Red or Blue (i love you) | The Stanley Parable

Bargaining

Stepping through the door at the end of the hallway, Stanley couldn't help but squint at what he saw. It didn't look like much, just a large, open room filled with dust and some boxes. Coughing roughly as the particles assaulted his throat, Stanley wiped his mouth, glancing around the area to take everything in. Wait... Why was there a giant structure of stairs winding around the right wall to the centre of the room? Confused, Stanley beelined for the tower of stairs, footsteps slow as he crossed the area between them and the door. He was about to rest his leg on the first step when the Narrator's voice rang out, startling him as he flinched at the sudden noise.

"Stay away from those stairs, Stanley!" They shouted, voice cracking as they forced the words out of their throat. This was bad, Stanley could get hurt and then he wouldn't be able to see the lights he'd worked so hard on anymore! "If you hurt yourself, if you d-die, the game will reset!" He pleaded, hoping he'd take what he's saying seriously and just go back to the showroom. "We'll lose all of this! You don't want that do you, Stanley? Come, let's go back."

Stairs or Lights.

'Why?'

"W-what do you mean why?! I just told you why, you could get hurt! And then... we'd have to come all the way back here! All that effort, wasted for nothing."

'Calm down-'

"I am perfectly calm Stanley, I just think... we should spend some more time with the lights. Yes, that's it! Come now, Stanley, it's only just over there."

'...'

Glancing back and forth between the door and the structure, he considered.

Stairs or Lights.

This choice was so much harder than the red door or blue door, this decision was one he'd never seen before... he needed to think long and hard about it before he proceeded. He wrung his tie between his hands carefully, the silk fabric scratching against his nails, the methodical moments calming as a weird feeling of queasiness overcame him. Swallowing his saliva, he turned to the stairs, gripping the railing tightly with his hands as he ascended the steps.

"Please, no, Stanley, let me stay here!" It hurt to hear the desperation in the man's voice, but there was no other way out and while the man could usually force a reset, he hadn't done so, so it seemed he couldn't do it here. He kept going, legs shaking with guilt as the man's pleas repeated in his mind, his brain analysing the tone and inflection of their voice, committing it to memory without his say so. "Don't take this from me!" I'm sorry, Narrator, he wanted to say. I'm sorry, please forgive me he wanted to say, but he couldn't because his hands were preoccupied with keeping his body steady as he forced his legs to climb up, up, up.

Once he reached the top, it was all he could do to stop himself from climbing back down. He had to see it through. He had to. He needed to know where this ending led, he needed to know what lied at the end of this choice. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he backed out and never got to see what happened.

Walking closer on unsteady steps, he carefully leaned over the edge, taking in the harsh asphalt below him, the height hurting his eyes and making his heart thud in his chest.

"Please, Stanley, think about what you're doing!"

I have thought about what I'm doing. I am thinking about what I'm doing. I wish I wasn't... I don't want to hurt you. He didn't say any of that, and instead inched closer to the edge, fingernails scraping against each other as his breaths left him in short gasps, teetering on the edge of a panic induced breakdown. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he closed his eyes, accepting the choice he was about to make. Inching closer, his legs felt like they were going to give out as he stood at the very edge, letting himself think back to the light in the other room, the comfort of being around the Narrator. Sighing softly, he finally let himself go, leaning off the ledge, the air whipping around him as he plummeted to the ground, his ears whistling from the fast movement.

"No!"

He felt more than knew when he landed, cracking sounds reverberating through the dreary building, his body forcefully coming to a stop. Groaning, Stanley jostled his limbs. His fingers and arms worked fine, all things considered, and he sat up, only being met with slight resistance. He knew what was wrong as soon as he looked down. His left leg was injured, blood slowly pouring out from the injured site, skin dyed by the crimson puddle as it poured into the floor, red harsh against the cool grey. He vaguely felt like he was going to throw up once he looked closer, seeing a glance of white, before he looked away quickly, not wanting to see anymore. Lifting himself up, he was surprised to find that it didn't hurt, the pain a dull pinch despite what should be an excruciating burning sensation.

Weird.

Once he was on his feet, he stepped forward and nearly face-planted into the floor. Looks like he'd have to walk slower this time, no running up the stairs. Looking around, he half expected the Narrator to materialise beside him and drag him away from what was slowly becoming his untimely demise, but no such thing happened.