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The Stanley Parable Game Script

by MGreen   Updated on

Introduction

"This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee number 427. Employee Number 427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427, and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. This is what Employee 427 did every day of every month and every year, and although others might have considered it soul-rending, Stanley relished every moment that the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy.

And then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Stanley. Something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No-one had showed up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say Hi. Never in all his years at the company had this happened - this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong. Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time. But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office."

Achievement 430

Click 5 times on door 430: "Oh, please. Are you really just doing this for the achievement? Click a door five times, is that all that you think an achievement is worth? No, no, no, no, no, I can't just give these merits away for such little effort. A measley five clicks? Now suppose you were to click the door 20 times. I would say that's the kind of effort that warrants recognition."

Click 20 times on door 430: "Hmm. I have to say, I'm still not feeling the satisfaction of witnessing true effort for a noble cause. Perhaps 50 clicks will do it - yes, almost certainly, 50 clicks."

Click 50 times on door 430: "No, no, I'm still not feeling it. I want this Achievement to have meant something - it has to be a true reward for valiant effort. I want to see some hustle, Stanley. I want to see commitment, a willingness to go all the way no matter what the cost! Why don't you go put 20 clicks into door number 417?"

Click 20 times on door 417: "Oh, great. Now, go click a few times on door 437."

Click on door 437: "Excellent! I think we're getting somewhere! Now door 415, let's give it 10 clicks or so!"

Click 10 times on door 415: "Now, back to door number 437!"

Click on door 437: "Let's see.. how about you click on.. well, I don't know.. the copy machine!"

Click on the photocopier: "Alright! Back to room 417, I'm really feeling it now, I think we're getting somewhere!"

Click on door 417: "Ok! Now go climb on employee 419's desk!"

Stand on desk 419: "Yes! This is great! You're putting it all on the line, Stanley, I like that! Alright, let's keep it up - go give me a few clicks on door 416!"

Click on door 416: "WE'VE ALMOST GOT IT! NOW THE COPY MACHINE! DO THAT ONE AGAIN!"

Click on the copier: "FINISH IT OFF STORY! FIVE CLICKS ON DOOR 430!"

Click 5 times on door 430: "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES! WE DID IT! Oh, wow, that felt amazing! Phew, you really earned it, Stanley, nothing could hold you back - yes, I'm very proud of how far we've come today. Just think: only a few minutes ago you believed an Achievement was worth five little clicks. Really now, what were you thinking?"

Apartment - Ever An Observer Ending

After arriving in the apartment: "Hahahahahaha, Got-cha! Oh, come on. Did you actually think you had a loving wife? Who'd want to commit their life to you? I'm trying to make a point here, Stanley, I'm trying to get you to see something. Come inside. Let me show you what's really going on here."

If you walk away from the apartment: A wall rises to block you. "Sorry, but you're in my story now."

When you enter the apartment: "This is a very sad story about the death of a man named Stanley. Stanley is quite a boring fellow. He has a job that demands nothing of him, and every button that he pushes is a reminder of the inconsequential nature of his existence. Look at him there, pushing buttons, doing exactly what he's told to do. Now, he's pushing a button. Now, he's eating lunch. Now, he's going home; now, he's coming back to work. One might even feel sorry for him, except that he's chosen this life. But in his mind - ah, in his mind he can go on fantastic adventures. From behind his desk, Stanley dreamed of wild expeditions into the unknown, fantastic discoveries of new lands. It was wonderful. And each day that he returned to work was a reminder that none of it would ever happen to him.

And so he began to fantasize about his own job. First he imagined that one day, while at work, he stepped up from his desk to realize that all of his co-workers, his boss, everyone in the building, had suddenly vanished off the face of the Earth. The thought excited him terribly. So, he went further. He imagined that he came to two open doors, and that he could go through either. At least, choice! It barely even mattered what lay behind each door - the mere thought that his decisions would mean something was almost too wonderful to behold.

As he wandered through this fantasy world, he began to fill it with many possible paths and destinations. Down one path lay an enormous round room with monitors and mind controls, and down another was a yellow line that weaved in many directions, and down another was a game with a baby. And he called it, The Stanley Parable. It was such a wonderful fantasy, and so in his head, he relived it again, and then again, and again, over and over, wishing beyond hope that it would never end, that he would always feel this free. Surely there's an answer down some new path - mustn't there be? Perhaps if he played just one more time.

But there is no answer. How could there possibly be? In reality, all he's doing is pushing the same buttons he always has. Nothing has changed. The longer he spends here the more invested he gets, the more he forgets which life is the real one. 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 remains here he's slowly killing himself. But he won't listen to me. He won't stop. Here, watch this. Stanley, the next time the screen asks you to push a button, do not do it.

You can refuse to push the button, but nothing happens until you push it.

You see? Can he just not hear me? 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? I suppose I can't - not in the way I want him to. But I don't make the rules - I simply play to my intended purpose, the same as Stanley. We're not so different, I suppose. I'll try once more to convey all this to him; I'm compelled to, I must. Perhaps, well, maybe this time he'll see. Maybe this time. And I tried again, and Stanley pushed a button. And I tried again, and Stanley pushed a button. And I tried again, and Stanley pushed a button..." (Game ends)

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