality. With a flick of their wrist, a small digital watch would appear.

They’d make sure the time was correctly set on the watch before they looked back up at the mirror. The last detail would be their skin, taking on a tanned shade that was just a bit lighter than the shade of Stanley’s skin.

432 stepped back, breathing in as they observed how they looked now. Their deep gray eyes would glint in the mirror’s reflection. They’d keep their posture as precise as it had been before, turning to open the door that led to the rest of the building.

In all honesty, they tried to make their form to as close as it was before they were locked away in that monitor.

They realized they couldn’t remember just how exactly they looked. They hadn’t even gotten a good look at themself back before the monitor incident occurred. All they could go off is how they thought they looked back then, composed of faint memories of having to tie their hair up, staring at the blemishes on their skin, and so on.

Relying on only the vague feeling of familiarity, accompanied by the faint thoughts of “No, that isn’t quite right.” and “Maybe this’ll look better?”, they came up with the best they could.

What mattered, though, was the fact they had a proper form now.

They’d reach for the knob connected to the door, twisting it open.

—

The Narrator and Stanley sat together. The sky was still fairly cloudy, same as yesterday.

They had just exited the library, having made sure they put away all the books where they found them. The Narrator carried the manila envelope, holding it close to his chest while Stanley held a few printer papers he folded up. One of them consisted of everything he wrote that he wanted to say to the Narrator, and the other one consisted of a photocopy of the food recipe he chose.

Stanley had also, admittedly, taken the cheap ballpoint pen with him. Technically, he wasn’t stealing it though. He’d give it back to the library once he found one of his own.

“..I just think it’s very odd, that’s all.” The Narrator said, staring up at the cloudy sky as he spoke to Stanley. They’d been sitting at what they discovered to be a bus stop for a few minutes, now. The Narrator was in the middle of complaining about how money works.

“Why not trade items of actual value? How did they boil everything down to- to paper and metal discs? It’s absurd.” He sighed, looking at Stanley. Stanley was busy peering down at the ground beneath his feet.

—

Within a few more minutes, the two of them watched as what they assumed to be the bus finally arrived. They stayed seated, watching as the doors to the side opened up, letting out a handful of people.

The Narrator reached for the envelope, ready to give whatever money he needed in order for the both of them to board. At this point, he figured out that almost everything in this place required an exchange of money. As the people filtered out, Stanley got up, looking at the Narrator.

The Narrator swiftly got up, handing the manila envelope to Stanley as he grabbed the smaller envelope within.

”I’m sure this will be an awfully peaceful ride, Stanley.” The Narrator stated, walking along side Stanley, passing through the last few people to enter the bus.

Chapter Text

Much to their dismay, the bus ride was, indeed, not peaceful at all.

There were multiple factors to it. But the main one, the Narrator concluded, was just how packed the bus was. Despite seeing at least half of a dozen people leave the vehicle when the two had entered, it seemed all of the previously open seats were filled by the people who were, in turn, previously standing. The Narrator attempted to ask around for a free seat, maybe two, but everybody else gave him a look that neither the Narrator nor Stanley liked.  

Following the rest of the people who were still standing, the Narrator and Stanley stood side by side, one hand on their papers, and the other gripping the strap that was tied to a horizontal pole near the top of the bus. Within a few minutes, the bus would begin moving, the Narrator staggering a bit to keep his grip on the strap steady.

“This is incredibly unsafe, Stanley.” The Narrator muttered. “I mean, what would happen if this vehicle got into an accident? I feel that the people standing would be more susceptible to an injury, and– oh what is that racket?” he groaned. A few seats away from them sat a woman looking at some strange rectangular object, Stanley noticed. 

She had the object close to her face, talking fairly loudly. Stanley was confused, she wasn’t even talking to anyone in front or around her. He tried turning away from her to look back at her, only to hear a deeper voice; this time from the other side of the vehicle, telling her to not talk so loud. 

Stanley squinted his eyes, trying to process what was going on. The woman was talking even louder now, her eyes settled on the man on the other side. He wasn’t sure what solicited this reaction; the man had simply asked her to be quieter.

He looked around, wondering if anyone else would join in on the fairly rude conversation. A few people were giving the scene weird looks; some focused on strange rectangular objects of their own, and a small handful were going through a combination of the two, holding their objects up at the scene that was occurring. 

Stanley looked up at the Narrator, noticing the taller man’s face shared the same confusion that Stanley had.

“Are humans really like this ?” he asked, his eyes settling down on the office worker, trying his best at ignoring the ongoing argument. “I don’t get it. This all would’ve been resolved if she didn’t talk as loud. Why is she even talking in the first place?” He softly wondered aloud, with Stanley quietly trying to stand closer to the Narrator. He winced a bit, catching onto an expletive one of the people yelled.

“I’ll have to figure out what those objects are later. At least everyone on here has one of those.” The Narrator added, looking out to the windows situated near them. Stanley looked at the window as well, and then back at the Narrator. “Maybe we can get one of our own. If everyone owns one of them, then it should be fairly cheap to get one of our own.”

The Narrator squinted out the window, sighing. His mouth contorted into a slight frown as he heard another expletive being shouted from the back of the bus, where the scene continued. He thought about what he could do to further ignore what was going on.

He was almost tempted to try to cup at least one of his hands over an ear of his. He wasn’t used to loud noises, especially those coming from the voice of an actual person. Back in the Parable, Stanley never yelled at him, and neither did the Curator. The worst the Narrator got was the explosion from the Countdown ending, the noise at the end of the Confusion ending, the loud roaring and cheering from that horrid ending with the Bucket, and the scene with 432.

“Stanley, could you help me clean my glasses? There’s a smudge or two on them; and my hands are full.” He suddenly asked, looking away from the window and back at Stanley, an attempt to be distracted from the growing scene. Thankfully, as far as the Narrator knew, it hadn’t gotten physical yet. “I- Have you been staring at me this whole time?”

Stanley quickly shook his head, jamming his folded up papers into the pocket that held the pen. He staggered for a bit, before tentatively taking the yellow glasses off of the Narrator’s face. 

“...Stanley, no.” The Narrator said, responding to Stanley having let go of the strap above himself to properly handle the glasses. Stanley tilted his head at him whilst holding his hands just barely out, as if to ask “What do you expect me to do?” . Stanley never wore glasses, he had no clue how to clean them by using just one hand to steady both the fabric of his shirt and the lens of the glasses.

“I– be careful, at the very least.” The Narrator sighed, grabbing onto the fabric of Stanley’s sleeve with the hand that held the envelope, barely able to keep a grip with how little he latched onto. “If you fall while this vehicle hits a bump, it isn’t my fault. And please don’t accidentally drop my glasses. I'd hate to make a new pair when we get back to the Parable.”

Stanley carefully held the glasses with one hand, making sure not to further smudge them. With his other hand, he grabbed onto the bottom of his button up, raising the papery fabric to the lens of the glasses. The Narrator watched as he wiped them clean, with Stanley holding them up to the light to make sure he got rid of everything.

His other hand left the fabric of the shirt, pointing to the glasses as he looked at the Narrator. “Yes, yes, that’ll do.” He said. “Now put them back on my face so you can continue holding onto the strap above you. I don’t want you to fall or do anything of the sorts, Stanley.”

Smiling, Stanley would use both of his hands to settle the yellow glasses back on the Narrator’s face, making sure they were evenly balanced on the taller man’s face. 

Stanley’s eyes gently widened just the smallest bit as he noticed the Narrator’s eyes were green.

“Thank you, Stanley.” He said, both to the helpful gesture Stanley did, and to the fact he was back to holding onto the handle above him. 

Suddenly, they felt the bus stop moving. For a minute, both of them focused back on the rest of the people around them, watching as a handful of them had begun filtering out, including the woman who had been yelling. 

The Narrator checked out of the window again, noticing a structure on the sidewalk that was similar to the one they waited at before; another bus stop, and with it, a number of people would be filing in to the rest of the seats, soon enough.

“Ah; I think this is our stop, Stanley.” The Narrator noted, directing Stanley to look at the large store they’d have to walk to, bearing the same name as what they’d seen online. “Here, be careful.”

The Narrator let go of the strap he held, switching hands to get a proper grip on Stanley’s arm. Walking through to the same way they entered the bus, Stanley stood close to the Narrator’s side. The pace of the two was fairly slow, focused on wading through the clump of people leaving instead of trying to leave first.

Suddenly, the woman from before rushed past Stanley, harshly bumping against his exposed side.

A small noise would be choked out from Stanley upon the impact.

“Ow.”

“Watch it!” the woman hissed, quickly turning her head to glare at him before continuing to move forward.

“..Oh come on, you– wait a minute.” The Narrator said, having been focused on making their way out of the bus.

Finally out of the cramped vehicle, the Narrator and Stanley stood off to the side, avoiding the rest of the people flooding in and out of the bus.

“Stanley, did you just talk?” he asked, his grasp released from the man’s shoulder.

Stanley tilted his head, confused, before he replayed what happened. He put his hand near his mouth, nodding.

“That’s amazing, Stanley!” the Narrator grinned. “Oh, that opens us up to so many easier forms of communication! But- no, no you don’t have to speak if you don’t want to, Stanley. We can get into this later, come on, we still have to go into that store.”

Stanley considered the idea of speaking.

On one hand, he felt a sort of freedom that came with it. But on the other hand, he never really was one for actually speaking. He, of course, wasn’t given the ability to speak back in the Parable. Regardless, he felt more comfortable communicating his voice through his thoughts, something he wasn’t able to do here.

“..It’s fine, I don’t think I mind it for now.” He croaked out, still unsure as to how to properly control his tone and volume.

Stanley would be lying if he said he didn’t notice the huge smile on the Narrator’s face.

“I don’t want to talk all the time, though. Maybe I’ll stick to writing when I have an actual surface to write on?” Stanley asked.

“That’s more than okay, Stanley!” the Narrator said. “Now come on, let’s go on and check out that overly large building.”

He’d turn around, starting the short walk to the building, with Stanley followed.

The Narrator was thrilled at the prospect of Stanley actually speaking.

Stanley was amazed at the same thing, but in the back of his mind, he was still focused on the green of the Narrator’s eyes.

Chapter Text

“Alright then, Stanley! Do you still have that recipe list?” The Narrator asked, the two of them making their way through the doors that seemingly automatically slid open for them. They walked past a set of various carts lined up as Stanley reached into his pocket, taking out a set of folded papers. He opened them up as the two walked, glancing over the details of each paper, before he handed one of them to the Narrator.

“If what I read on that computer was correct, we should be able to find all of these items through organized aisles. Sort of like how the library worked– each shelf being dedicated to a particular food or item.” The Narrator said. “The browser said that those tomatoes should be somewhere around here, meaning we should be able to find the rest of the ingredients here just fine. Now then, where do we start?”

Stanley looked at his surroundings, his eyes settling on signs hanging from the ceilings. As one of his hands put the unfolded paper back into his pocket, the other nudged the Narrator, pointing at one of the signs. 

“Ah, would you look at that? It says canned goods! Isn’t that what the tomatoes were described as?” the Narrator wondered. “Alright then, onto the canned goods, Stanley!”

As they made their way to the intended destination, Stanley noticed the amount of people in this place. He recognized a few from the bus, each of them busy with their own thing. 

Each person was either empty handed, or carrying a handful of items that were likely taken from the shelves. A vast majority of them even wheeled around the carts that Stanley had noticed in the front of the building. 

“Shouldn’t we have gotten one of those carts?” Stanley quietly asked, just loud enough for the Narrator to hear. 

“We’re only here for the ingredients for that recipe you asked for. I doubt we’ll need one of those carts to carry all of the items, Stanley.”

Stanley’s eyes flicked over to the various items on the shelves in the aisle the two entered. He couldn’t ignore the evident giddiness in the Narrator’s voice, as much as they tried to contain it, likely from just being able to give a response to a verbal question again, back to how the two of them used to communicate in the Parable. 

“Alright then Stanley; I think we’ll only need one can, at most.”

Stanley stood still and watched as the Narrator's eyes flitted back and forth between each of the items, stepping back a bit to look at the rest of the aisle, only to let out a small “Aha!” as he found what was required. “Over here; Stanley!” He said, taking a small can off of the shelves. 

“Here, hold this for me. The tomato paste that was mentioned should be here, too. If the whole tomatoes were canned, then the paste form should be here too.”

Stanley took the can into his hands, gently twisting it to look at the words printed all around it. 

Soon enough, another can would be gently stacked onto the first.

“Alright, now we just need..” The Narrator started, looking back at the paper list. “..basil, garlic, olive oil, oregano, salt, and dried pasta noodles.”

The Narrator frowned a bit. “Stanley, I have no idea what any of those items would be classified as in here.” he said, glancing up at the signs above the two.

Stanley would shrug, gently holding the tower of cans in his hands. The Narrator would let out a small sigh, looking out at the other end of the aisle. “You know what? It’s fine; we just have to walk through all of the aisles until we find the things we need. This way, Stanley!” 

As the two walked together, Stanley decided it’d be a good enough time to ask the Narrator what he’d been wondering about. 

“Why are your eyes green, anyways?” He asked. 

“Huh? You noticed that, Stanley?” the Narrator responded, sounding a bit dumbfounded.

“Mhm. You specifically asked me to clean your glasses and put them back on your face. Did you expect me not to notice?” Stanley continued.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to care about the color that much. They’re just my eyes.” The Narrator sighed as the both of them walked through another aisle. The Narrator’s eyes focused on the various items displayed. 

Stanley shrugged. “I just thought they looked neat. I assumed they’d be yellow. Like your glasses.”

“Well then, I barely put any thought into what I wanted the color of my eyes to be, I’ll have you know. I just thought it’d be neat, seeing as it’s a color barely used in the Parable’s environment.”

The two of them quietly made their way past somebody standing in front of one of the shelves, their discussion interrupted by the Narrator saying “Wait; I think that’s one of the items we need.”, bending down and grabbing a large, rectangular box that was labelled “pasta noodles”. 

He handed it to Stanley, adding it onto their slowly growing collection of items. Afterwards, the two continued walking through the store.

“Now then; you asked me something, so now I should be able to ask you something. How is it that despite never speaking at all, you’re able to do it so fluently now?” The Narrator asked, shifting the manila envelope he held to be under his other arm. 

Stanley thought for a moment, quiet as the two entered yet another aisle. “I’m not sure. I’ve been so used to speaking using my mind; it just felt natural. The only difference is needing to actually move my mouth to speak.”

“Does it hurt at all? For example, speaking right now?” The Narrator continued.

“My throat feels a bit sore. That’s it, though.”

“Well then, you don’t have to speak anymore if you don’t want to. More so, I don’t want you to strain yourself.” The Narrator said, before quickly adding, “Thank you for telling me, Stanley.” as a sentiment. 

Stanley smiled a bit, his eyes glancing at the Narrator for a moment as they reached the end of another aisle. 

–

After some time, the two ended up in an aisle that they figured out was labelled “seasonings”. Stanley still held the cans and the box of noodles, with a small container labelled “minced garlic”, and a glass container holding olive oil added to his collection. He stood off to the side as the Narrator looked at what stood on the shelves, trying to see if there was anything that matched what was written down on the list.

“Were all of those items really just identified as seasonings?” The Narrator said. “If we had known that at the start; we could’ve gotten this done incredibly sooner.” He sighed. “Nevermind, come over here and help me hold what we need to get, Stanley.”

Stanley walked over, the two of them now in front of a shelf that held a small contraption, storing various glass containers of what he came to learn were ground up herbs. Deciding that Stanley had been carrying enough, the Narrator plucked two small glasses, one filled with basil, and the other with oregano, holding them in his own hands. 

“Alright, we’ve gotten everything we need. If I’m correct, now we have to carry all of this back to the front of the store and pay for all of it. Then we should be good here, Stanley.” The Narrator said. “Do you need me to carry any of that?”

Stanley shook his head as the two exited the aisle they stood in.

“Alright then. Make sure to let me know if anything changes, Stanley.”

–

Eventually, Stanley and the Narrator ended up waiting in a line of about four other people. Following what they did, the pasta ingredients were placed onto the conveyor belt that laid to the left of them when their turn approached. Stanley held onto the manila envelope yet again as the Narrator took out their small collection of cash, ready to pay whatever was needed.

The two exited the store shortly afterwards, the items they had purchased were neatly placed into a bag that the Narrator had to pay a bit extra for. 

“Now then, we just need a proper place to cook the recipe. I’m sure we could find a hotel with some sort of contraption that could allow us to do so, no?” The Narrator asked, the grocery bag within his free hand.

“That’ll have to wait a bit longer though, I’m afraid. The sky is still fairly bright, well, as bright as it could be with the weather. I’m not sure what we could do in the meantime though. Do you want to wait for the bus in the meantime, Stanley?” He continued, the two of them making their way away from the store.

Stanley shrugged. “I don’t think the bus is going to come back anytime soon. Sitting down would be nice, though.” he said.

“Sitting down’s fine! More than fine, even. Walking around during all of that time was not ideal. Especially with how long we had to stand in the bus.”

“..I think you’re exaggerating the amount of time we spent doing that stuff.”

“-Oh hush. Now come on, let’s get back to that bus stop.” the Narrator said, his head turning to look in the direction of the bus stop.

Stanley gently shook his head, smiling as they went on to sit together and plan what to do next.

Chapter Text

There was a quiet knock at the door, gentle enough to the point where the Curator barely heard it. It was only for the fact that the Curator had, quite literally been doing nothing at all, which allowed her to even hear it.

She pushed her chair away from the sleek, white desk, making her way to the doors. She’d pull one of the large doors open, only to see Mariella in front of her.

“Hello!” the secretary happily said. “One of the employees wanted me to give you this. It’s probably important.” she quickly added.

The Curator wouldn’t have to say anything. She watched as Mariella pulled out a white envelope from her skirt’s pocket, handing it to the taller woman. Her free hand rested against her waist. 

“Is that all?” the Curator asked for good measure. She turned the envelope over in her hands. A small print was seen in the upper left corner, reading “432 :)”.

“Uh-huh. Before you go though; could I ask you a question?” Mariella casually added, stopping the Curator, who’d been turning her head back to the large office she sat in.

“..And what would that be?” The Curator asked, looking back at the blond. She noticed the faint freckles scattered across the assistant’s face. 

“What do you even do in that office of yours? It’s huge, but what is all that space even for if all you do is observe everything through that monitor of yours?” Mariella continued, her other hand now resting on her waist as well. 

The Curator chuckled a bit. She didn’t expect anyone to act like this towards her. In all honesty, she assumed all of the employees would be too scared to talk to her in such a casual tone. Apart from 432, probably. “I’m not even sure.” She said, “You’d probably have to ask whoever the architect was about that. Maybe it’s meant to convey some sort of power? It’s quite useless when I’m meant to be the only one in there, though.”

Mariella smiled. “That’s a shame. Sorry for taking your time up though; I’ll leave you alone to–” She cut herself off, tilting her head past the Curator to get a closer look at something within the room. “Is that a piano?” she asked. 

“Why, yes it is.” The Curator answered, peering in the same direction that Mariella was looking, settling on the new piano model that 432 had previously spawned in to replace the old one.  

“Aw, that’s so cool! You know, I remember how to play a bit of piano. You should invite me in sometimes; maybe during the next work break. How about it?” Mariella asked.

The Curator was taken back a bit from this detail. The employees were only able to work and carry on the cycle they had from before the Narrator actually gave a meaning to the Parable’s name. They weren’t supposed to have individuality or interests, as far as she knew.

Then again, 432 had mentioned how Mariella had been active even after the older models of the office were gotten rid of. They probably just spawned her into the office, adjusting her a bit to fit the role of a secretary. She didn’t know how exactly the lady picked up the interest in piano, but it wasn’t something to dwell on. 

“Maybe I will invite you inside later. You should get back to work, though. We both have jobs to do.” The Curator told her. 

“Sounds good! I’ll talk to you later.” Mariella finished, turning away from the large door as the Curator shut it once again.  

With a soft click, the doors were closed, separating the two once again.

Turning her back to the doors, the Curator would make her way back to the desk, looking back down at the envelope she had been given. She made her way to the other side of the desk, taking her seat as she started ripping the seal of the envelope open. Within the envelope was a folded up printer paper. 

The handwriting wasn’t the neatest, but she could read it just fine. 

“Dear Curator,

Sending this letter over to you to see how the employees will handle and work with such a task. If it goes well and this gets to you, please send a letter back to me. It’d be a great help.

I hope you’re doing well and that everything is running smoothly on your end of the Parable.

 - Employee 432.”

The Curator would brush her fingers over the writing with one hand, the other holding the paper steady. She focused on the faint indents made in the paper with what looked to be the pressure from a ballpoint pen. 

She would gently exhale, placing the opened letter and paper on the keyboard in front of her monitor. Bending down ever so slightly, she’d open the drawers built into the desk. Thankfully, the drawers contained all of the materials she’d need to send back an envelope to respond to what 432 desired.

She’d place a sheet of cardstock on the desk. Next came an envelope fit to hold it, and then a fancy pen from within her pocket. She’d shift the swivel chair she sat in to be closer to the desk, uncapping her pen, placing the tip of it to the paper.

–

Suddenly hearing the telltale noise of the door leading to the Boss’s office opening, Mariella would look over, only to see the Curator stepping out.

“I need you to deliver this to that employee who sent me the previous letter.” the Curator said, walking close enough to place the white envelope on Mariella’s desk.

“Alright then, sounds easy enough. Thank you very much.” Mariella responded, placing down a pen she had been fidgeting with, taking the envelope in her hands. “Still up for inviting me to play piano?” she’d add yet again, getting up from her chair. She’d walk away from the desk, making her way to the door that led to the rest of the office.

“I’m still thinking about it.” the Curator chimed, smiling a bit. Mariella could tell that she had already made up her mind.

“All right then; you keep thinking about that. I’ll see you again at break time; fifteen minutes!” Mariella responded. She turned her back, the door behind her clicking shut as she opened the one that led to the stairs.

Chapter Text

“This is for you.”

432 looked up from their monitor, only to see Mariella standing near their cubicle.

“Ah. Is this from the boss?” They asked, the blond woman gently handing them a white envelope. 

“Yep, all for you, right from her office. You don’t need me to send anything back to her, do you?” Mariella asked, watching as the employee already started opening up the envelope, not waiting for her to leave.

“I’m good. Thanks for delivering this to me, though.” 432 said, placing the empty envelope on their desk as they peered at what was written on the cardstock. 

“No problem; hope you have a nice day.” Mariella added, having already turned her back on the employee, making her way back to wherever it was that 432 assumed she needed to go.

“You too,” 432 quietly said, their voice falling to a whisper as Mariella left, and they focused on what had been written down. 

“432,

The letter arrived just fine, there weren’t any complications as far as I know. 

The Curator.”

432 frowned a bit at how short the message was. They were expecting her to at least write more. They’d sigh, brushing it aside. All that mattered to them was that the employees were able to independently function without constant observation of their code.

They’d toss the cardstock, as well as the envelope, into the trash can underneath their desk.

It was awfully quiet in the sector that 432 sat in. Then again, the absence of noise was normal back in the older version of the Parable. The only difference was that now the employees were meant to be roaming the office. Thankfully, they knew that all of the people needed in here were probably at a meeting of sorts. 

432 stretched in their chair, their eyes focused on the monitor in front of them. Now would be the best time to start working on expanding the rest of the office, and most likely develop an actual environment outside of the office. 

Even before the Parable was controlled by the Narrator, there was no environment past where Stanley would be able to roam within the office. It wasn’t needed either way, with or without a story, with or without Stanley.

432 had to keep the wheel turning in some sense, though. Being able to have actual people roaming the halls was nice, but they couldn’t stop here. They needed more.

Snapping out of their thoughts, they noticed a faint crack had spread across their desk. That wasn’t meant to be here. 

It must’ve been brought on by one of 432’s thoughts, they assumed. With having control of the Parable, as well as being free from that monitor again, parts of it shifted with their emotions, probably. That was the best guess.

Dragging a hand over the crack, it’d disappear as quickly as they had noticed it.  With that taken care of, they finally got out of their chair, stretching once more, before beginning to make their way over to a sector of the building that they knew was blocked off. 

–

By some miracle, Stanley and the Narrator had managed to grab two empty seats on the next bus. 

There wasn’t anything else worth looking at in the area around the store they visited. After sitting at the bus stop for a while they noticed another large vehicle arrive, nearly the same as the last bus they got off of.

With the Narrator assuming that this would take them back to the stop close to the library, the two agreed to board this one, and they could spend the rest of the day checking out more books and looking at the computer they found, until they could check out another hotel room for their second night here. 

They sat side by side, with the Narrator’s seat in between Stanley’s and the window. 

Stanley would place the bag of groceries in his lap, looking out at the window with the Narrator, waiting for the bus to start moving. 

“It’s still so bright outside, Stanley.” The Narrator said, noticing the sun in the sky. “Maybe we can see if there’s anything else to do around the general area when we get back to the library. There’s quite a few buildings around that place that we haven’t looked at.” He murmured, taking off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. 

“You know, I’m quite impressed we even made it this far, Stanley. I would’ve expected us to be worrying about food, and– wait, did we forget breakfast?” He realized.

Stanley wasn’t sure, just shrugging his shoulders. He had no clue what that was. 

“Stanley, breakfast is one of the key meals I read about. You’re supposed to have at least three every day.” The Narrator informed him, putting his glasses back on his face as he felt the bus begin to move. “It’s fine, it’s fine.. To be honest, I don’t feel that hungry right now, plus, we don’t have anything that’s readily available to eat right now.”

Stanley rested his head against his seat, tilting it ever so slightly to get a look at the front of the bus as the Narrator continued. 

“Maybe we’ll be able to go back to that food place we went to yesterday. I’d like to try that burger without it being horribly soggy.” the Narrator said, moving the manila envelope from his arm, placing it on his lap. Oddly enough, he could feel his eyelids getting heavier. 

“You know something that I think is funny, Stanley?” he asked, settling down in his seat. He could hear a quiet “Mm?” from the office worker. 

“432 sent us– or well, me , here in order to feel as helpless as they did while I had them trapped in that monitor, didn’t they?” The word “trapped” sounded– and felt wrong to say. “In reality though, we’ve been doing just fine. I think we can keep this up just fine.”

He closed his eyes for a bit, calmly exhaling. There was no urge to open them back up. He’d only have them closed for a minute, maybe more. 

–

Suddenly, Stanley felt a soft thud upon his shoulder. He looked over, only to see the Narrator resting against him. Stanley’s first instinct was to wake the other man up, until realizing he didn’t really mind it. Not only that, but he thought back to earlier in the day when the Narrator mentioned how it was hard to fall back asleep.

Stanley softly smiled. He’d wake the Narrator up later, he needed his rest. 

Adjusting himself ever so slightly, Stanley would rest his head gently against the other’s, his head tilted to peer out of the window as waited for the next bus stop.

Chapter Text

“..How did you even learn to play piano?” The Curator asked.

“-Bah, the details aren’t important. I barely remember how, to be honest.” Mariella casually answered, situating herself on the small bench in front of the piano. 

Within the time it took Mariella to deliver the letter to 432, break time had already started. The Curator cautiously waited outside of her office for the assistant, calmly welcoming her in when she saw her. 

“Do you ever use this?” Mariella asked, testing out a few of the keys. 

“No, not quite. I always saw it as more of a decorative piece, I suppose.” the taller woman answered, standing next to the piano, her hands situated behind her back as she peered down at the keys. 

“I figured as much. From the state this is in, I assumed it was either just a decoration or that you took really good care of it. -Do you have any ideas on what I could play you?”

“No. What do you have in mind, though?”

Mariella hummed to herself for a second, moving her hands away from the keyboard to crack her knuckles. “Here, let me see if I still remember this piece..” She murmured, pressing her fingers back against the keys.

Initially, the Curator could see that she was noticed, her fingers shakily pressing against the keys, the tempo uneven.

“..Sorry, let me try that again.” Mariella said, taking in a deep breath before setting her hands back in the beginning position.

“It’s quite alright. I don’t mind.” The Curator said her eyes glancing from the keys to the player’s face. “You’ve got all of the break time to figure it out. Even if you can’t figure it out now, there’s always the next break.”

Mariella smiled, running over the notes she could remember in her mind. 

–

432 hummed to themself, deleting a few boxes and such to get to a part of the office they knew wasn’t touched. 

There was no need for Stanley to go down this route, there was no ending that would’ve been found here. All that meant for 432 was that it’d be easier to prepare for the other employees. 

Spawning in a few desks, they’d quietly walk around the area, making sure the details on each of the pieces of furniture were perfect.

There wasn’t much thought that they had to put into this area.  They simply decided to replicate the area outside of Stanley’s room, complete with the desks, filing cabinets, and whatever else was needed. The only difference they had to pay attention to was the numbers that’d be printed onto the desks.

–

By the next runthrough, the Curator noticed the song that Mariella had been trying to play had been slowly coming together. 

All she really needed was a warmup, it seemed. The way her fingers danced on the keys was entrancing to the Curator. It was something the Curator could never personally think of being able to do. 

The music that came from the elaborate dance was unlike anything the Curator had ever heard before. That is, to say, she never was one for listening to music. But this was different.

She noticed the faint smile on Mariella’s face as she played. 

Something about all of this felt so distracting in a good way. The Curator focus was placed on the song, giving her a moment to forget about everything else that was going on. The changes with the Parable, the shift in the story, the horrible cracking she used to hear, the worry about what might be happening with Stanley and the Narrator. All of it seemed to not have a purpose as her focus was on the song. 

“So, what’d you think of that?” Mariella asked, the song having been done before the Curator realized it. The Curator blinked, focusing back on Mariella. 

“I’d say I liked it. Do you know any other songs to play?” she asked. 

“Only a few. You’d really want to hear the rest? That first song I played could’ve been a bit better.”

“I don’t mind how good they are. I’ve never bothered to play piano in the span that I lived. Maybe that’s what makes me think your art is amazing, with me having an untrained ear towards it, but regardless, I want to hear it.” The Curator responded. 

Mariella softly chuckled. “You really do have a way with words. Alright then; let me try another song.”

–

As 432 redesigned the area, they came across yet another crack. It was more visible than the one that they’d seen on their desk. It was larger, too. 

The odd thing is that it was situated on a sorting tray meant for papers. The tray itself was made of colored metal, but as 432 ran their hand over the crack that was spread from the edge of the tray to the center, it felt like stone. Jagged and rough, just like the crack on the desk. But, just like the desk, the crack upon it was gone as soon as 432 brushed their hand over it. 

They frowned. There was no need for these imperfections to pop up, so why were they doing so right now? Was their mind really that unstable? What were they thinking that was able to cause this?

For good measure, they did a slow lap around the area’s perimeter, and then through it, making sure there weren’t any other cracks. 

There was nothing else, thankfully. 

432 let out a cautious breath, tempted to check everything again.

Uncertainty was probably causing the cracks within the environment. And in accordance with that, they circled back to the thought of focusing on better things. 

With what they knew right now, the Parable would only get worse with their train of thought. Upon turning their focus over to working on the environment outside of the office, surely the cracks would go away and stop appearing. 

432 would close the door behind them, making sure to lock it as they left. This room wasn’t good enough yet. Not until they were sure it’d be fine.

Chapter Text

The Narrator’s eyes opened up, only to reveal to him what felt like pure darkness. The only thing he could see were his hands in front of him.

His first inhale was unsteady.

“I- Stanley?” He called out to what lay in front of him.

“Stanley?” He repeated again, this time louder. He walked forward.

”Stanley, are you there?”

He felt light again. Like there wasn’t anything inside of him weighing him down.

What even was this place? It wasn’t the real world, and it certainly wasn’t the Parable.

“Stanley? If you’re there, can you say something?” He asked again. “Anything at all. Please.”

The only thing he heard was his own breathing. It was unsteady, shaky. Something that was unlike of him to be described as.

Was Stanley even here? Of course he was. He should be right here, next to the Narrator. They had been together for most if not all of the time since they left the Parable.

But he wasn’t. He was nowhere to be found.

“You did this.” A voice from the dark had muttered.

The Narrator’s eyes flicked over to the left where the voice came from.

He stopped walking, his eyes settled on a large wall of white text that fluctuated as the voice spoke.

“He’s gone because of what you did.”

“Excuse me?” Was the Narrator’s first instinct upon what to say. He didn’t even have to think about it, it came naturally to him. Sure, he put Stanley through things like the Zending and such, but that was Stanley’s choice, Stanley’s path.

“No, no. I- that’s not possible.” He responded. He’d never purposefully harmed Stanley, maybe apart from the Countdown ending, but he never meant it. Plus, Stanley always came back fine from that ending.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure about that.” He stared at the white text to the left of him, waiting for what it wanted to say next.

The Narrator felt warm. Uncomfortable. He wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to feel warm in this place, whatever this was.

With no response given, he continued walking. His hand tugged at the collar of his turtleneck. His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton.

He didn’t even know where he was walking to, or why he was even doing so. It was like his body was on autopilot. His vision became blurry and unfocused as he continued on. There wasn’t anything to even focus on.

“Are you still there?” The Narrator asked, tilting his head to look at where he assumed the ceiling was.

“You did this.” The voice repeated again, almost as if it was a record stuck on repeat.

At this point, the Narrator was getting awfully tired of this place. An exit would have been nice.

”I should probably be more worried about this.” The Narrator muttered aloud, ignoring the repeated statement.

He continued talking. A way to ignore the worrying lack of knowledge regarding wherever he was. One minute, he was talking to Stanley, and now he was here. “You sound awfully familiar, you know.”

“He’s gone because of what you did.”

“If that’s so true, then where is he?” The Narrator asked. “He has to be somewhere.”

It hurt to think. How long had the Narrator been here for? It sure wasn’t more than just a few minutes.

But through his footsteps, he finally heard something other than his own breathing, and that voice.

A crunch.

“You hurt him.”

”He’s hurt because of you.”

The Narrator didn’t want to look down.

”You knew you’d endanger him with the actions you took.”

He had to. He knew he had to.

He felt sick.

“You hurt him.”

He looked down.

Underneath his shoe rested the mangled arm of his protagonist.

“I didn’t-“ The Narrator choked out, staggering back. The heat crept further up to his face. His sweater felt suffocating. 

His vision focused on the body in front of him. Beaten up— bloody, bruised, a bright yellow goop pooling from underneath him, the same shade as that of the Adventure Line. His breath hitched again.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real. All he did was close his eyes back in the bus, how did that lead to this?

It wasn’t real. None of it should be real. But at the same time, all of it did feel real as the yellow goop pooled out.

“This is what your actions led up to.” The voice spoke again. The Narrator realized it synced up with the movement of the protagonist’s face, rested on its side, perpetually looking off into the distance. 

The Narrator didn’t want to step back. He couldn’t.

“You hurt me.” The voice shifted in tone. The limp limbs of the protagonist’s body suddenly moved, steadying itself on its arms to get up.

It was Stanley’s voice.

”Why did you have to hurt me?” Stanley choked out. The same bright yellow goop from underneath him had filled his eyes, dripping out of his mouth.

”I trusted you. I thought you did the right thing.” He sobbed. He reached up for the Narrator, his stained hands gripping the edge of the suit jacket 

”You knew this would happen. Why did you do it?”

”Why did you lock me up? Why did you trap me?” His voice shifted. 

“You tucked me away. You used me to your benefit.” Who was the “me” that he was even referring to anymore? The Narrator cupped his hands around his mouth.

”Why didn’t you handle this better? Were you scared of me? Is that why you resorted to it?” Stanley’s voice grew more tense.

”Or maybe you were just tired of me.”

”Look what happened now. You neglected me. You could’ve let me out anytime sooner, but you didn’t.”

The protagonist stumbled to his knees, steadying himself to get up. The Narrator forced himself to take just a singular step back.

The thing in front of him wasn’t Stanley. It wasn’t Stanley, it couldn’t have been.

It looked nothing like him. It was trying to be him. It’s shirt was stained with that yellow goop, with dark scuff marks smudged on various spots. The bones and joints that belonged to it didn’t look like they fitted properly.

”You think of us the same, don’t you?” It asked. It stumbled towards the silent Narrator, step by step.

“Did you ever worry that I would turn out like them?” Their voice rang out.

Before the Narrator could do anything else, the creature grabbed onto his shoulders, lurching forward with a violent sob.

—

The Narrator jolted back into consciousness with a cry. Stanley, who had sat next to him this entire time, flinched in his seat. His eyes filled with worry.

The Narrator was breathing horribly quickly. He couldn’t regulate it, surely making a scene as the other bus riders stared at him.

”Stop it, stop stop stop-“ he panted, making himself smaller as Stanley tried reaching out to him.

But then the Narrator finally focused on his face. 

There was no yellow goop to be found. Only an expression of pure fear and worry, his eyes widened.

The Narrator wasn’t sure what his body was doing.

Liquid dripped from his eyes. His breath hitched, his body breaking down as he choked out a sob.

As ungentlemanly as it was, he reached out to the brunette man.

He grabbed onto the papery fabric of the man’s button up, pulling it close as he sobbed. He couldn’t regulate his breathing whatsoever, coming off in quick, cut off inhales and exhales.

The man did not push him away.

Between a space of two seats, Stanley tried to pull the Narrator closer.

He didn’t know what happened, but he wanted whatever this was to stop. All the Narrator could think was that he needed whatever this horrible feeling was, to stop, and for whatever he had seen to be just simply a silly hallucination of sorts, a trick of the mind.

Whatever he had seen, he didn’t want to see it again.

Chapter Text

Stanley had no clue what was going on. Just a few seconds ago, he felt himself drifting off to sleep again, comforted by the fact that the Narrator was actually getting some decent rest, and that they’d hopefully end back up at the library.

But here he was now; wrenched out of whatever rest he could’ve gotten, the exact same Narrator from before ended up sobbing into Stanley’s chest.

Stanley ignored the concerned glares from the people around them. He pulled the taller man closer, trying to get a look at what happened. Was he hurt somehow?

“Narrator?” Stanley said, between the sobs of the other man. “What happened?” He asked.

His only response was more desperate inhales of air.

“Narrator, please.” Stanley said, a bit more stern this time.

Still no response.

Stanley was tempted to continue asking him to speak up- to say something, anything at all. But he knew it’d be no use, especially in the state that the Narrator was right now.

He simply pulled the man closer, as close as he could. He’d gently tug one of his arms away from his grip to rest against the Narrator’s back, gently brushing against it and rubbing it.

”It’s okay.” Stanley said.

—

Eventually, the Narrator pulled away from Stanley. He wiped the odd liquid leaking from his face, his eyes sort as he rubbed the sleeve of his arm against them.

His breaths were still unsteady, but he wasn’t hyperventilating and panicking anymore.

He took in a deep breath, noticing that Stanley’s eyes were still on him.

“I’m okay now, Stanley. It’s fine.” He responded.

Stanley shook his head. He reached for the pen and paper in his pocket, stopping.

”It’s not fine.” Stanley started. “I have no idea what happened, but I need you to tell me what any of that was.”

The two men stared at each other from across the seats.

”Stanley, it’s fine. Look, that won’t happen again, so we can just move on and-“ The Narrator would say, suddenly cut off by Stanley reaching to grab his arm.

”No.” Stanley said. “I don’t want you to just ‘move on’ from whatever that was. Can you please just tell me?”

”Stanley. Really, I-“

”Please.”

Stanley gently squeezed his arm, making eye contact with the Narrator.

”I just want to help you figure it out. Or to at least work past it.” Stanley continued.

The Narrator huffed, his hands still shaky as they rested in his lap.

”Okay, Stanley. I’ll start from the beginning, I suppose.”

Chapter Text

The bus reached a stop as the Narrator tried preparing himself to speak. The two of them decided to get off of the vehicle, the stuffy, crowded air within the bus doing more harm than good for them. Stanley assumed they’d just have to get on the next one that’d stop by later.

Setting the bag of groceries next to himself on the metal bench, Stanley took the manila envelope from the Narrator.

“Take your time.” Stanley said, his voice hushed, not desiring to strain it. He placed the manila envelope in his own lap, folding his hands over it as he looked at the Narrator.

The Narrator stared up at the cloudy sky, taking in a deep breath of the cold air.

“..You wanted to know about what I saw first, right?” He asked Stanley.

“Mhm. That’s the main thing I wanted to know. We can figure out what else you need to tell me after that point.” Stanley responded, his eyes focused on the tired, green eyes that lay behind the Narrator’s glasses.

“One minute I was sitting next to you, and then I closed my eyes. After that– it was all black. All around me.”

“My breathing didn’t feel right, and all I could really do was walk around, I suppose.”

“I tried calling out for you. I thought you would be there with me. But from what I could tell, you weren’t.” The Narrator sighed, one of his hands moving over to pick at the edge of his suit jacket. 

“I could barely think properly at the beginning of it all. But- after a while of walking, I heard another voice around me. It kept repeating what it said. It told me that you were gone because of my actions, as strange as that sounds.”
“I denied it. Up until that point I thought– I knew you were okay. You had been by my side right before I ended up in that place. You should’ve been okay.”

“I kept talking to the voice. I kept trying to figure out what it meant. I told them that it wasn’t true, none of it was. That you really were okay, and that my actions hadn’t led to anything.”

“And then I saw you in there.”

Stanley noticed the subtle bouncing of the Narrator’s foot. Cautiously, he moved his hand over, resting it on the man’s sleeve. The Narrator looked away from Stanley’s direction, although the bouncing had paused for a bit.

“You looked.. wrong. I don’t even know if that was even you. There was so much damage to your body. Your limbs connected at unsightly angles. You were covered in injuries. The entire time, you had this.. This yellow liquid was pouring out from your face, too.”
“You asked me why I hurt you.”

“You said that you trusted me, you said you thought I would do the right thing. You reached towards me, too.” 

“Your voice started to change though. You start asking me why I trapped you away. You said I used you to my benefit. You..” The Narrator trailed off. He raised his hands to take his glasses off. His voice was shaky, and Stanley could see liquid welling up in the corners of his eyes. 

“Your voice shifted every time you addressed yourself. Like you were reflecting somebody else’s thoughts, like..” The Narrator let out a sigh, his glasses placed in his lap. He waited for Stanley to finish the sentence for him. 

Trapped. That was the key word Stanley needed. He remembered what the Narrator had told him before he closed his eyes. 

“432.” Stanley said. 

The Narrator nodded. “The you that I saw back in that place, it started deteriorating even more. It wasn’t you at all. It couldn’t have been.”
“It all ended with that thing lurching towards me, gripping my shoulders as a choked sob escaped its throat. And then I was back on the bus, as if nothing had happened.”
He wiped his face with the free arm that Stanley hadn’t been resting his hand on. “It was horrifying.”

With the summary finished, Stanley continued to simply stare at the other man, unsure of what to do next.

Around them, the world was quiet. Nobody else waited at the bus stop, and the people that they did see were all busy with their own things.

Stanley would move a bit closer to the Narrator, resting his head on the man’s shoulder. The Narrator did not flinch. He moved his shoulder closer to allow for better access.

“Did you and 432 have any sort of relationship before you got rid of them?” Stanley quietly asked. He moved his hand away from the Narrator’s sleeve, holding it out for him to hold it. 

“..Yes.” The Narrator responded, tentatively taking the other man’s hand into his. “We were awfully close.”

“Really?” Stanley continued.

The Narrator nodded, squeezing the man’s hand gently. Stanley did the same in response. He wasn’t sure if Stanley could even see– or feel him nod, but he continued to speak, regardless. “You know, they were one of the first employees in the Parable. Despite their number, they were the result of the first time that life was actually evident within the Parable. Besides me and the Curator.”

“Their number had no significance, to be honest. That was chosen later on, back when the rest of the office was actually formed. To be honest, I don’t think they ever had a proper name. Neither did me or the Curator, and we still don’t.”

“The Parable and whatever resided inside of it didn’t need names of any sort. It was a powerful thing; and so were those within it.”
“I’ll never be able to truly explain what it is. I don’t know how it came to be. I don’t know what even caused me and the Curator to exist in the first place, either.”
“It is deeply entwined with this place though, the real world. The ability for us to have been sent here is enough proof of that.”

Stanley quietly reached for the Narrator’s glasses, fidgeting with them in his other hand. 

“Back in the beginning, it was just me and the Curator. Nothing else.”

“There was just this.. This innate urge to create for me. I needed a story. I wanted to use the voice I was given.”
“The Parable fluctuated with that desire. Soon enough, I was able to prepare the first of many scripts. I ran through it so, so many times. I wanted to make sure it was perfect. It was only after the first thousand repeats of it that I realized I actually needed somebody to act it out. To be a part of the story.”

“With that, additional life needed to be created. We tried creating countless lifeforms, one after the other. Barely any of them turned out to be what we needed.”
“They couldn’t go past what they were intended to do, what was programmed for them. After a bit of time, they’d always fall into a loop. We didn’t know what was capable of them in regards to what they could handle.”

“There were only so few results that showed the chance that life could properly thrive. Maybe, ah.. About three?” The Narrator wondered aloud.

“Two of them showed a potential to deviate from the code. One of those was you. Of course, your ability to defy your code came way, way later. And the other one took even longer than that. But then there was 432, the last one.”

“First, I set them in the old office environment to even see how they’d work with that. As was assumed, the other employees didn’t quite like them.”
“I used the premise of my script, the idea that there was a mind control facility, against the employees. I wondered what would happen, and with 432 not being a part of it, you could see where that went.”

“But I was overjoyed. I knew I shouldn’t have bothered communicating with them, but I did.”
“It was indirect at first. I’d spawn in letters on their desk, and they’d respond via writing with a pencil on a piece of paper, leaving it for me.”
“Eventually I thought it was time for them to actually play the role of the protagonist that I needed. I took them out of the old office, and got the Parable to get rid of all of the other unneeded employee models in order to try out the first version of the story.”
“It was fine at first, it was great, even. It became a daily sort of thing. Constantly making the Parable go back and forth between having to generate the actual office that was filled with employees and the one meant for the story was fine. I thought it was fine. 432 got to show me how my story functioned. They gave me a purpose.”
“Eventually, the desire for a story started changing. I wanted a bigger story, a bigger office, complete with bigger endings. 432 didn’t want the same, though. They wanted to stay in their old office, even though I had given them more than enough breaks from the story.”

“The older office was obsolete, though. I didn’t need it anymore, and I assumed they just wanted time to themself. During that time, I realized something else, too.”

“I let them stay in the older office as I tried communicating with the Parable to give me what I needed. But with every run, every attempt with 432, it wouldn’t hold up its form for long. The Parable couldn’t stay how I wanted it to. It refused. That’s when I got the idea.”
“I could channel the power of the Parable, become closer to it, whatever. Something to maintain the state that I wanted the Parable to stay in.”
“I saw that as too much, though. Too much work, too much responsibility. I just wanted to tell my story, I didn’t want to have to constantly take care of it. Taking care of 432 was enough.”
“But 432 had already shown enough to me that made me know they didn’t really want to be the protagonist anymore. They were getting tired. They wanted something new. So, I gave them something new. Before I did, I made sure to re-code them to make sure they’d actually listen to me and the Curator, and whatever our requests would be.”

“I told them about the change of plans once I was sure they were actually connected to the Parable, now. I told them their other friends and employees were still safe, functioning just fine without them. I put them off to the side, in the out of bounds area.”

“We ran through the cycle again, new office, new run, testing the endings, and so on. The only difference was that now, we put you , or well, your old, unawakened body into the office.”

“For once, everything was perfect. That didn’t last for long, though.”
“They wanted more, like I had told you back when we were still in my office. Bouts of new content, you know the drill, you remember.”

“I didn’t want any of that, I didn’t understand why they behaved the way they did. I couldn’t fix their coding at that point, with them being connected to the Parable, they would know. I needed a way to control them, to control the Parable.”
“I convinced them to spawn in a monitor for me. I used it to create a USB that would lock them down and control them.”
“I convinced them that they’d be able to communicate with their employees again, without needing any reprogramming from either them or their employees.”
“I helped them make a new monitor that they could dwell within, underneath the guise to communicate with their employees”
“I plugged in the USB stick. It worked.”

“There was no need for them to try and rebel against me. They weren’t even capable of doing that. I threatened them with the idea of leaving them alone; leaving them in a sad, old area, with nobody to communicate with.”
“They were scared. They agreed with whatever I asked of them.”
“Soon enough, their employees were gone with what I had asked 432 to do. They deleted them.”
“We both know that I’m the one who really did it though.”
The Narrator sighed, moving a bit to stretch. Stanley moved his head away and took his hand as well to allow the Narrator to do so. 

“It was never their fault. It was mine, and I see that now.” The Narrator continued.

“I treated them horribly, and made them enact actions on the Parable that they didn’t want to do. All of it could’ve been solved if I had just bit the bullet and decided to be the one to be connected to the Parable. Or even better, I could’ve just worked with how the Parable fluctuated. But I didn’t.” 

“I ignored any guilt that I could’ve had whatsoever. I pushed it down, I kept ordering 432 to help change and remodel the Parable to my liking. I focused on you, I noted how your personality grew ever so slightly within the office, amongst the endings.”

“Eventually, I thought the Parable was perfect. I thought it was complete. I figured out that you had finally awakened, too.”
“Do you even remember any of that? Do you remember any of the old iterations of the Parable; of the office?” The Narrator asked him, standing up and holding out his hands to him. Stanley shook his head, placing the glasses off to the side so he could hold the Narrator’s hands. 

“I thought I was happy. I felt satisfied. Everything was where I wanted it to be.”

“One day, while I took a break from ordering you around. I checked back on 432.”
“I wondered if there could be any way to communicate with them again. To be on the terms that we used to be.”
“It had been ages since I talked to them, up until that point. I really did leave them in a sad, old, cold place, with nobody to communicate with them. The out of bounds area of the Parable, if you will.”

“There was no need for me to do that to them, to leave them alone for so long.”
“As we spoke, they proposed the idea of more content, yet again. They said it’d be streamlined, perfect, whatever I wanted, just as long as they could see their employees again.”
“At the time, I scoffed at their proposal. I called them an idiot for ever wanting something like that. The Parable was perfect enough.”
“But in turn, I allowed them to at least generate a bit of the old office again. They thought that upon making sure everything was fine, I'd let them see their employees again, just for a bit. I convinced them that maybe I had a change of heart, that maybe the office could be added back in the content update they wanted.”
“I brought them to that place, and left them there.”
The Narrator gently squeezed both of Stanley’s hands, staring at the man’s chest and refusing to make eye contact with him.

“I don’t know why I did that, either. I was angry, sure, but I got over it, pushing my actions off to the side. I hurt them even more, all just because of the first request they made to me in ages.”
“What makes it worse is that later on, after countless resets, I was the one who finally wanted change.”
“Could you imagine me, deciding to go all the way back to the old building, to request something I denied from them ages ago?”

“It’s horrible, looking back on it. What was I thinking? You certainly didn’t know, and neither did the Curator. The whole time, she had been doing her own things, making her own little world from the scraps of what had been deleted and put aside.”
“432 was so damaged by the time I got to the monitor. Physically, they were fine, but they were ruined mentally.”
“I spoke to them about needing more content. Strangely enough, they agreed. It was only ages later that I realized why exactly they did it so easily.”
“We discussed the creation of an expo, for the sequel of the story I loved so much. I made sure they included every little detail that I wanted, and that the script I made would work perfectly with it. I should’ve known that they would add in some of their own work, though.”

Stanley didn’t like what that implied, thinking back to everything that had gone wrong with the new content. 

There were things he didn’t mind, that he even liked. The Mostly Infinite Hole was nice to go through every now and then. But that was just one side of the spectrum regarding what was considered ‘wrong’ within the content.

The Narrator finished Stanley’s thoughts before he could do it himself. 

“The Skip Ending was part of what they added.”
The Narrator looked off to the side. “That wasn’t ever supposed to happen. We were supposed to be able to leave. I thought we’d be able to leave.”
“You already know we didn’t.”
“Once the Parable finally reset, I decided to take 432 out from that office I left them in, putting them into my own. I wanted to make sure I could keep track of them at all times from that point.”
“I was devastated by what had happened. I didn’t want that to occur again.”
“I thought about everything 432 had done, everything they caused in my eyes. They had done too much, and I finally had the idea of getting rid of them, trading them out for someone who’d be easier to work with, easier to cooperate with. Death isn’t possible in the Parable. You can’t just.. kill something. Deleting it, though, is the closest thing you can get to that.”
“And if everything went correctly, I’d get to delete them.”
The Narrator let go of Stanley’s hands, turning to look out at the cloudy sky once again.

“I still didn’t want to take on the responsibility of the Parable. I didn’t let the Curator know about anything that had happened, and you had no clue about anything that was occurring.”
“There was only one more option; that other being who was able to deviate from the code.”
“I never deleted her from the code itself once she was spawned in. I kept her off to the side, just like you.”
“During our breaks, while you were busy messing with the bucket, I checked up on her.”
“I had spawned her into the old model of the office, the one that 432 had previously been left in. You barely bothered to visit the Boss’s Office during those breaks, so I simply moved the piano model from that place over to her area.”
“I observed her, spawning in other objects too, just to try and get any sense that her code was actually awakening.” 

“I never got any confirmation on if it all actually worked. I never got to kill off 432, and I never got to push the Parable into another cycle. But, maybe that was a good thing.”
“Without you breaking the monitor, I would’ve never truly figured out that I was the one in the wrong, Stanley.” He turned back to stare at the man sitting down. 

“Even up until now, I was unsure if I would ever really figure it all out.”
“I don't know what it was that I saw earlier after I closed my eyes, but it helped me.” He said. “It horrified me, but it showed me the truth, I suppose.”
“What I did was horrible, but it doesn’t mean I can’t try to make amends.”
The Narrator moved to sit back down next to Stanley.

“When we get back to the Parable, I swear I’ll try to fix it all.”
–

For a while, it was silent between Stanley and the Narrator. They sat side by side, with the Narrator thinking back on his actions as Stanley quietly processed what he was told.

Wanting to lighten the mood, Stanley finally spoke. 

“How do you talk that much without your throat getting sore?” He asked.

The Narrator tiredly chuckled. “ Really? Is that the first thing you need to ask?”

“It’s a good question. I don’t know how you do it, seriously.” Stanley responded.

“Oh come on Stanley, I’ve been narrating you as long as you’ve existed, and then some.”
“Then how did that even carry onto your human form?” Stanley asked again.

“The details aren’t important, hush. Hand me my glasses, will you?”

Stanley smiled ever so slightly, reaching for the glasses he set off to the side, handing them to the Narrator. 

There was more silence between the two as the Narrator set his glasses back on his face, making sure there weren’t any smudges on the lens.

“..So, did the other being besides me and 432 have a name?” Stanley said.

“Hmm? Oh- yes, yes. Mariella.”
“Mariella.” Stanley quietly repeated to himself. “How did you even choose that name? How did you even choose mine, too?” He continued.

“Simply through books and such. I was never one for dabbling with the real world, but I would’ve never come up with a good name on my own. Those two names appealed to me the most. The name “Stanley” rolled off of my tongue perfectly, and “Mariella” sounded nice.”

Stanley smiled. After a few seconds, he moved his head over to rest on the Narrator’s shoulder yet again. 

–

“You know what I just realized, Stanley?” The Narrator asked. 

A quiet “Hm?” would be given in response by the other man.

“The buses we’ve been on have all been going in one direction; never the other. In other words, we’ve simply been going farther from the library, the hotel, and such.”

Stanley sighed, slightly adjusting his head against the man’s shoulder before he spoke. “So does that mean you want to try walking back there yourself if the buses won’t go that way?”

“Heavens, no. We should probably start figuring out if there’s anywhere around here we could stay for the time being, though. Or we can just get back on one of the buses when it comes over.”
“Those buses are too loud and quiet.”
“Correct. Come on, let’s go and find somewhere where we can wash off and make that pasta you told me about.”
Stanley lifted his head as he felt the man get up, turning to look at Stanley.

They both smiled at each other as Stanley got up, reaching for the grocery bag and the manila envelope within.

Chapter Text

Nothing had turned out as expected, as of right now.

432 stared at the expanse in front of them.

Vibrant trees, bushes, flowers were laid out in front of them, each of the objects meticulously modelled and shaped to perfection. 

A sun hung in the blue sky, shining down on the landscape.

None of it looked right, though. 432 wanted some sort of area to exist outside of the office, for the employees to be able to take a break when they needed to, and this was not it. Something about all of this felt fake, too artificial. The natural feeling they were aiming for wasn’t evident at all. 

There was no need to go back and fix anything though. They had to keep moving forward, plus the employees probably wouldn’t even notice the difference between what seemed fake and what seemed real. To them, this would be as familiar as the rest of the Parable, or at least the office. 

432 let out a tired sigh. With the actual nature aspect done, they’d have to get to work on the additional buildings. They could probably bring the apartment model over to this place, and a few other amenities like a park. Not much would be needed due to the employees not needing anything like rest or food, but an area to take an actual break would be enough.

This would work out. It wouldn’t be anything like the Narrator had created. These employees wouldn’t turn out the same as they once did; 432 was sure of that.

–

Only now had the Curator figured out just how underwhelming her new office was.

The poorly chosen furniture and paint was enough to set her off before, but with Mariella gone, there was a new sort of emptiness to this place.
There was nothing to do on the monitor that belonged to her now, meant only to observe the code and look into the surveillance cameras scattered around the company building.

With nothing to pass the time with, the Curator decided to make her way back to her Museum. 

Upon opening up the secret passage installed into the wall, heading into the elevator that replaced the shoddily built mechanism that previously brought people underground, she reflected on the fact that there shouldn’t be anything wrong with staying at the Museum for about an hour or so. The employees all looked fairly occupied, and she filled out any current tasks she had, such as sending that letter to 432 and listening to Mariella play.

Instead of the hole in the floor that led to those giant metal crushers, 432 had replaced it so that instead, there would just be an overly long hallway that led to an even longer stairway which trailed down into the Museum.

This would consist of quite a lot of walking. Maybe 432 should have just given her the ability to teleport, that would’ve been easier than this.

–

The outside area couldn’t just go on forever. There would have to be a clear border set up that would allow the employees to wander, but not too far. 

432 wasn’t sure what would even lead the employees to wander, but it was a precaution to take just in case, even if they were sure the employees would be more occupied with more office work and the amenities offered to even consider wandering so far.

They’d wave their hand, a sort of flourish that wasn’t required, but was still fun to do, as a large brick wall encircled a large amount of land around the company building, around the countless trees and bushes, and around the new apartment complex and the park. The wall wasn’t too tall, just enough so that somebody wouldn’t be able to jump and climb over it. In order to try and hide it, they’d go further, spawning in a blanket of moss and vines to cover it up. 

With that done, they’d just have to work on modelling each of the rooms within the apartment, coding in every room to be assigned to a specific employee. 

–

As she continued to walk down the hallway, the Curator noticed something along one of the walls. 

A small crack, just along the area where the ceiling met the wall on her left.

She squinted at it. It usually would’ve likely been barely visible, but the white paint of the hall only accentuated it further. 

It was only a small crack though, nothing to worry about. 

She’d have to let 432 know about it later.

Turning her head away, she’d focus back on making her way to the museum. At this point, the hallway opened up into a set of stairs.

She’d be careful, making sure she didn’t slip or make a step as she trailed down.

Her hands would rest at her sides as the clicking of her heels against the floor echoed throughout the hall. 

–

Upon finally reaching her Museum, the Curator would let out a satisfied sigh. 

This was the one place she knew belonged to her, and nobody else.

No changes would happen to this place without her agreement, and she liked that. 

She’d make her usual round through the exhibits, following the path she always did from the front of the Museum to get to the back, where the storage room laid behind the fake panel of LED lights.

But as she made her way past the set of numbered buttons, still near the front of the Museum, She’d notice something yet again.

Another crack, this time larger than the last, beginning from the plastered structure that the first button rested on, trailing all the way down to the bottom of the small, rectangular pillar.

She didn’t mind the cracks she had seen in the rest of the Parable, but in her own Museum? Something was wrong.

She had full control over this area. There was no need for a crack to appear. The Museum didn’t function like the rest of the Parable, living in its own time and space, separated from each of the resets. 

She would have to go into the storage room, and find what she could that would repair this. She doubted that this was just the Museum aging. It never did anything like this, and she never had to repair anything like this. 

She’d finally have to start asking 432 some actual questions.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, the two of them had actually managed to locate a place close to the bus stop.

They still had to do a fair amount of walking, with Stanley and The Narrator taking turns on who had to hold the plastic bag full of groceries, but they had still managed to find a place to stay for the time being.

Despite the fact that the sky was still fairly bright, ignoring the soupy clouds that surrounded it, they both agreed that there wasn’t much else they desired to do for the day. They could get a room, hopefully one that included the structures necessary to cook, as well as perhaps a built-in computer within the room, and they could pass the rest of the day with those activities, plus showering, cleaning off the clothes, and resting.

As the two walked together, the Narrator realized how the money that the Curator had given them was steadily going down with each of their purchases. Of course, there was still a large sum left, but with their spending habits, the Narrator wasn’t sure how much they’d have left by tomorrow, especially with the purchase of yet another hotel room.

The Curator had given them both resumés within the manila envelope. Initially, the Narrator had no clue what the purpose of the papers were until he bothered to look it up back in the library.

He detested the idea of having to work while the two of them were in the Parable, but that was likely a key part in why he was sent here. He had to learn how to function in a place that stripped away any power he previously had. If he didn’t, he’d fit the definition of the word “helpless” that 432 had used.

He’d deal with that whole ordeal regarding jobs tomorrow.

Upon entering the lobby of this building, Stanley would stand off to the side as the Narrator asked the person behind the desk for a room to check out. He requested a room where he’d be able to make food, and although they were a bit confused on how it was worded, the person at the front desk happily obliged.

Costs were discussed, an agreement was made regarding the check-out time, and a keycard was handed to the Narrator.
“Alright then; looks like we have to go this way, Stanley.” The Narrator would say, making his way to the staircase that awaited the two.

”We’ll get washed off, hopefully there’s extra clothes or towels for us, and then we can work on the pasta. How does that sound?”

Stanley tiredly smiled, giving the man a slight nod as they made their way to their designated room.

Chapter Text

The layout of this hotel room wasn’t so different from the last one they stayed in, much to the Narrator’s surprise. The biggest changes that he noted was that this room was in the corner across the bedroom area, there was a small collection of structures he learned was called a kitchenette from the receptionist back in the lobby, and that the layout of the bathroom and the bedroom slash living area was mirrored, with the bed being .

“Could you perhaps grab that paper with the recipe, Stanley?” The Narrator would ask, quietly shutting the front door behind the two as they made their way into the room. 

Slipping off his shoes, Stanley would set the bag of groceries onto the nearest surface, a small table next to the front door. He’d reach into his pocket, taking out two folded papers. After looking at the contents of both of the papers, he’d jam one of them back into his pocket, holding up the other to his chest. Stanley would stand by the small table, watching as the Narrator took the effort to properly bend down and slip off his shoes.

“Alright then; do you want to wash up or make the food first, Stanley?” He’d ask, grabbing the bag of groceries, making his way over to the kitchenette.

“Washing off sounds nice, but then again we haven’t had anything to eat today.” Stanley would respond, following the Narrator as the taller man placed the bag of groceries on the counter, taking out the various items within.

“Food first, then. What does the first step say on that paper?” The Narrator would ask.

“Pour the whole tomatoes into a pot, crushing them with the back of a spoon.” Stanley responded, staring at the crumpled paper in his hands.

The Narrator would hum to himself, reaching to open the cabinets above him once he finished taking everything out of the bag. “No clue what a pot is..” He’d mutter.

“This should be good enough though, assuming we’ll be making a lot of sauce. This looks like it’d hold a lot of sauce, right, Stanley?”

Stanley would shrug, walking a bit closer to the kitchenette as the Narrator pulled out what was, thankfully, indeed a pot.

He’d place it on the counter, reaching for the can of whole tomatoes. Gripping his index finger around the small loop on the top of the can, he’d pull on it, an odd sound being emitted as the top of the can separated from the rest of it. 

“Eugh.” The Narrator would frown at how the tomatoes looked, turning the can over and pouring it into the pot. “Now then, what’s a spoon..” He’d continue, looking away from the pot once again to look through the drawers. 

“Stanley, while I’m busy with this, can you go ahead and check if the bathroom has extra clothes for us? And while you’re at it, what’s the next step on that paper?”

Stanley would nod, turning towards the bathroom as he glanced down at the paper. “Get a pan out, pour the olive oil and some of the garlic in there.” He’d repeat from the paper, jamming it into his pocket as he went into the bathroom.

As he looked through the cabinets in the bathroom, he could hear the Narrator scoff, followed by the man saying “A pan? I only just found the spoon, now what’s this thing called a pan?-”.

With the fact of this room being just as, if not more expensive than the last room, Stanley wasn’t surprised when he looked over at the wall parallel to the mirror, with a few towels and robes hanging off of metal bars installed into the wall. He looked around a bit more, noting the soap in the shower, and some wrapped toothbrushes accompanied by sealed toothpaste on the kitchen sink, something that he didn’t notice in the last hotel. 

“There’s extra stuff for us to wear.” Stanley would say, making his way out of the bathroom, looking over at the kitchenette. There was yet another metal item on the stove, next to the pot with the crushed tomatoes. The Narrator would be busy opening up the olive oil.

“That’s good to know. Here, help me open the garlic.” The Narrator said, motioning over to the small container of crushed garlic. He’d get his own item open, pouring in what he would think was a sufficient amount into the pan, just enough to coat the surface.

Walking over to be at the Narrator’s side, Stanley would reach for the container of garlic, twisting the cap open.

The Narrator would take the container from him, grabbing onto the spoon, scooping a reasonable sizing of garlic into the pan.

“Alright then. Next?” The Narrator would ask, putting the container of garlic down. 

Stanley would reach for the paper, staring at the next thing that was messily written down. 

“Add the tomato paste to the oil. Stir, then add the crushed tomatoes into the pan. Simmer for 30 minutes, add in salt and basil when needed.” Stanley would read off. 

“That certainly sounds like a lot, Stanley. Nevermind, I can figure it out just fine. Would you like to wash off while I do so?” The Narrator would ask, reaching for the can of tomato paste.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay and help?” Stanley would continue, placing the piece of paper on the counter. 

“It’s quite fine, I think I can figure out the rest.” The Narrator responded, pulling the can of tomato paste open, spooning it into the mixture on the pan. “Don’t take too long, though. We still need to make the noodles.”
Stanley would smile at the Narrator, stepping away from the kitchenette, before making his way over to the bathroom, and washing the day off.