ignore the dogshit quality but uh HAPPY 4/27!!!! i really love how this turned out and it was very nice to focus on something that isnt my illness haha! kill me! seriously tho, love these freaks very veryyyy much.
side note, i couldnt find a way to download the actual font, but this got pretty damn close so pat on the back for me. huzzah.
"This is a story of a man named Stan- Stanley! What do you think you are doing?!" the Narrator asked infuriated, the avatar normally waits for it to finish the introduction before causing chaos.
The man in question was crouched under his desk, seeming very interested in something there.
Saw something. signed Stanley briefly before extending his arm to search further.
The Narrator frowned to itself - it didn't make sense, nothing was supposed to happen now. It absent-mindedly looked at the model of the room from all angles trying to find what had distracted its creation so much. Since Stanley didn't know what he was searching for neither did the dark being.
"Nonsense, Stanley!" the shadow crossed its non-physical arms, projecting itself below the man, replacing his shadow. "Nothing has changed from last run. Now, chop chop, we have a story to get to." But it was ignored, there was nothing it hated more than being ignored. The Narrator mumbled to itself, something something stubbornness, narrative integrity, petulant.
The stretched fingers felt the wall carefully, Stanley had his brows knit together and the tip of his tongue out in concentration.
"Will at least tell me what you saw, Stanley? What could be MORE interesting than my story?" pouted the British voice.
-ots of things- thought Stanley louder, I saw something crawl out of here. I'm trying to find from where.
"Crawl? Here? Don't be ridiculous, Stanley!" the Narrator scoffed "I have no asset that could do that! The most similar to crawl an asset does is the baby and I have not seen something that big crawling here, Stanley!"
Nothing pink? Small? asked the man, as he now explored the right corner of the 427 office. The other replied with a disagreeing shrug. Pink was a difficult color to harmonize with the Office.
A silent exclamation of triumph left Stanley as his fingertips brushed again something, he turned his head and squinted to see what he had found.
A hole. Not larger than his ring finger. It seemed to go all the way through the wall, direct through the code.
Stanley has never seen something like this, the Narrator was always very careful with the parable's code, knowing fully well that if it wasn't, the avatar would find a way to mess with it, probably breaking it beyond repair.
Even if Stanley did in fact like some chaos, this was extremely odd and too dangerous for now so, Narrator? He called and showed his finding to the other.
The Narrator moved its form to the wall indicated, its projected yellow square glasses close to the anomaly.
"Oh, dear..." The shadow disappeared since it was easier to investigate this from the Narrator's office.
The vessel stood up, sat back in his chair, and started to fidget with his hands, nervous as he felt the other's anxiety. This was beyond the Narrator’s limited unlimited control of the parable and Stanley’s control by free will.
The panicked mumblings of the dark creature echoed through the map as it searched for whatever could have done that. It appeared to have eaten its code to get inside, a small and not really important code but still not acceptable!
In a room, in its office, somewhere not really physical, the Narrator went through its scripts with alarm. The walls were covered with monitors, some flicked between ten, hundred, thousand of angles of the parable, searching for others showed rows and rows of code, simple commands such as Object Chair; or as unreadable strings of zeros and ones, for untrained eyes, nothing seemed wrong but there were gaps where there shouldn’t be; each second that pasted more gaps appeared. A few papers cover some screen
It was eating the code. Multiplying. And eating more.
A virus.
The parable had a virus.
A BLOODY VIRUS HAD MADE ITS WAY THROUGH THE NARRATOR’S CODE.
The shadow being was livid.
How could something like this happen?!
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As the other panicked, Stanley made his way to the employee lounge not really knowing what to do. He sat on the ground with some pen and paper he snatched from some desk on the way. The problem seemed to be big from the not-so-subtle ramblings of the narrator, but Stanley didn’t have something to offer except to give the other peace.
The vessel wasn’t really an artist, only beginning to draw recently..? When the parable had begun. In the first 20 resets? Time got too tangled after so many runs. Anyway, it began as a way to piss off his companion, drawing dicks and other immature things on the walls with a marker from the meeting room. The entity had been so disgusted with the display of “childish and improper” - its words - behavior, it had berated the man until it couldn’t take anymore and reset.
Stanley didn’t repeat that for some resets, mainly then only snatching paper, pencils, and pens, and bringing them to the broom closet when he was overwhelmed or just need space. There he would try to sketch the closet’s items, the bucket (if he had brought them with him) or the simple shape of the Narrator’s shadow form, its somehow yellow square glasses, and Line™ tie, the dark shape of its hair that sometimes changed to new hairstyles, the ever-present headset that was likely just for show, the glasses too to think of it.
The drawings in the start were lost after each reset, this made the avatar unhappy but understanding. However, after spending three hours redrawing his office, Stanley did ask the Narrator if there was a way to keep it.
It was actually surprised by the request and by the fact that its creation was making art. It couldn’t really see what Stanley did in the broom closet, so it had just thought he was making “improper” drawings on the walls again. Stanley couldn’t really deny the assumption since it happened once in a while.
Nevertheless, the Narrator was more than content to keep the drawing, and after he mentioned the lost ones, it swore to keep the ones Stanley want to keep. And after some thought the entity “”offhandedly”” suggested that the man didn’t need to hide to draw anymore.
After all that, they established a ritual, where every few resets, Stanley would make his way to the meeting room signing to the other his intentions. The Narrator would lay some materials on the big table for him and let him be. Sometimes the vessel would ask it “to stay”, where they would talk about the drawings or whatever new script the other was working on or just… stay quiet, each focused on their own thing and enjoying each other’s presence.
The walls of Stanley’s office began filling up with sketches, doodles, and portraits. At times one or other would disappear, and he had a tiny suspicion these end up wherever the Narrator’s office was. This made him feel fuzzy inside.
Now, he was trying to put the undescribable code he saw in that hole into paper. It has given the avatar a headache just to look at it, probably too much for him to understand. And Stanley didn’t really like to think he is just a 3D model controlled by lines of digits. He has already accepted he is trapped in this ever-repeating loop and will likely never get out, one hope-crushing realization at the time. This piece wouldn’t be exactly how he saw it but more like the feeling.
The ramblings have slowly quieted to a low mumbling, almost like a nervous buzz.
He dropped the pencil to sign: Narrator?, using the name sign he rarely used, the sign for N, and the sign for Story.
Nothing. It must not be paying attention.
Narrator? Thinking loud normally worked.
“Hum? Oh, Stanley, sorry for this. It appears we have hmm… a virus” the Narrator said with false disinterest leafing through papers “Nothing to worry about.” it cleaned its metaphorical throat “Ah! I see you have already occupied yourself, Stanley. Good, good…” its voice trembled a little, Stanley decided not to comment on it.
Can I help?
“I am afraid not, Stanley. Thanks to you, we already know the virus is here…” He smiled a little at the ceiling. “Now, don’t mind me. I will find it…”
Was it the pink thing I saw? I can keep a watch for it.
“Could be… I doubt this has a physical form but I will not mind if you do, Stanley.” the Narrator said absentmindedly probably already focusing on something else.
The avatar’s thumbs-up was not acknowledged or seen. He returned to his drawing.
Now, the perspective isn’t quite right…
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This is bad…
No matter what the Narrator did, no matter how many pieces of this virus it erased and purged, this code-eating disease always came back.
Maybe it has a commanding core, sending orders and the storyteller was only killing its soldiers, not its commander. This was easy to conclude but the Narrator COULD NOT find where this blasphemous commander WAS.
It has searched bloody EVERYWHERE, every line of code, every corner of the map, and every page of its scripts. And the entity found NOTHING.
Was the ailment purposely hiding? It would be really strong, well-developed, and very very dangerous if so…
Would the Narrator have to fully reset the game? Oh Lord, just the thought of that made its screens go fuzzy with interference.
What if the virus was in the device?! Bloody hell, it could do nothing against that!
How could the user contract such a virus? Probably in one of those filthy pornographic sites, humans seemed to love so much.
The sound of paper flipping was a lovely addition the being was really proud of, even if the papers weren’t exactly real, but now after spending the equivalent of HOURS going through them, over and over again, the little sound effect was stressing Narrator out, making some monitors blink in and out error screens. Or was it the missing code strings? This was all too overwhelming.
Should the Narrator stay with Stanley as he draws for a while to regain its composure? It would be in fact relaxing…
Flicking its glasses to a monitor which showed the man, the creature pondered.
Stanley was lying on the floor on his belly, feet up slowly rocking back and forth. He seemed really invested in his work. Lord bless the quiet moments they had together. The Narrator L̶͙̅͒Î̶͇̻K̸͕̈́E̵̺̹͆Ḑ̸̈ the way Stanley would smile whenever he was content with a sketch. It A̷͕͓͑́̓D̸̨͌͘O̴̘̟͈͌͝R̸͚̯̎͂͠E̵̺͋̓͘D̶̞̍ when the two of them would ping pong ideas for new scripts or drawings, even if it pretended to be skeptic of the vessel’s ideas while taking notes on the side. The way the man would fluster and hide his face with the paper when the shadow would compliment the work was one of the things it Ļ̶̡̪̭̤̟̹̥̪̟̝̪͎̖̬̻̿̀͐̾̇͐͘͜Ő̴̧̞̭̘̜͚̯͈̙̮͌̀̄V̷̧̧̘͕͍̰̰̖͎̭̻͍̻̘̰̖̠̮͆́̐̾̊̊̓͂̆̓͊̈́͝͝E̸̪̩̔͆̀̓̾̍̽̾D̵̘̺̜̪̬̼͍̘̰̲͖̦̾́͐́̍͌̇͋́͐̇͊̍̐͘͝ the most.
It Ļ̶̡̪̭̤̟̹̥̪̟̝̪͎̖̬̻̿̀͐̾̇͐͘͜Ő̴̧̞̭̘̜͚̯͈̙̮͌̀̄V̷̧̧̘͕͍̰̰̖͎̭̻͍̻̘̰̖̠̮͆́̐̾̊̊̓͂̆̓͊̈́͝͝E̸̪̩̔͆̀̓̾̍̽̾D̵̘̺̜̪̬̼͍̘̰̲͖̦̾́͐́̍͌̇͋́͐̇͊̍̐͘͝ when Stanley would take part of a story and seemed to be actually enjoying it. The feeling of joy and validation when Ṣ̶͑t̸̙̓a̵̗̋n̵͙̓l̵̞̂è̷̥y̸̛̱ would follow the narration without a hitch. The way Ṣ̶͑t̸̙̓a̵̗̋n̵͙̓l̵̞̂è̷̥y̸̛̱ would sign faster and bounce on his feet when he was excited. Even if it would never admit it out loud, the storyteller even Ļ̷̞̞͓̬̺̄́̂̔ ̸̦̲̄̋͗͂O̷͖͉̗͚͒͜͠ ̷̘̥̹̓̈́Ṽ̵͓͛ ̷̬͔͉͔̝̾̿Ë̶̼͎̤̳́̉͆̊́̕ ̸̟͔͖̉̅̊͝D̵̩̟͗̎̋̀ when the avatar would latch out at it, the disobedience ̷̼̈ẅ̵̙́a̵̙̐ŝ̴̲ ̴̯͆s̴͓͗o̸͔̓ ̴̮͘f̵͍̓u̴̟͊ņ̵̃ ̸̲̑t̵̛͉o̵̬͘ ̶̳͒d̷̲͐e̴͙͐a̵̜͆l̸̻̇ ̷̮̔w̴̛͔ḭ̷̈t̴̯̿ḧ̸̩ ̶̥̂
“Whaţ̷̤̅́ a̷͎͆͝ͅr̶͖̆͑G̴̱̒̔H̷̲̿-̸̩͚̅͊-” is happening? - was what the Narrator wanted to say before, the white, deafening, blinding PAIN, AGONIZING PAIN clawed its way through the entity's core and code. Every one and zero in it lighting as if being cutdestroyedburnedglitc̴̡͇̐h̶͍͠ ̷̣̫̒g̴̼͙̑l̸̞̼͊i̸̯̓ͅṭ̴̉c̸͈͚̃h̷͈̎ ̵̠̪̑̉Ė̵͈͇̇R̷̡͈̆̃R̴̡̺̕O̶͚̘͛̿Ŗ̸̕͜ ̷̭̬̂̒Ė̵̟Ř̶͉̣R̴͓͊̄Ő̵̳̫̉Ȓ̷͖̜̍ ̸͘͜͝
“¡̵̣͚̎¡̷͚͑ͅO̸̲̺͒͘Ḣ̵̩!̵͈̏!̶̰͝” exclaimed the Narrator because it could do nothing else.
The golden yellow of the room changed to bright lovesick pink drowning the distressing red blinking error screens. Squares to sappy hearts. New and l̸u̵s̵t̴f̴u̶l̷ code filled the holes left in the system. All monitors showed Stanley, still drawing, still oblivious, and looking so so delicious.
“Well…This is… ǹ̴͖ ne̸͓͋ẅ̴ͅ.” the Narrator smiled, dark shadows forming sharp teeth.
[ExecuteCommand(Reset);]
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[to be continued]
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this is a little snack i hope it will be an appetizer
if i actually continue writing this i will post it ao3
OK so last night I had a stanley parable dream. I don't remember any of the dream anymore but I do remember this one specific scene. After passing through the (I'm assuming "correct") door, Stanley went to the mind control facility (I don't remember if he passed through any rooms before this as I forgot as stated before) but the facility looked different. Instead of going through the elevator and walking into an area blatantly called the mind control facility (bit on the nose narry), Stanley walk through a hallway where the floor was either a black steel (like in the actual game) or black tile. Or wasn't that at all? Again I don't remember. Anyway, then there's these little small stairs like, two steps. Then you have to go through these large glass doors. The push pull kind you see in stores, banks, and stuff. That's where Stanley saw him. Or rather I saw him. The narrator. He was silhouetted on the right glass door. As depicted in the artistic interpretation above, he was a black shadowy figure. It's hard to see due to how small it is but at the top of his head there's a little dent to signify parted hair. His eyes were a glowy white and large. The only thing that wasn't shadowy was a yellow turtleneck sweater. He doesn't even move or nothing he was just, staring at me. And when I push through the doors, he wasn't there on the other side. Only in the glass and he was gone there too. The mind control facility was dark, the only light was the lights on the ceiling (which didn't illuminate at all despite being on) and the blue light from the computer screens (literally they were all blue screens). The "facility" didn't look like a facility at all it was an office. Like the kind you see in government stuff where the desks and computers, and employees were all next to each other. Once Stanley stepped inside, the large screens on the wall in the front of the room turned on. Like in the original game. Except instead of Stanley's coworkers, it was all Stanley. There was footage of Stanley going through the two doors, rooms, hallways, all while the narrator was mocking him. Laughing and berating Stanley for the choices he made, about his life, letting him know hes been closley watching him and how much of a puppet he truly is. Then the dream ended. It was honestly very creepy and it's not like it was a bad dream either. It's just one of those dreams with a invested story arc. Thought I share it here before I forget this part too and you are free to remake this interpretation in your own style if you'd like. You'll probably give it more justice than I do. (Tldr in the comments).
