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The quiet was deafening.
Stanley would never admit it out loud, but not having the Narrator incessantly going on about something in his ears was unsettling. His eyes raked around the empty office room. It hadn't changed, nothing was different.
Maybe that was the worst part. There was no reason for him not to be speaking. The room was the same mess. The adventure line was in the same place, and everything was just like every other loop.
Stanley knew, he'd checked. And not once had he heard his disembodied companion speak, not about choosing the wrong door, not about going to the wrong place. Not even a word when faced with the broom closet.
It was a kind of stress he hadn't felt since his first few loops –Stanley couldn't tell how long it'd been, but he knew it felt like an eternity ago by now. The kind of stress that came from uncertainty.
It stirred up memories of not knowing who he was or where he was. Memories of fearing the all-powerful voice coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Stanley would laugh at all that if he could.
He couldn't say the Narrator would shy away from hurting him, that would just be a lie, but he didn't do it just to be an asshole either. Most times, anyway. And that slight difference was enough to make all that fear fade into something resembling fondness. Or resentment, it was too similar to tell.
Looking around the office room from his desk right now, though, made it all come tumbling back. His heart squeezed uncomfortably in his chest.
Stanley, as per usual, couldn't tell the time. All he knew was that it had been far too long since Narrator had opened his annoyingly smart mouth to say anything.
The last loop had gone on without much incident, Stanley didn't have the energy to remember which one it was, but he knew there was no reason for the silent treatment.
There was no fighting, no arguments, nothing. And, for all that Narrator was all brains and very little humanity, Stanley liked to think that he had slowly managed to start understanding his creator, and this wasn't the usual for him.
'Narrator.' He signed. Stanley didn't need to do anything else to ask for the others attention, Narrator always had his eyes on him.
Yet..
It took a long time for the Narrator to speak, long enough that Stanley feared there would be no response at all.
"Stanley." The words were measured, they lacked that ever-pleasant tone. It made him both want to double over in relief and tear his ears off.
For a moment, Stanley was rooted in place. He couldn't move his arms. He could do nothing but stare at the vastness of scattered papers and desks with a lost look in his eyes.
"I see you're feeling a little.. troubled." He drawled when there was no response.
A thump rang out. Stanley sat back down at the cheap chair by his table. There was so much he wanted to ask.
This day, this... loop, it felt way too different from normal. Everything was charged with too many emotions. Was it that their unspoken agreement of not mentioning the anger and sadness that clouded their actions was finally catching up to them?
Not for the first time, Stanley found himself wishing he could speak.
'You okay?' Is what he settled with. Great work there Stanley, real communicative.
A beat. 'You aren't speaking.'
Why did everything feel so difficult all of a sudden? Stanley wasn't some damsel in distress. He was resilient, strong. A fighter. So why did the Narrator disarm him so much?
He looked around again, hoping that whichever hidden camera or crazy device that the other man had to spy on him could pick up the distress in his expression.
The Narrator clicked his tongue. "I've come to a realization, Stanley," Beneath his serious, heavy tone, Stanley could pick up something almost.. pained. It made his stomach drop to his feet.
"You see, we've been at this for too long." He continued. "And I don't think it's fair to let it continue."
Alarmed, Stanley was startled into a standing position, moving so fast he nearly knocked his chair down. 'What?' He motioned, moving his hands with more force and speed than necessary.
Furrowing his eyebrows, he tried again. 'What do you mean?'
The shock and fear rolling off of Stanley in waves gave Narrator pause. He felt more like a monster than usual. "I created you, Stanley, I created this, for a reason. The world wasn't good enough, so I made a better one. One I had control over."
Keyboards crackled ominously over Narrator's speakers. It reminded him too much of big bold letters and blaring alarms. Stanley quickly decided he hated it.
Running aimlessly around the office, he looked for something to stop this, something to revert things back to how they were.
This had to be some sick new ending. This couldn't be happening.
He wanted to bicker with his companion, to hear him get unreasonably angry over something silly.
"Or at least, I thought I had complete control over everything. But you, Stanley.. I could never control you," His voice —unwavering and proud— broke. "And I loved that, Stanley. I loved you."
This couldn't be happening. It was never supposed to end, wasn't it? That was the beauty of it. The parable had no end. It couldn't have.
"There is too much I have to say that I never will, and I apologize for that, but it has to end." Stanley felt nauseous, his jaw clenched to stop his tears from falling. "You changed me, changed the way I see things. This isn't fair to either one of us."
Stanley's hands moved faster than his head, he couldn't even understand himself. Was he pleading? Cursing?
All he knew was that the air in his lungs began to make itself scarce, the strength in his knees faltered.
"And I'm choosing to free both of us."
A click.
Stanley's world, all he knew, began to crumble and fade before his eyes.
A sob.
Stanley wasn't sure if it was him or Narrator. He closed his eyes, trying to pretend this was just some cruel joke.
"I'm sorry."
'Please.'
It all went black.