Protagonist - Confusion Ending

With all these challenging uncertainties swarming through her head, Chell wondered if she finally went mad. Curious whether this Narrator had the good intention of sending her on a decent path? Hadn’t she fallen for this once–no–twice already? If she wasn’t thoughtless, she had to be mentally faulty in some way.

But, for the third time (if not the fourth) she felt tolerable to put her faith into someone else’s hands, to a sensible limit obviously. To Chell, it didn’t matter if she happened to be daft, for she already made up her mind. She decided to give this Narrator a chance, and if he did turn out murderous in the end, and if her resulting actions couldn’t help avoid death, she would simply confess to irrationality before accepting fate–not without going through the five stages of grief first... but, you know... live and learn.

She glimpsed at the indefinite entrance on the left–then at the end of the hall–then at the lounge by her back–and then she walked through the ambiguous entryway.

And so she detoured through the maintenance section, walked straight ahead to the opposite door, and got back on track.

However, Chell didn’t do this, since she noticed a lifter by her side, interested in where it could possibly lead to. Strange how the Narrator never even mentioned its presence. It’s right there; you couldn’t miss it even if you were blind! Did he withhold this truth to pull her to it with some odd reverse-psychology– if that even was the method he used? How could she know?
Now with her curiosity brimming, she warily stepped onto the lifter, pressing the big, glowing red button adored with a ‘down’ arrow, sending the lifter downward at a sluggish pace.

But Michelle didn’t want to go back to the office; she wanted to wonder about, and get even further off-track, said the Narrator, a tad displeased. Once the lifter finally made its descent, she resumed walking, until she entered a shadowy, rather deteriorated segment of the maintenance section with only three closed doors.

So now in order to get back, she needed to go… um... He tried to recall a certain location, resulting in a plentiful amount of mindless humming and tsk-ing.

From here…it’s… ahum… left.

And so, the door on the left opened. But as Chell reached within two feet of the door, it hurriedly slammed shut.

Oh, no, no, it’s to the right–my mistake.

And so, the door on the right opened. A bit quicker in speed this time, Chell made it to the door, extending a hand out to hold the frame, only to have the door slam on her fingers.

No! No, no, no… not the right. Why would I have ever said it was to the right? What was I thinking? It’s clearly–oh dear, would you hold on for a minute, please?

Next, she heard several leaflets shuffling over what she hopefully assumed was an intercom the entire time, during which the Narrator muttered to himself, trying his best to get back on course.

Now let see... we went, um, right–left–down–left… right…

Yep! Yep–okay, okay, yes! I’ve got it now! This story is absolutely, definitely this way!

The garage door that stood in front of her then opened, the luminous headlights of a parked van ahead glaring down on her. Chell made sure to put her still aching hands under her folded arms before stepping in and entering another doorway that led down to a descending catwalk. Rounding the corner, she met the end of the catwalk, entering a massive, magnificently enormous room. Millions and millions and millions of bright and lively screens lined the walls of the circular room, all numbered with bold black numbers in progressive order. A vast, limitless abyss, reminiscent of the bottomless pits back at the facility, dauntingly resided beneath her feet where the floor should’ve existed. Chell, cautiously fixed to the rails, gaped in awe at this overwhelming sight.

No! No! Nonononono–this isn’t right at all! You weren’t supposed to be here yet; this is all a spoiler! Quick, Michelle, close your eyes! The Narrator lost his nerve, desperately making an effort to correct everything.

Okay, okay, okay, okay… W–We just have to get back to–um…

Oh, who am I kidding? It’s all rubbish now, the whole story completely unusable. How about rather than waste my time trying to salvage this nonsense, we’ll just restart the game from the beginning. And this time, suppose we don’t wander so far off track, hm?

Game? Chell was undeniably troubled by this word.What was he trying to–

Okay, from the top!

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Eyes cracked wide open, Chell lifted her head off her arms, which had fallen numb under the weight. She never recalled voluntarily taking the time to rest. Her first assumption was heat exhaustion, but that didn’t clarify why she resided in such foreign surroundings.

Once the warped, blurred world of her perception sharpened yet again, she glanced over her shoulder, allowing her to pivot the swivel-seat towards the file cabinets lining the limiting walls–Wait. She remembered this place. She woke up here just a half-hour ago. Why was she here again?

This certainly was the Narrator’s doing, Chell knew that for a fact. But how? "Restarting the game"? At first she suspected it was some sort of lingo thrown about around the so-called office building, but that didn’t seem likely anymore. "Game" seemed too vague for her to take apart, to at least give her some knowledge of whatever happened to send her back here again.

Suffering from confusion-induced headaches, she exited Room 427, entering the other workplaces.

All of her co-workers were gone. What could it mean?

This made her heave a tired sigh. Now she had to listen to this all over again.

Michelle pointlessly whined, throwing her head back to the ceiling. Now that her co-workers were missing, she had no one else to bother with her pessimism. Maybe this was, in actuality, a blessing in disguise.

She then made an attempt to make it down the hall, her feet dragging across the carpet.

Michelle decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps she had simply missed a memo.

Chell was then stunned as she entered the room with two doors to find that there were not only two doors this time, but six, two for each wall surrounding her.

When Michelle–wait. Wait–what? No, I–No I restarted! I swear I definitely restarted the game over, completely fresh! Everything should be–

… Or did something change?

Michelle… did you change anything when we were back in that room with all the monitors? Did you move the story somewhere, or–

Hold on… why am I asking you?

I’m the one who wrote the story! It was right here just a minute ago… I know for sure that it’s here somewhere. I just… I’m not so sure where. And I know you don’t know… I’m supposed to see this! I’m the one who wrote the story!

Okay then… He suddenly perked up, his voice now filled with great enthusiasm.

It’s an adventure.

All the doors swung ajar, leaving Chell to pick between them.

Okay, Michelle. Let’s find the story.

This time, Chell wasn’t picky choosing paths, as every route looked indistinguishable. So she chose a randomly selected door, and walked along her own trail.

A few potted plants here and there, some paintings, not many seats, curbing corridors that led to more corridors that led to nowhere–this quickly became rather tedious for her, not to mention for the Narrator, who became intolerant in an instant.

I’ll say it: this is the worst adventure I’ve ever been on. I can promise you there definitely was a story here before. Do we just–do we need to restart the game again? But I find it unlikely that we’ll ever progress by starting over and over again; but it’s gotta’ be better than this.

Okay, let’s give it a shot, why not?

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Eyes cracked wide open, Chell lifted her head off her arms, which had fallen numb under the weight. She never recalled voluntarily taking the time to–Oh, no… He brought her back here again…

She overdramatically bashed her head on the keyboard, groaning with utter disgust. She had enough of the Narrator’s nonsense. Whatever ‘restarting the game’ was, Chell was quick to despise it. Never having the fondness for reliving her life over and over and over in a constant loop, she refused to budge from her spot on the swivel chair.

After ten minutes, the door behind her swung open on its own, but Chell still refused to follow, her head awkwardly resting on the buttons of the keyboard. Five more minutes went by before the door swung shut, opened again, and swung shut again, continuously, as if trying to persuade her to carry on. This went on for about three more minutes before Chell spun around and kicked the door, stopping it in place. Reluctant, she then walked out the door, entering the other workplaces.

Thank God; you're finally out. I thought I had to wait for–oh, wait. All of her co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Michelle decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps she had simply missed a memo.

Upon entering the room with two doors, Chell, once again stunned, found that there were no longer any more doors.

Okay, yep, it’s worse. I might be remembering this wrong. It’s possible the story is back where we just came from. Why don’t we go back the other direction and see if we missed anything?

The door from where she entered then opened. Chell was elated at this, knowing that he wasn’t restarting again. A bit more eager, she backtracked down the hall, through the workplaces, down another hall, until she wound up walking through different corridors, ones with blue tinted wallpaper and matching floors.

Aha! I knew we missed something–the story… Here it comes…

She continued on, that is until she bumped into a dead end as she passed a corner.

No! Wait! Nevermind–not the story! Okay… let’s head back the other way and retrace our steps!

Spinning on the heels of her feet, she backpedaled once again. However, instead of reaching the original hallways with the yellow walls and the plentiful amount of coffee stains in the rug, she entered what seemed to be an old attic, like what you’d discover while searching through your grandmother’s house. Chell’s headaches reoccurred, causing her to bury her face in her hands to block out the brilliant light seeping through the windows.

Now this… well, I’ll be honest–I don’t recognize this place at all. Is this the story? I don’t think so. I can’t quite recall, but I believe my story took place in an office building. I–Is that correct? Hm…

Do you remember, Michelle? … Do you know what? Since I’ve completely forgotten what we were supposed to be doing, how about this–

You win!

Congratulations!

Chell only glared up at the ceiling, holding her hands palm-side-up and her arms out to express misunderstanding; though, the Narrator ignored this.

I know you put in a lot of hard work, and it really paid off, so good job!

But his delighted nature receded back to his usual negativity.

… Oh, no, no, I don’t feel right about this at all. We both know you didn’t put in any actual work for that win. Some people win fair and square, and this was not one of those situations.

Dropping her arms to her sides, she let out a faint huff of air, proceeding to lightly kick the wall.

Okay, I’m getting weirded out by whatever this place is. I don’t care what might happen this time–

I have to restart.

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Yes, once again, Chell was back at the beginning, much to her absolute joy. But once she arrived at the other workplaces, she saw that something was clearly different. A thick yellow line stretched from where she stood, all the way down across the room, curbing around the corners, possibly stretching across the entire office building.

Alright, I’ve got a solution. This time, to make sure we don’t get lost, I’ve employed the help of "The Stanley Parable Adventure Line". Just follow the Line™! How simple is that?

"The Stanley Parable" Chell analyzed that very phrase for as many times as she had to. Who in the hell is "Stanley"? Was the Narrator Stanley? No, Chell knew for certain he couldn’t be; she had a clear belief that this parable wasn’t in the Narrator’s name, but in someone else’s, someone she never even heard of.

"Games","restarts"–that statement about games wasn’t as figurative as she thought now.

The Stanley Parable Game.

She couldn’t stop herself from cringing at the thought.

The Narrator noticed as Chell frightfully took a few steps back into the office, shaking her head.

Sorry, Michelle, I’m leaving it up to the Line™ now.

He then sighed crossly when she didn’t respond, the sound of fingers drumming on a desk taking up the silence that followed, until he spoke up again,

Michelle, the name isn’t important. What is important, however, is the progression of the story, and you standing there idle won’t do you any good. Now, why don’t you try to gather your senses again, and carry on with the story?

Please?

It took a good two minutes before she assembled enough nerve and rationality to go forward, following the line. It swerved between the desks, avoiding any piles of discarded paper, around a couple of trash bins, before taking a turn through Room 425, which led to a passageway deep into the storehouse segments.

You see? The Line™ knows where the story is. It’s over in this direction. Onward, Michelle! To destiny!

Though, here’s a thought: wouldn’t wherever we end up be our destination, even if there’s no story there? Or to put in another way: is the story of no destination still a story? Simply by the act of moving forward, are we implying a journey such that a destination is inevitably conjured into being by the very manifestation of the nature of life itself–?

He cut himself off, immediately ill at ease by his own abstracted ramblings,

Woah, woahwoahwoahwoahwoah–hang on, that got a bit weird back there. Well, I’d like to apologize. Not sure where I was going with all that…

You know what? I think what we need right now is a bit of music to lighten the mood.

The resulting occurrence sent Chell into surprise, causing her to trip over one of the many bins, not to mention causing her to almost suffer heart failure in perilous fright. Loud–very, very loud music blared through the assumed intercom, similar to that of Scandinavian Viking dramas, with deep, throaty men chanting incoherent lyrics over the raucous trumpets and drums.

Back on her feet, Chell struggled to sustain some sort of limp while keeping her hands over her ears. The line now began to stretch into unattainable formations, twining and twisting up the walls and onto the ceiling as she ventured through more blue tinted offices. The music grew in volume, no longer inescapable by means of protecting the ears. And as she passed another room, ignoring the conventional potted plant by the window, the disquieting music finally stopped short, and the Narrator urged her to take a step back.

Cut the music. Go back and look at that fern.

The ringing in her ears fading, she whirled around, viewing the plant as instructed.

Michelle, this fern will be very important later in the story. Make sure you study it closely, and remember it carefully; you won’t want to miss anything.

He couldn’t be serious. This plant? Just why? Why did she have to look at it? She’d probably seen it a hundred times around the workplace already. It didn’t seem of any importance to give her utmost attention to a common fern.

She didn’t really care at this point. Taking a suitable look at it, she went back to the line, stopping when it somehow collided with itself, in some way taking her back to the beginning.

Wait–wha–we’re back at the office? No, no, no. Line™, the Narrator peculiarly addressed the yellow line, you do know we’re looking for The Stanley Parable, right–the story? Is any of this ringing a bell?

Chell tried her best not to get lost by the doing of the overly convoluted line. However, she somehow wound up in the monitor room once more.

Oh… no, no, no, no… not again. Line™, how could you have done this to us–and after we trusted you? After everything we’ve been through, you–

Well, I can’t take this anymore. To hell with it.

Restart.

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All these resets started to take a toll on Chell’s composure. She grew sick of the repetition, she was sick of the headaches and confusion and the Narrator’s ridiculousness. How restart-happy he was, as if to mock her, to implicitly laugh at her annoyance. All Chell longed for was an end to the redundancy–and maybe a little sleep. If she could get that, she would proclaim herself as the happiest person in the world.

But no, today was apparently not the day for reprieve, or even sleep for that matter. How funny, waking up so many times, yet never fulfilling her need for a rest. It didn’t matter anyway, as she followed the line for the umpteenth time, making it to the door before it curtly closed on her.

You know what, Michelle? I say forget the Adventure Line™; what’s it ever done for us? We’re intelligent people, right? Why can’t we make up our own story? Something exciting, daring! This all sounds perfectly doable! Why don’t we simply start wondering in–well, I don’t know–how about this direction?

Chell, resisting the urge to smash her head through the wall, entered the newly opened Room 437. And if the previous exhibitions didn’t make of any importance to you, Room 437 wasn’t so different from that.

Hallways.

Hallways leading to hallways leading to hallways leading to hallways.

Yes, now this is exciting! Just me and Michelle forging a new path, a new story–well it could be anything. What do you want our story to be? Use your imagination.

The ceiling started to decay just a bit as Chell carried on, that infamous line jutting through the absent drywall panels and splaying down the corridor in an aimless frenzy.

Oh, no, not you again.

Michelle, I’d also like to veto the Line™ from having any role in our awesome new story. No Lines™ or monitor rooms… Just don’t acknowledge it and we should be fine…

Praise be, the hectic line soon disappeared back into the ceiling, never to be seen again, and so did the hallways. Yes, finally, Chell entered a gray, circular space, one with file cabinets against the walls followed by piles of papers sprinkling the floor, where it soon met the two locked doors in the back.

Ah, a choice!

We get to make a decision. From here, the story is in our control. How important we mustn’t squander the opportunity. In fact, I think I need a minute to think here.

With a sprightly blip! , a set of red arrows appeared on the floor, seeming to chase each other in a cycle.

Just walk in circles for a minute.

This was when Chell tried her best not to tumble clumsily like a drunkard when reaching down to sit on the floor. She curled up and didn’t waste the chance to catch up on sleep while the Narrator practically went on another abstract rambling.

Okay, so I know that each door has to lead somewhere, which means that somewhere the place where we’re trying to go must be a reverse door that leads here. And that in turn means that our destination corresponds with that counter-inverted reverse door’s origin. So starting from the right, let us ask, ‘will taking the right door lead us to where we’re going?’

And since that answer is clearly ‘yes’, the door on the right is the correct one. Another victory for logic.

Alright, onward, Michelle! To desti–

The Narrator became aware that throughout his entire monologue, Chell had burrowed under that makeshift blanket of papers and fallen fast asleep. He considered on letting her stay that way a while longer, for she did look quite exhausted trekking through the office building in search for the story. It’s only common courtesy at this point.

And as quickly as he took the gesture in mind, he got over it and cleared his throat for a wake-up call.

ONWARD, MICHELLE.

Papers blasted into the air like a display of fireworks as Chell shot her arms up out of the makeshift blanket, trying to catch a breath.

Come on, now. It’s only a few feet away. Don’t give up on this so quickly. You can withstand.

With a slight grumble in protest, she turned to the side and stood back up, lazily glaring at the open door.

To destiny, Michelle! To destiny!

And so she walked through.

It was a shady room, the colossal countdown timer taking the entire wall before her. .‘The Confusion Ending,’ it read, along with step-by-step instructions of how to accomplish it.

Oh, hold on, what’s this?

Hm. "The Confusion Ending"? You're telling me–

That’s what this is? It’s all one giant ending? And we’re supposed to restart the game–eight–EIGHT TIMES?

What made Chell shudder was what lied after the eighth restart: ‘The Narrator is gone. After a long time, Stanley dies.’

By some means, Chell had a sharp idea of who Stanley was now.

That’s really how all this goes? It’s all… determined? The Narrator seemed utterly crushed.

So now, according to the schedule, I restart again, then what? Am I just supposed to forget?

He began to grow outraged at this prearranged timeline of restarts and directionless walking.

Well what if I don’t want to forget? My mind goes blank simply because it’s written here on this–this thing… wall…

Well, who consulted me? Why don’t I get to decide? Why don’t I get a say in all this? Is it really–no, it can’t be. I–I don’t want it to be. I don’t want the game to keep restarting. I don’t want to forget what’s going on.

I don’t want to be trapped like this! I won’t restart the game! I won’t do it! I won’t do it! I won’t do it!

And the timer–

A massive tremor broke out, the countdown timer soon freezing in place at the ’17:11:66’ mark, as did the shaking of the room.

Stopped?

Does that mean, ah… did we do it? Did we break the cycle? The–um… whatever it is that made this schedule? How would we even know? Will someone come for us? Will something happen?

Chell just shrugged distractedly, gazing at all the trouble and drudgery on that board, of which the Narrator put an end to permanently. She grinned rather unenthusiastically, her eyes half-lidded.

So… okay… I guess now we just wait, you know. I suppose in some way that this is a kind of story, wouldn’t you agree? I’m not quite sure if we’re in the destination or the journey, though they’re always saying life is about the journey and not the destination. So, I hope that’s where we are right now.

We’ll find out, won’t we? Eventually.

Well, in the meanti–

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