Dreams are Hard to Follow (A Stanley Parable Story)

Chapter 1: Everything's the Same, Except for You

This is the story of a man named Stanley.

Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee #427. Employee #427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in Room 427 and 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 of every year, and although others may 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 had realized that someone had been knocking on his door for the last few minutes. Stanley groaned, already knowing who was on the other side, Employee 432 asking him for a pencil, again. Stanley opened the door, his annoyed expression fading as he was surprised to see an unfamiliar face. Was this man from another floor? That would explain why Stanely didn't know him.

"Oh! Uhm, Hello! Yes, Hello– uhm, I've come to check up on you. A-And your progress! With your work."

The older British man stuttered, adjusting his collared white shirt; along with his yellow tie, brown vest and brown coat to look more presentable. Stanley assumed that this level of nervousness was not what the older man usually experienced, as his face momentarily scrunched up with mental aberration or embarrassment. His voice . . . that baritone richness of it, sparked something within Stanley, something familiar, but it went as soon as it came. Stanley quickly recovered and held his hands up to sign.

[Hi! Who are you? What's your name? Are you from another floor?]

Stanley didn't expect the flash of hurt that came across the man's face. The older man ran a hand through his gray hair, adjusting his glasses.

"Stanley, really? You truly don't remember me?"

At least the man understood sign language, less work for Stanley. He was already swamped! Button pressing wasn't as easy as it seemed, but oh how he loved it! It made him so happy. He was happy with his work, his job. Stanley snapped himself out of his thoughts, and responded to the stranger.

[Sorry, have we met? You know my name, but I don't know yours.]

There was that same quick expression of hurt. Stanley didn't like that expression, he didn't like it on anyone, but for some reason, seeing it on that face made his stomach twist.

"Right, right. Of course you wouldn't remember me. Please excuse me, where are my manners? I'm Naah-" He faltered, his eyes darting wildly, as if searching for something, "I-I'm Employee #001! From the first floor."

He quickly finished, giving a forced polite smile. The man was obviously hiding something, but Stanley wasn't paid enough to care. He shrugged it off and signed again.

[I'm Employee #427, Stanley Rider. Nice to meet you again 001.]

He held out his hand to the older gentleman, who looked at Stanley's hand like it was made from the most precious and shimmering gold. 001's hand lightly shook as he raised it, and finally clasped it to Stanley's. Stanley had to repress a shiver, the man's hand seemed to burn hot against his own, as if his body had been deprived of such simple touch for centuries. 001 didn't look much better, not even moving his hand for the handshake, just holding it there. Stanley took the initiative and shook the man's hand, and with a strange reluctance, let go.

"Warm . . ." The man quietly mumbled.

[What?]

"Hm? Oh! Nothing dear boy, don't worry."