Stanley parable one shots [requests]

Grasp for control (Angst?/ anger?)

(I would have my requests page on this first chapter, however, I thought I'd give you a taster of what everything's going to look like beforehand.
So here it is, your taster for this oneshot book.

I hope you tune in to the rest of what I have to provide,
And maybe if I'm lucky you'll even make a request for me on the next page? Hm?

Anyways, enjoy this absolute mess of a story.)

Short summary : Stanley realises that everything the Narrator has told him has been a lie and finds the strength to question his actual situation. He attempts to defy the Narrator and proves himself by turning on the mind control machine.

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Stanley, a real person with real feelings and true awareness, had awoken as per the Narrator's powers.
Birthed by control and rule, his entire being was cradled by a scripted past and made up memories.
It was the same thing the Narrator went by each time - working in an office one day to fine his employees missing and half his memory gone.
And for so long, he had never considered questioning his true situation, until picking up an ear wrecking phone in a dark room below a single swinging light.

He found himself in front of an apartment door, his number written to the side of it. There the sound of his wife's voice, another person. Although he never recalled having a wife, he blamed the amnesia he was experiencing at the time.
It was the first time he had interacted with another person for as long as he could remember and he couldn't have been more thrilled.
He waited outside the door, patting himself down and smiling in excitement.

"Alright now!" He heard the door unlock, "I want you to come in and tell me all about your - day at work."
Just as he opened the door, he was greeted by a porcelain mannequin, dragging out the human words like a damaged vinyl.
Stanley flinched as he drew in a sharp breath as the Narrator mocked him.

He never had a wife.

"Let me show you what's really going on here. This is the sad story about the death of a man named Stanley."

He was told to sit down on a couch which turned into his desk and the empty surface in front of him which turned into his computer.
He was fed the fact that this entire place was something he had wanted, something he had wished on himself. That he was the one obsessed with this idea he had trapped himself in. That the Narrator was his hero.

"And I'm trying to tell him this, that in this world, he can never be anything but an observer. That as long as he's willingly remaining here, he's slowly killing himself. But he just won't listen.
Watch. Stanley, the next time the screen asks you to push a button, do not do it."

Stanley wouldn't do it. He would prove the Narrator wrong. He wasn't dumb, and he wouldn't be pushed around. But no matter what, there was nothing else he could do. He waited, for a few minutes, half an hour, and nothing happened. The Narrator said nothing, the room stayed the same.
His choices didn't matter.

So he pressed it.
"You see? Can you just not hear me?" He could make out the pride lacing the Narrator's voice. The pride of knowing Stanley was nothing more than his toy, that he would follow the already set path the Narrator had given him.

"How can I tell him in a way that he'll understand, that every second he remains here, he's electing to kill himself? How can I get him to see what I see? How can I make him look at himself?"

The fake concern for him, the fake face of a hero were all played by the Narrator so well. He may as well have believed it if not for the realisation that clicked in him.
That everything he knew was a carefully placed lie. It made sense why he couldn't see as far as the day he woke with no one in the office. They had never been there in the first place.