#🧍‍♂️ Stanley Johnson

[the-haunted-office]

Doomsday: ...

Cyrus: ...

Stanley: 🥺👉👈

Doomsday: (squinty eyes)

Cyrus (squinty eyes)

Stanley: 🥺👉👈

Doomsday: Stanley, you realize if we do this, Cyrus is going to end up murdered. By me.

Cyrus: I beg to differ. Doomsday is the one who will end up dead. Again.

Stanley: 🥺👉👈

Doomsday: Unnnnngggghhh... You're sleeping in the middle of the bed.

Cyrus: Wh- I didn't agree to this!

Doomsday: Shut up, old man, it's for Stanley!

Stanley: :)

polyamory would not always fix the love triangle. sometimes it would make it much, much worse. but they should do it anyway

[the-haunted-office]

Slip a 🎙 into the inbox so my muse can confess something to yours. It can be a dark secret, or a guilty pleasure. Anything goes.(For Stanley and Pat)

Slip a 🎙 into the inbox so my muse can confess something to yours. It can be a dark secret, or a guilty pleasure. Anything goes.

Stanley thinks for a few quiet moments about what he wants to share with Patricia. There isn't really a lot about him that he could share, not that one might find interesting or memorable or unique. He's just... Stanley... and a good part of his life has been lost at the hands of his Narrator, at that. Literally lost, in the form of his memories, lost as a result of all the damage done to his body from being repeatedly cloned and having his consciousness transferred from body to body to body...

That does make him think of something. Something he could tell Patricia. It's not good, though. It's nothing cheerful or interesting. It dark and gruesome and actually... what if it triggers her? She's gone through something similar, he recalls. But if she trusted him enough to tell him such a thing, perhaps he could trust her...

Feeling greatly nervous, nervous enough that he doesn't even want to use his neural link to speak, he uses his hands to sign, "My Narrator- Do you remember me telling you about him? Arthur Wright? He used to have this room in the Office, the one I came from, that had an open... I guess it wasn't really a room, but I walked through a door to get into it. It was a wide open space, with a round platform hanging out in the middle of it. There was black space all around, but there were white spots way up high somewhere, like stars. I think they might have been stars. And floating in the air just off the platform, there were all these colorful orbs dancing around, changing colors, like they meant something. I don't know what they meant, though, it just felt like they... were there for a reason. I couldn't figure them out."

"Arthur loved that room - that place," he continues, his eyelids fluttering a little, because this story is very uncomfortable for him to talk about. "He kept trying to get me to go into there because he loved it so much. He said it made him feel happy. Something about that room made him feel so happy, he never wanted to leave, but he couldn't be happy unless I was in there with him. Actually, he said he couldn't even go into there unless I was in there with him, for some reason. Stupid, huh?"

"The first time I discovered the room by accident. Arthur didn't even know about it then either. It was an amazing thing for both of us. Until I wanted to leave. I got bored after standing there for a while, but he didn't want to go. He wanted to stay. It made him angry when I wanted to leave. He started berating me and calling me names. And then I saw the only way I could get back down was to-... was to jump down from this really high platform. I had no other choice. It was either stay in that room forever, or jump. So I jumped."

Stanley pauses in his story for a moment, because this is hard for him, and he isn't sure how Patricia is taking it all. And this isn't even the half of it.

He then makes himself go on. He signs, "Arthur yelled because he was afraid for me, but somehow I survived the fall. I was in a lot of pain, my arm was broken, but I lived. I went back up the stairs, but he was more concerned at trying to get me to go back into that other room at that point. He didn't seem to care that I was in pain. He just wanted to go back into the room with the lights. He couldn't get back into it without me. And for some reason, it just... it made me so angry. No, actually, I know the reason it made me angry. It's because he always treated me like that. Like a puppet. Like he only liked me and wanted me around because... I could do things for him. Do this, Stanley. Do that, Stanley. Stanley, I need you to press this button. Stanley, I need you to walk through this doorway. Stanley, I need you to complete the Story. It was always everything for him and about him, never caring about me or what I wanted or needed, or how hurt or scared I was, or anything."

"So... I jumped again. And lived again. But I was hurt even more. Broken leg that time. Arthur was screaming at me by this point, begging me to stop jumping, begging me to go back into the other room. I refused. I dragged myself back up the stairs again, because what else could I do? I couldn't just lie there. But... I didn't want to go back into that other room again because I was done being his plaything. So, I did it again. I jumped. And he was so upset. He started crying, pleading with me, and couldn't understand why I was doing it, thinking I was doing it to spite him, and you know what... he was right. It was to spite him. All of it. To spite him. Because I hated him."

Somehow during all of this, Stanley's expression has evolved from one of concern about Patricia's feelings to one of... nothing. Empty. He has the distant look of one staring at an oncoming train barreling down the tracks at him and yet he just stands there, watching it approach, waiting for it, knowing what will happen and yet unwilling to move.

His hands move again. "I think I jumped from that platform three or four times, maybe five, before I finally died. That was the first time I died in that Office by my own choice. That I did it knowing I was going to die. And I did it to spite my Narrator. After that, whenever I was fed up with him, I did it more times. Just to hear him scream and beg and cry, because I knew it would upset him. Because in that place it was the only........ thing..... that made me feel like I had... any sense of control."

There's another pause here as his hands drop and his dead, glazed over eyes shift over to meet Patricia's. "I'm sorry... I don't know why, but now, after all that, I feel really....... sorry I did all that. I think he deserved it, but I'm still....... sorry."

@drchandras-sanctuary-for-ais

[the-haunted-office]

Something is bothering him. Cyrus can tell. Stanley has always been a quiet man, at least from the time Cyrus has known him - quieter even than his Stanley has been - but even this is a noticeable silence to the Narrator.

The way he entered the control booth with a softer knock on the door than usual. The way he went straight to his seat without much more than a tight nod and an even tighter-lipped smile, if one could even categorized it as such. The way he sat in his chair, across from Cyrus and barely moving. Even the way he stirred his tea - or rather, the way he didn't. His tea was left untouched, cooling slowly while his lemon shortbread biscuits sat there uneaten.

(Cut here due to length!!)

Cyrus is concerned by this behavior. This is quite unlike Stanley. He wonders if he should say something, ask him what is wrong, reach out to him. The two men have enjoyed their shared company this last year or so since Stanley came to the Office. Things had been a bit... precarious at first, when they were all navigating each other, trying to figure out how this new Stanley would fit in among them, especially when Cyrus didn't want him in his Stanley's old Office. A precious memorial to his precious Stanley, that room is off limits to everyone, and so he simply couldn't allow this new Stanley into it, despite the fact that the new Stanley wanted into it. There had been a short dispute about it at first, but all was settled when the new Stanley was given the room of 247 in lieu of 427. The number was close enough to suit him and so the matter was settled.

At any rate, the new Stanley isn't quite so new now, and now he is simply known around here as Stanley, because that is who he is. Cyrus has come to acknowledge him as such, and has also come to recognize him as an individual, and not just a Stanley. This man is Stanley Johnson, a man of his own identity. Yes, he is "a man named Stanley" as in the man who plays the role of a man named Stanley, but he is also simply Stanley, and Cyrus appreciates him every bit as much as he did his own Stanley, Stanley Parable.

He could even say... that he loves this man. Yes. He loves him very much. Perhaps not in the same capacity that he loved his Stanley, but by his own merits. Like the way one can love both a sunflower and a daisy. Both are equally beautiful in Cyrus's eye, and both are equally deserving of love, though both are visibly different from one another.

Cyrus is still trying to parse all of this when at last, Stanley speaks up. He does so by sitting up and raising his hands to sign, all at once regaining the Narrator's full attention. "Why did you do it, Cyrus?" His hands ask the question, but his eyes accuse.

Both catch him by surprise, not to mention brings forth his own question. "Why, what do you mean, Stanley? Why did I do what?"

Stanley scoffs, a jarring sound that surprises Cyrus even more. Stanley is acting really out of sorts today. He signs, "Don't be obtuse. You know what I mean."

"Stanley, I- I- I- I'm afraid I really don't. I honestly don't know what you mean by your question of why I did something," Cyrus refutes again, because in his mind, there could be any number of things he has "done" that Stanley could be referring to. Could he mean how he treated his own Stanley back in the day? Could he mean why did he trap the Dampening mist in the Office? Could he mean why did he treat Thursday the way he did when he first met her? Could he mean why did he say something mean to Doomsday one particular time and she ran and whined to Stanley about it? There really are too many things for him to answer to here and he's not about to go guessing on which one to answer for.

But of course, it has to be the very last thing he could have guessed. Because it's the one thing he didn't expect Stanley to know. "You were in on it with Thursday. When I died. That time, when the piano was dropped on me, and I died. The body bag, the freezer. You both decided to put me in there. How could you let her take the fall for everything like that? How could do that to me? How could do it, Cyrus?"

The Narrator pales as it all sinks in, as he realizes what a blunder he's made. Not only was he unable to guess what could have upset Stanley, but Stanley is upset with him about things that, quite frankly, Cyrus was unaware that he would be upset about. He was upset that Stanley was upset at Thursday about these things, yes. But he didn't know... didn't think Stanley would...

"Now, Stanley, I- I- This is all a misunderstanding-" Cyrus starts, only to be swiftly cut off by a hiss from Stanley.

"Oh, don't even try," the other man signs angrily. "You really were just going to sit there and act like you did nothing wrong, like you had no part in it, and let me believe me that... you actually cared about me-"

"Stanley- Stanley, I do care- How could I not?" Cyrus interjects, sounding desperate. He is desperate. Immediately, he is. He can't have Stanley angry at him. Not like this. Not over this. Not over anything. Stanley can't be mad at him. "We did what we felt was best - for you. We did what we felt you would have wanted. I'm sure that Thursday has already explained why we did it - it was because what happened was an accident, and we wanted to help-"

Stanley's hands go up, again interrupting the Narrator. "If you'd really wanted to help me, you'd have listened to what I wanted and buried me. You'd have let me go. You'd have let me move on. But instead you... held me captive. You kept me here until my stupid god damn fucking Narrator showed up and put me back into a body again, and now look at me! Look at me, Cyrus!" Stanley stops signing so that he throw out his arms for a moment, and as he does he grimaces sharply in pain.

Cyrus starts to get out his chair, starts to reach for him. "Stanley-"

Stanley puts up his hands to ward him off before getting up and moving away from him, leaving Cyrus in the awkward position of trying to decide whether he should try to help him anyway or if he should back off. If Stanley is in that much pain just from putting his arms out like that, has he been in pain this whole time? Just while sitting there and not drinking his tea? How has Cyrus failed to notice so much...?

"Stanley..." Cyrus croaks, on the verge of tears but trying his very best to hold them back. For Stanley. For Stanley. Anything for Stanley. "I swear to you, I had no idea any of this would happen. I- and Thursday- Neither of us had any idea of what was happening to you, what your Narrator was doing to you, until afterwards. If we had known- If we had had any idea, we would have- As much as we would have wanted to save you, we would have... whatever you wanted, we would have..."

He can't even say it.

And Stanley can tell. He can hear the hesitation.

Stanley always has a way of telling. Of seeing things that he, Cyrus, cannot.

The other man narrows his eyes, and Cyrus knows what's coming. "No, you wouldn't have. You can't even say that you'd have let me go. You'd have kept me in that freezer until... who knows. You'd have kept me as another ghost here." Stanley pauses, thinking for a moment while Cyrus can feel warmth on his cheeks, warmth which quickly turns cold. Then his hands move to deliver more blows in the form of words. "I'll tell you something else. I'll bet the only reason you let the other Stanley go... is because he died, and his body was taken away, and you had no other way of holding onto his soul. I'll bet... if you could have figured out how to do that, he'd still be here. Wouldn't he?"

Cyrus doesn't give an answer. But he doesn't have to. Stanley Johnson already knows the answer, just as Cyrus already knows.

Stanley puts up his hands to signal that he's done, he has nothing more to say, nothing nice, anyway, and backs off in a hurry. He's done.

Cyrus isn't, though. He goes after Stanley, even though the other man is retreating quickly out the door.

"Stanley- Stanley, no, please don't go- Stanley!" the Narrator cries, fumbling out the doorway after him. Stanley is already briskly making his way down the hallway, while Cyrus shouts after him. He doesn't chase him, though. The control booth is his anchor. His home. He rarely leaves it for anybody, even Stanley, it seems. And so, he calls out after him: "Stanley! Please come back! Stanley! I did it for you, Stanley! Everything I've ever done is for you! Stanley!" And his last four words are a lot quieter, muffled, sobbed, only to himself, because Stanley is already gone, and he's never been able to bring himself to say them to the man himself: "I love you, Stanley."

[the-haunted-office]

The turnstile door is pushed open with as much force as it will allow, which isn't much considering it's designed to move slowly to prevent people from getting caught up in its moving mechanisms. It's happened before, with some of the other living buildings in the area, but this particular building doesn't want that, hence the slowness of the turning doors.

Stanley regrets his tendency to take well-worn paths, as he realizes after the fact that it would have been much more satisfactory to him to have been able to kick open a pair of doors, which he would have been able to do had he taken one of the emergency exits positioned at the end of the various stairwells around the Office.

Well. It's too late now. The slow-moving turnstile door is already spilling him outside into the hot, humid, end-of-summer air, hitting him in the face like a wet towel that's been soaking in a hot tub all day, and he is not going to go back into the Office just so he can stomp around and find a different set of doors to play out the grand exit he had in mind. So the man named Stanley briefly surveys his surroundings - surroundings which he has surveyed many times before, yet never taken much stock of - picks a direction, and just goes.

(Cut here due to length!!)

Like all choices he's ever made in his life, once he's made it, he makes it without looking back. It's not that there isn't any internal struggle or sense of regret, it's a literal lack of looking back. Stanley forges ahead, marking his path with only his footsteps left behind - that is, wherever the ground is impressionable enough to accept the indentation of his shoe prints. Anywhere else he is simply lost to the wilderness of the outside that is... the outside of the Office.

He's aware of just how dangerous this is. It's dangerous enough to be out here with a group of people, but to be out here alone? By himself? Just Stanley? What will he do should he encounter one of those slasher zombies? What will he do should he encounter a regular zombie? Or a streetlamp monster? Or even a squirrel? Those can be rather mean when caught by surprise, can't they? Stanley doesn't know - he's always had the people of the Office to defend him when he's caught squirrels by surprise, so he doesn't exactly know precisely how dangerous they are in this world outside of the Office, not the way the world is now, at any rate.

The world the way it is now is... exceptionally different than the way it was when he left it back in his own dimension. He might not be from this dimension, but as he understands it, from all he has heard from his Officemates, it once closely resembled the one he came from. He thinks. Stanley isn't entirely sure. All he has are clues, because you see, his actual memories of what his life was like before he came to be in his own Office are all faulty. Faulty, or fake, or manufactured, or altered, or... bastardized somehow. Point being, they're all missing and the memories he has of his life before can't be trusted to be real.

But the clues are clues, after all. His Narrator came up with them from somewhere. The idea of the Office and the imagery surrounding it didn't just come from the mind of some mad cosmic alien god with nothing better to do than torment an Earth man he claimed to be in love with - those very specific ideas were plucked up from very specific locations, and Stanley couldn't help but have the uncanny feeling that they were specifically plucked from his life, from the life his Narrator stalked and destroyed, and then had the gall to rub in his face under the guise of it being his own ideas.

After destroying his memory of it all first, of course.

Just how much of this was intentional, Stanley has yet to figure out. He may not ever figure that out, and quite frankly, he's done trying, he just wants to live the rest of his life in peace from all of these damn Narrator fucking around with him, he's sick of it, and as he's walking along outside of the Office, getting a feel for where he's going, which isn't much of a feel at all, considering he has precisely no idea where he is going, all he wants is to avoid surprising any squirrels, he suddenly realizes that he isn't alone.

Someone has followed him out here.

He realizes this because his surroundings, being mysterious and unknown as they are to him, have nonetheless changed. And become more inhibitive.

Stanley doesn't know how to identify trees, but a good deal of them around this area are common in the American Midwest - sycamore, maple, Bradford pear, cedar, and some varieties of pine, to name a few. All of these, including various species of bushes and shrubs and brambles, have all suddenly gone from dotting the landscape to filling the landscape, and crowding in together. Instead of looking like what you would expect your average outdoor wildlife reserve to look like, Stanley's surroundings now suddenly resemble something more manmade, something purposely structured, purposely built, something like straight out of a sandbox game, like a person took a bunch of trees and bushes out of their inventory and stuck them all into the ground in rows to create a barrier or because they thought it looked nice. It certainly wasn't because it looked in any way natural, which is in direct contradiction to the fact that the trees and bushes are all natural things.

More to the point, the trees and bushes are all now boxing him in and preventing him from moving forward. The message is clear.

You can't go this way, Stanley. Pick another direction.

Stanley recognizes right away what has happened. Of course, he's seen this all before and has been in the middle of it.

He stops. Huffs. Folds his arms. Waits for the person to reveal himself.

And soon enough, he does. Of course he does. The man is too impatient not to.

It's just his voice, though. Just his voice. It fills the air around Stanley, like the voice is the air. Like it is the world itself. Stanley knows better, though. This voice belongs to a man, a man who may be a cosmic alien god to whom Stanley owes his life - but he is also the one who took his life away. And Stanley will never forget, or forgive, that.

"Where do you think you are going, Stanley?" asks the Narrator, who Stanley now knows go by the name of Arthur Wright.

Stanley doesn't say anything, either by sign language or by using his neural thought-to-speech link (which is something Arthur made for him - it's a useful device for speaking to those who don't know how to use sign language, but still a sore point for him, seeing as it's because of Arthur that he lost his ability to speak in the first place).

"Stanley... Are you really still going to give me the silent treatment? The... cold shoulder, as they say?" Arthur asks. There is silence for a moment, save for the wind in the trees. A silence which speaks for itself. "I don't know how many times I can apologize to you for my mistake. It was a simple one, although of course I understand the ramifications of it now. I can see it all now, and I understand it all perfectly, and I am sorry. I'm sorry, Stanley. Stanley. I'm sorry."

He still doesn't understand. Even now, he still doesn't understand, Stanley can tell. The Narrator still thinks this is all about how much cloning his body has hurt him, and nothing else. The Narrator has no comprehension of how much he has hurt him as a whole person, him, Stanley, Stanley's whole life, all that he's taken away from him. It's all just about how much he's hurt his body, his little puppet, his toy, his plaything. Outside of that, the Narrator can't fathom what he's done.

Stanley still doesn't react. Doesn't acknowledge the Narrator at all. He's not worth his acknowledgment anymore. Instead, he presses his molars together, lifts his chin, unfolds his arms, and keeps moving forward. Whether or not the barrier of trees and bushes will stop him, Stanley keeps moving forward. Because there is no point in looking back.

He reaches the line of trees, and there's a moment where he's sure they won't part. He's sure they will remain packed together, keep him prisoner, demand that he go back, keep him contained.

But they don't. They move aside. He swears he hears a sigh, and then the trees and bushes all spread apart, the way they were before, leaving him with the open landscape he was presented with when he first walked out of the Office.

The air is still heavy and humid and still feels like and wet towel fresh out of a hot tub has been dropped over his head. But it feels great.

For the first time in his life, Stanley is free.

[the-haunted-office]

Doomsday: (in her bunny form doing this to Stanley)

Stanley: ...?

You'll notice that people do this in multiplayer games for much the same reason!

[the-haunted-office]

Stanley approaches Doomsday with a hand raised. He signs, "I'll let you squish me, Doomsday."

Doomsday blanches. "What? Stanley, no! I can't squish you."

The Protagonist shrugs, signs, "Why not?"

"Why- Because I'd probably kill you! On accident, but still, I don't want to do that!"

Stanley taps his chin in thought, as if he'd forgotten that he could die so easily. Then he shrugs. Again. It is one of his trademark gestures, after all. "Okay. How about I squish you, then?"

Lights suddenly appear in Doom's eyes, as if moonbeams have somehow reflected into them. "You'd do that? For me?"

Another shrug. "Sure."

Seconds later, the former ghost is down on the floor, grinning like the idiot that she is. And seconds after that, Stanley is walking over to her, considering her pinstriped form for a moment or two, before shrugging yet again, and then simply... stepping onto her, shoes and all, and then just... standing there. Right on top of her.

Doom releases a puff of air at his weight and shifts beneath him, turning her head to the side against the carpet and trying to get a look up at him. "Are you- Stanley, are you serious right now? You're just... uff... just going to- stand on me like that?"

Stanley looks down at her... and shrugs.

"You're supposed to... ffff... put like... you know... a flat thing... on top of me... and then stand on me..." she huffs, and not solely because he's squashing all the air out of her lungs. "Stanley! You utterly suck at this!"

And what does Stanley have to say to this?

A smile.

And a shrug.

[the-haunted-office]

The different Stanleys often get referred to by their surname, although sometimes my muses will still call them "Stanley". Things get confusing, but I try to make it less confusing at least in text by referring to them either by full name or by their surname. Such is the downside of having a multiverse. :p

Stanley Parable = Parable (The Stanley from the Haunted Office, was Cyrus and Thursday's Stanley, died a couple years ago)

Stanley Johnson = Johnson (Came from Office UD8, his Narrator is Arthur Wright, currently living in the Haunted Office)

Stanley Null = Null (The first Stanley from Office Zero, the same Office Doomsday came from, is a Malignant Reaper, currently squatting in the Haunted Office against the will of the Haunted Office folks)

The outlier here is Shadow Stanley, who usually gets referred to as Shadow! He is from That Office, the same Office Thisday is from, and is an Intangible Ghost. He usually just lurks around in shadows, minding his own business, if watching people counts as minding his own business.

[the-haunted-office]

Stanley, Thursday, and Doomsday lead their own ways up to the fourth floor employee lounge, surveying the changes made to the Office on the way. They aren't so much changes made to the interior of the Office - it's more that the changes that were made have been unchanged back into what they were before.

They also notice that Dorian has calmed down since the unfolding of the whole ordeal. It's certainly not screaming in horrifying agony anymore.

"Hey, Dorian?" Doomsday says into the silent air of the hallways. "You okay, buddy?"

"Doomsday... Is that you?" it replies, and then after a half beat: "Ah! It is you! Almost didn't recognize you. Hey! I've got something to show you! Come outside and have a look!"

The three Office folks exchange a curious look before changing tack and rushing outside. What they find out there is... surprising to say the least.

"What is all this? I mean, I think I know what they are, but I'm just- I guess surprised to see them, if that's the word for it," says Dorian, while the three former employees survey the dozens upon dozens of what appear to be silver-gray bulbs all over the outside of the Office.

"You gonna fill in the rest of us, buddy?" Doomsday prompts, tapping on one of the bulbs with a metallic dinging sound.

"Heyheyheyhey! That's very rude! That is VERY rude! Don't do that, please!" Dorian protests. Doom immediately backs off, putting her hands in the air. "They're my satellites! You know. Like- Like flowers! Blooms!"

The three blink at it, as if not comprehending.

"I'm going to be a parent! And have little baby buildlings! Isn't that amazing? Well, I mean, I probably will, I still have to do the whole, you know, the whole pollinating thing, but- The Retcon did it! It gave me the ability!" Dorian explains, sounding positively excited.

One by one, each of the former Office workers' expressions lights up in understanding. There's a collective, "Ohhhh," and then they each ring out.

"Dorian, that's amazing!"

"Congratulations, buddy!"

"So what do we do now, do we like, throw a baby shower or something? Buildling shower?"

Dorian laughs, delighted. "I- I don't know! I've never done this before! Is that what humans usually do? Have showers? Well, I mean, buildings don't really take showers, do they? Don't really have a need to."

Thursday laughs. "No no no, it's a different kind of shower. It's where you invite all your friends to a party and they bring a bunch of presents for the baby. But- What do little buildlings need?"

"Oh. Ohhhhh, I haven't the slightest. Ohhh, I didn't think of that. Probably sunlight, I expect. And, ahhh, you know, they'll get their little pipes into the ground, like me, and get plenty of nutrients that way. And ummm, they'll need people! People to come live in them and help give them a purpose. Maybe? I don't know, the other buildings around here don't seem to need any people, do they? I guess we'll just... figure it out?" Dorian says, with the air of giving a shrug.

Stanley actually shrugs. "Guess we'll figure it out."

Doom shrugs too. "Guess we'll figure it out."

And then Thursday follows suit. "Guess we'll figure it out."

We can only guess that they did.

[the-haunted-office]

Stanley: (heavy breathing)

alright, first post after an extended period of inactivity, gotta make it a good one!

buckets

[the-haunted-office]

"Did you hear that, Stanley? That sounded like Doom," Thursday says, looking frantically over at Stanley as the two of them fly down the stairs into the basement, taking two, sometimes even three, steps at a time.

Stanley just nods in response, too focused on where he's placing his feet to speak or sign in return. It was a scream they'd heard, and not one of pain, but one of fury. Some shit was about to go down, and they needed to stop it before Dorian ended up hurt even more for it. The poor Office had been Retconned enough in the interim.

"Doomsday!" Thursday shouts down the basement corridors as she and Stanley continue to belt along. "Wait! Wait!"

(Cut here due to length!)

"Doomsday, stop!" Stanley shouts through his neural link, his own voice sounding weaker in comparison as the volume on the device can only go so high.

Together they reach the room where the Retcon has Doomsday cornered, only to discover... it doesn't have her cornered. Doom is kneeling on the floor, head bowed, as if waiting for the Retcon to take her, allowing it to reform her. And the Retcon is advancing, ready to take her, ready to reform her.

Stanley interjects.

"Wait!"

The Retcon pauses. Doom looks up.

She huffs. "What are you two doing? I'm giving myself to the Retcon so we can get this whole bullshit hullabaloo over with."

Stanley blinks. "You are? I thought you didn't want to be changed."

Doomsday sighs. "No, I don't, but if I have to change in order for all this crap to be over, then fine, just change me. It doesn't matter. How I feel about all this doesn't matter."

Thursday steps forward. "Of course it matters, Doomsday. Of course how you feel matters. That's the whole point of the Retcon."

Doom raises an eyebrow.

"It's not about changing for anybody else," Thursday continues. "It's not about... allowing yourself to be changed to- to fit in with what other people want or what they expect of you or what we think might make people like us or accept us more. It's about changing to- so we can grow. It's about changing so we can have a better shot at happiness for ourselves. It's so maybe one of these days, Doomy, you can look up and say, hey, I'm not a worthless piece of shit and I don't have to work so hard to make everybody think that I am too - I'm fine the way I am and if there are people out there who don't appreciate that, then who cares. Right? It's not about changing for them; it's about changing for you."

Down on the paper littered floor, Doom can feel pressure behind her eyes. Uncomfortable pressure. She doesn't want to let it out, even though some of it has already found its way out through the cracks. But that's all it takes, really. Just that small trickle through the cracks before the rest of the dam breaks, as they say.

She moves from kneeling down to sitting and sort of folds in on herself, like a cooked shrimp, and just... cries. She doesn't say anything, doesn't even try, because there's nothing to say. Too much to say. And she doesn't have to say it. Thursday understands. They are, after all, the same person, and who better to understand you than your own self?

Thursday approaches her alternate and sits down with her and embraces her. Doom leans fully into her and just lets it all out. Everything. All of it. A whole lifetime's worth of never being enough, or always being too much. One extreme or the other, but never that perfect desirable in between state that everyone seems to be looking for. What does it matter? It doesn't. But it does. But it doesn't. All at the same time. And it hurts. It hurts so much to know that no matter what she does or doesn't do it's never going to please anybody, or anyone, or even someone. And so she decided to do the opposite - please no one. And work extra hard to make sure that no one was pleased, because why have any hope anyone would ever like her? Why try? Why bother? Why get her hopes up when it all ended in her being hated anyway?

Stanley comes over to too, embraces her from the other side. Doom is one of his best friends, if not his actual best friend, and he hurts seeing her like this. Maybe she doesn't know it, but he loves her. And she doesn't have to be any different for him to feel that way about her. Why else would he follow her around and listen to her and let her lead him around on all her crazy adventures, even into dangerous ones? He feels safe with her, even when she's setting things on fire and jumping motorcycles over flaming school busses and blowing shit up and jumping off the roof and scaring the ever-loving shit out of him. If he didn't feel safe with her and didn't love her, he sure as hell wouldn't be sticking around for any of that.

It's been a few minutes, and the Retcon has been remarkably patient for something with no consciousness or thought or anything. Doom finally lifts her head, putting one arm around each of her closest friends and pulling them closer to her. Then, at last, she says, "I'm ready. I'm ready to change."

"And to give Dorian a break," Stanley interjects. "The Retcon has been reforming it too while trying to catch you."

"Oh, what. Oh come on, now that's just rude. What did Dorian ever do to you, you asshole?!" Doomsday scowls at the Retcon. And with that, she leaps up off the floor and jumps straight into the Retcon herself, causing it to recoil and roll backwards several feet until it bumps up against a nearby wall and comes to a rest.

There is silence in the basement while whatever battle is taking place in the Retcon takes place. In the meantime Stanley and Thursday just look at each other, and around at the mess on the floor.

"Eugh, it really is a horrible mess down here. These poor rats don't deserve to live in all this mess," Thursday complains, wrinkling up her nose. "I'm going to call the Conservatory and ask them if they can help these guys out. This is horrible! Really unsanitary. I didn't know it was this bad..."

Stanley nods in quiet agreement.

A pair of yellow glowing dots for eyes pops up between them and nods along as well.

"Oh, hey Stanley - er, Shadow, I guess, since now there are two Stanleys down here, ahaha," Thursday laughs.

The three of them wait, Thursday doing most of the talking until finally Doomsday is spat back out of the Retcon. Or does she come flying out of it herself? It's sort of hard to tell. Either way, she comes out of it with enough velocity that it sends the soiled papers piled up around the room up in into the air like a heavy gust just blew through there, leaving exposed rats and rat babies scampering around.

"Ah!" Thursday cries, and bends down to shield them from any debris that comes falling back down. Stanley tries to help as well.

Doomsday doesn't look any different. Not in the least. She, like the others, looks exactly the same as she did before the Retcon. Except... her smile. Her smile has changed. There's a different air of confidence to it now. One that's not as much cockied and "try me", but more so "I'm comfortable with who I am".

"Well, anyway," she says, brushing her hands together as though she'd done nothing more than just finished sweeping out the garage. "You guys wanna go get something to eat? I'm hungry. Pizza, maybe? Cheese and black olive for you and me, Thursday - plain cheese for you, Stanley? And, ah... I guess the leftover crusts for the rats?"

There's a shrug from Stanley and a thumbs up from Thursday. Shadow has already gone back to rubbing his eyes all over the mounds of papers. And the Retcon has vanished, back off into the hands of the Author, to see another day whenever it shall be called upon again.

[the-haunted-office]

/* For Doom and Stanley (either) */

🧞

𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓼 — send 🧞 for my muse to reveal what they would wish for if given three wishes free of consequences.

Doomsday:

"Three wishes free of consequences, eh? Suppose wishing for infinite wishes is out. I think... I'd like to wish for my mother to have never gotten cancer, or to at least- have had a real, fighting chance against it, maybe that it was caught sooner. It wasn't fair, what happened to her. It was total fucking bullshit. The doctors all missed it, for well over a year, they missed all the signs, even when they checked her and saw the spot there, they just dismissed it, even though they knew she was a smoker, and my mom... I don't know why she didn't insist they check it out, I guess she just trusted them. Anyway. By the time they figured out what it really was, it was too late. She went into the hospital one day because she was really sick and having trouble breathing. They sent her home claiming it was pneumonia. A week later she was back, and then lo and behold, BOOM, stage IV lung cancer, metastasized, lymph nodes, liver, spine in two places, nothing they can do, six months to live. She made it five months, pretty much to the day. Yeah... I think she should have another shot at it, or to have never gotten cancer at all. She was only 52 when she died. Completely fucking unfair."

"Another wish? I wish for all incels to die and no more to ever be born, in any universe, ever. Period. Femcels included, yes. Anyone with this ideology that anyone owes you sex. DIE IN A FIRE FOREVER."

"And for my last wish, hmmmmm... I don't know. I want to fly, I guess? I've always wanted to do that. Can I do that? I don't care if I get wings or not. I just want to be able to fly. I miss that. I could do that as a ghost, but now that I'm alive again, I can't. Fuck, just let me fly again, please!"

Stanley Johnson:

"I wish... I could have my memories back, from before the Offices. I had them taken from me, against my will, when Arthur - my previous Narrator - ...did what he did. When he took me from... my life. It's because of him that I can't remember anything. Maybe my life was nothing before. Maybe it was something great. I don't know. He told me it wasn't anything to be missed, but... I want to have that choice. But he took it from me."

"I also wish that Cyrus could be cured of his agoraphobia. I think he can overcome it on his own, but I don't think he really wants to. I think... he thinks it's too difficult. It's psychological to him, in my opinion, even though it's a very real fear to him. I wish I knew how to help him, but I don't. I don't know the right words or the right... actions to take. I wish... Just... I wish I knew... how to help. So... I just wish he could be cured."

"My last wish, I want the whole... dimension-hopping thing in the Office to stop. I think it causes more harm than good. I've seen all the harmful people it brings in, and how much pain it causes my Officemates. It hasn't affected me as much yet, and I feel kind of bad about that. Somehow I manage to avoid it. I guess because I stay out of the way. I'm sorry about what happened to Thursday, and how James has now shifted his focus from me to Doomsday. I wish I could step up as a Protagonist, be stronger, and protect everyone. I just don't know how to... do any of it."

[the-haunted-office]

I really think you guys underestimate just how easy it is to get Stanley Johnson to go along with things. His personality may be like the polar opposite of James's, but he is a total Yes Man. He's like your side kick buddy and is super loyal. He'll follow you into danger and just do whatever shenanigans you are wanting to do without much thought.

The caveat here is... you have to be friends with him first. If he doesn't trust you and you ask him to go along with something, he's gonna look at you funny and put up resistance - especially if you're someone who one of his close friends doesn't trust.

But yeah. Stanley. Steady Stanley. You can definitely depend on him to go along with you. x)

[the-haunted-office]

Thisday is also feeling that odd sense of familiarity surrounding Val. He can't place it either. It's like the feeling of deja vu. Maybe it's just a glitch in the Matrix and honestly that makes about as much sense to him as anything else that happens in this office.

Then he speaks again and that explains why Thisday feels something familiar about him... He sounds just like Bill and Ted. That must be it. He's reminding him of Bill and Ted.

Thisday can't help but smile, despite the trail of broken drywall, destroyed filing cabinets, and other debris in the car's wake. He also doesn't question a single thing about Val's story because, again, this sort of thing is absolutely normal around here. Experimental science stuff being tested on a car that ended up flinging them through a building? Makes perfect sense!

"You know what, don't even worry about it - the mess - because we have folks around here who can fix it pretty easily," he says.

TVAM is still pretty miffed, though. "If you think you'll be sending that ghost over here to fix all this, you need to go get decapitated right now because that ugly head of yours comes up with the absolute worst ideas!!" he hollers at Thisday. "In fact, I think losing your head would making you sm-"

The television suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, shuts off and goes dead silent. Nextday can be seen dropping his power cord, which she just unplugged from the wall, onto the floor without a single word and while rolling her eyes.

Stanley is still just standing there like 🧍‍♂️.

Thisday continues speaking as if nothing had interrupted him at all. "Anyway, yeah, don't worry about the damages." He laughs when Pete puts his hand over Val's mouth. "Ohhh, is that what we have going on here? A little time travel? Explains the accents," he says, as if this makes any sense whatsoever. It did in his mind, though, thus he said it. "But okay yeah, sure! My name is Thisday. It's actually Thursday, but I'm from another timeline and the Thursday from this timeline already- well, she was here first, see, so I just altered my name a little bit to Thisday because I'm a guy, get it? Like, the little 'his' in the middle, instead of 'hurs', haha. Anyway, that's me, and this - or rather, not this, that's me - the one over there," he says, pointing at Nextday, who just stands there like she's been suddenly caught on stage with a spotlight directly on her and she's forgotten every single one of her lines, "is Nextday. She's another Thursday and likes to be called Next. And this one here," he continues, going and putting an arm around Stanley's shoulders in an attempt to loosen him up a bit - it works, but it makes him just look more like a puzzled shaken doll than a living person, "is Stanley. Stanley Johnson. Very important to make that distinction because there are a whollllle lotta Stanleys out there, right?"

Stanley shrugs. He's met a couple of his alternates already, so yeah, it's true.

Thisday releases Stanley and answers the next question with a big smile. "As for what year it is? Uhhhhhh... we actually don't know that, haha. It's, uh... Well, it was like 2011 when I got stuck in my office, but now I'm here in this office, and apparently like it was put in a black hole for some indeterminate amount of time and when everybody got out some huge amount of time had passed, so now it's like- Shoot, like at least 3000 by now, but who knows. There's also a theory that it's really just 2023, but we have yet to prove that. Sorry I know that doesn't really answer your question, but ah, it's the best I've got. You guys want some coffee?"

As he asks this last question, Thisday strolls right over the mound of rubble to the coffee pot, which sits miraculously untouched on a section of the counter in the redesigned employee lounge.

A startled Pete turns his attention to TVAM. A television with a functioning, responsive AI in it that's complaining about him and his brother? This strikes too close to home, making him feel more agitated. He would whine back at TVAM, but fortunately- a voice cuts in, sparing him from making more of a scene.

Val smiles seeing the trio, relieved that there actually are people in this office. He waves to them all, showing off that he is an incredibly friendly dude. As his gaze drifts over the three of them, Val notices that there's something about Thisday, an odd sense of familiarity- but he can't place why he's feeling this way.

"We're totally alright dude! Thanks!" Again, Val plays up the stoner voice, much to Pete's displeasure. "Well, you see. My government agent friend and I modded my car here with some weird experimental science stuff. We went to test drive it at a military base and I managed to convince my bro here to join me. Suddenly, we're here!" Val laughs. His stoner voice keeps shifting between his jokey stoner voice and his normal voice. "We'll get our stuff cleaned up, help you dudes fix these walls- then we'll be outta your way! Right bro-" Val's mouth is covered up by Pete's hand. There's some quiet, muffled complaining from Val.

"Ignore him." Pete speaks over the muffled complaints. "He suddenly thinks he can recreate Back to the Future and Bill and Ted all at once." Val tries to pry Pete's hand away from his mouth, to no avail. With great annoyance, Val folds his arms over as his eyes drift over the trio. Stanley looks rather sweet- and so does Nextday, and Thisday! They all seem like they're really friendly people and totally wouldn't hurt them. However, there's still something that's irking Val. His eyes squint at Thisday, trying his hardest to put together why he seems familiar.

"Now, would you mind telling us who you people are, what year this is and exactly where this office is? Val thinks we've time travelled- but that isn't possible. But neither is us being here in this office. We were on a runway with no buildings in sight."

[the-haunted-office]

A stare down is happening in the fourth floor employee lounge.

James has walked in to get himself some morning coffee, and discovered Stanley already in there at the coffee maker, waiting for his coffee to brew.

It's the first time since arriving in the Haunted Office that James has actually seen the elusive Employee 427, Stanley Johnson.

James narrows his eyes at Stanley, staring.

Stanley just... blinks at James. And waves a friendly hello.

James doesn't know what to do. Stanley is standing between him and the knives. This poses a big problem because James wants to stab Stanley.

Stanley doesn't realize this. He also doesn't understand the meaning of the glare James is giving him right now, so he turns around awkwardly to focus on his brewing cup of coffee instead.

James takes two steps into the lounge, with the intent on doing... something...

...and is interrupted by the voice in the ceiling.

"Whatever it is you are planning on doing, James, you can stop it right now," sighs Cyrus, sounding either bored or exasperated - it's impossible to tell at this point.

James halts. Stanley turns around, blinking, oblivious.

"Hey, fine, I just wanted some coffee," James lies, putting his hands up, feigning innocence.

Shrugging, Stanley offers his freshly brewed cup to James, who takes it with a quiet, defeated "Thank you," before sulking off.

Stanley looks at the nearest camera and signs, "What was that all about?"

Another sigh can be heard through the intercom. "Stanley, I don't know how you've missed so much, but James wishes to murder you to take your place as the sole Protagonist in this Office. I think you'd do well to pay better attention to your surroundings."

Stanley blinks. Appears to be thinking deeply about something.

Shrugs.

And goes to brew another cup of coffee.

Clearly he isn't very concerned about this.

[the-haunted-office]

🤓 geek out over something(for Stanley)

Send a symbol for my muse to…

Stanley has just been told he can geek out over something. Over... anything... of his choosing.

Oh. Oh boy, what's a Guy™ of so many deeply entrenched interests to do when told such a thing?! Stanley is man who has so many refined hobbies and interests, he couldn't possibly pick one thing to geek out over. What is he to do in this situation? Must he really do something so profound as to make a choice?

Stanley stands there. It seems he has reached a defining moment, one of indecision. This happens to him on occasion, when he can't quite decide what he wants to do. Normally he would require the assistance of a Narrator to guide him, to give him a sense of direction, to give him a limited amount of options from which to choose, and then that would help him make a decision.

But... he's alone on this one. A Narrator can't choose for him what he should geek out about. Only he, Stanley, gets to decide on this. But it's so difficult going about these things, deciding what about oneself is most interesting to share, to geek out about. It's so telling, isn't it? What if he were to geek out about the wrong thing and everyone were to see him as a bore?

Actually...

That settles it for him.

Stanley already knows that he's a bore. Is quite settled in that fact, actually.

Making a decisive spin on his heel, Stanley marches over to the nearest desk, wiggles the mouse on it, sits down in the wheeled office chair, and gets to work.

But not real work. He gets to work with showing everyone what his interest is, and what it is he wants to geek out about. He takes the mouse in hand and, as you might have been able to guess by now, he brings up... Solitaire.

He double clicks on it, opens the program, and begins playing.

He points at the screen as he goes, smiling, very clearly excited by what he is doing.

Most people would only play this game when there is nothing else to do or on their mobile phone while on the toilet, and even then they might only play this game mindlessly. But not Stanley. He plays this game with his whole entire being, heart, mind, soul, and body. He pours his blood, sweat, tears, and essence into it, to the point where he loses all track of time and his surroundings. The building could catch on fire and burn down around him and he wouldn't notice. In fact, somehow the building and everything would burn down around him and yet he and the computer terminal, desk, and chair in which he sits would remain, the sheer energy he is exuding while playing the game creating a sort of protective shield around him, dispelling the flames and thus saving him from a horrific, fiery death. His geeking out is that hardcore.

There aren't many of us who can live up to that standard, and so to this we must say, Godspeed, Stanley. You go, Guy™.