No Escape [Stanley x Narrator]

Four

Stanley was still gasping for breath. His hands trembled, and he reached up to touch his neck, admittedly shaken up at the previous events. Who wouldn't be? At least, with everything else, he could see it coming. This, though, this felt like the first time he died all over again.

The Narrator killed him. With his bare hands. Stanley hadn't even known that was possible, and it honestly scared him.

Stanley moved his hand onto his chest, taking in slow, deep breaths. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest. It was almost silly, how shaken up he was, but this had never happened before. Never, in all of his years trapped in this place, searching for an escape, had he ever experienced anything like this.

At least he knew that the Narrator had a breaking point, now.

Despite everything that had happened, Stanley could've help but smile, a breathy laugh coming from his throat. The thought of the Narrator being pissed off would never not be amusing to him. It was something that made this hell the slightest bit more bearable.

In fact, it was so amusing, that Stanley couldn't stop giggling to himself. An interesting mixture of emotions, it was; fear and shock and hysteria. Perhaps he was finally going crazy. But, it did feel nice to have a good laugh.

"Stanley, what on Earth are you laughing about?" The Narrator said, a certain irritation in his tone. His voice sounded strained, not that Stanley would have noticed.

He was too busy laughing his ass off. And that just egged on the Narrator even more, "Stanley, I truly don't understand what's so amusing, but please get it done and over with so that we can move on with my story."

Stanley didn't respond. Not that he ever did, since he never spoke, but he just laughed.

And flipped off the air. That too.

The Narrator rubbed his face, running his tongue along his teeth. He found Stanley annoying, and this was almost more annoying than his attempts to escape. Peaking at the monitor through his fingers, he saw that Stanley had finally gotten up, and nearly sighed in relief.

"Finally. Now-" The Narrator cleared his throat, shuffling with his scripts some, finally finding the right one, "-all of his coworkers were gone. What could it mean?"

Stanley clicked his tongue. This song and dance was so familiar to him, and he was so sick and tired of it. The same thing, over and over again, and he didn't know how to escape it. All he could do was try, because there was no way in hell he would let this bastard win.

What if there's nothing beyond this?

Stanley shook the thought from his head. Being pessimistic wasn't going to get him anywhere, and he knew it.

As he reached the two doors, he took the one on his right, a look of pure determination on his face as he did. The Narrator sighed, his head in his hands as he said, "This was not the correct way to the meeting room, and Stanley knew that perfectly well." Stanley didn't care much for his words, tuning out his voice and continuing on. There had to be somewhere else he could go, somewhere that he hadn't yet found.

Stanley came to the lift, stepping forward and onto it, keeping his balance as the machine began moving up. He peered down, biting his lip and narrowing his eyes, thinking. He had never been to the bottom floor before; it was much too high to jump down. He would know, he jumped off of this very lift earlier, and the end result was unpleasant and unsatisfactory.

His eyes wandered to the bridge, one that he had jumped down to many times. Maybe, it wouldn't be too far of a fall from there. 

Stanley's eyes lit up at the idea, awfully proud of himself for thinking of it. He concentrated, not wanting the mess this up. If he died, it would start over, but he really didn't want to go through that. He was already traumatized enough from all of the other deaths he experienced. Once he was sure he could make it, he ran and jumped.

Quickly, Stanley learnt that he put far too much faith in his ability to measure this out.

His body hit the railing, a sharp pain filling his side as he slid down. He gasped, his eyes wide as he grasped for anything he could. His hands met the floor of the bridge, and he clasped onto it, the action making his hands sting. He knew that he couldn't hold on, and, little by little, his grip started to loosen.

One hand came loose. Stanley panicked; he didn't want to die, not again. Death wasn't an escape, because he would just wake up in this hell again. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, the pain in his torso growing worse by the second.

"Stanley!" He heard the Narrator cry, and he didn't have time to note the shock and worry in his voice, because he lost his grip and went crashing into the concrete.