𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 [𝙽𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚢]

1

Stanley hadn't been sure who he was for the first while. He'd been in the body, sure, but he wasn't aware it had been his the whole time. He thought maybe he had been some kind of another narrator at one point in time, it being the only other voice around, and him having no body of his own, just the one The Player controlled. He couldn't speak, and The Narrator never acknowledged him other than saying what he now knows is HIS name, Stanley, every time The Player did something.

The first 6 endings, the ones most obvious (those being The Freedom Ending, The Museum Ending, The Work Ending, The Zending, The Games Ending, and the ending where he just fell to the bottom of the warehouse.), he'd not had control over his body and limbs. From what The Narrator had said, the vessel he inhabits is typically under the control of The Player. Multiple, if what The Narrator had posed to happen during the broom closet chat had happened (Stanley didn't think it had).

Stanley had never, not once, before this moment here and now considered that the body he'd been stuck in the first person view of this entire time could have possibly been his own.

He didn't think it possible during the moment he landed on the catwalk of the warehouse, his feet aching from the impact.

He didn't think it possible during The Freedom Ending, inhaling the fresh outside air.

He didn't think it possible during the pain and agony of The Zending.

He well and truly had not thought it possible in the slightest until this moment here, this moment now.

The Player had closed the game, he surmised.

The Narrator was humming a little tune, flipping through pages. The script maybe? He seemed to know every line and have one scripted for every eventuality, only going off script when he was deeply annoyed or upset, so though it was possible it didn't seem he'd need it.

The body stood there, in stasis. He felt the hands beginning to get numb by his sides due to inactivity. He shuddered at the feeling, needing to move.

The Narrator stopped its humming.

"Stanley?"

The confusion rang clear in its voice.

He blinked.

He could blink?

That was the moment Stanley realized that his body was his own. He had his bodily autonomy. He was confused, conflicted, and very confused. Had he mentioned he was confused?

Stanley felt like he was forgetting something. He felt dizzy and lightheaded.

The Narrator helped fill him in on what was missing.

"Stanley, I can help but notice you haven't taken a breath in several minutes is everything alright?" It asked with confusion.

Ah.

That makes sense.

Stanley took a loud and deep breath, the stale office air filling his lungs.

"Uh, well, I suppose we should get on with the story?" The Narrator posed. It cleared its throat and spake familiar words: "All his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo."

Yes. Stanley knows this tale. He just had to take a step forward. His joints felt like rusty machinery parts; stiff and hard to move. Technically speaking he himself had never moved around, at all whatsoever. The Player had done all the work for him.

He took an unsteady, cautious, and clumsy step forward; nearly falling over in the process. He took another, and another, slowly leaning into the muscle memory of The Player's guidance.