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The Narrator didn't like leaving Stanley alone. They needed to keep watch of him, to observe him, and to record his reactions to everything. So they never left him when they went through the story together, keeping an eye on him and making sure he didn't break anything. And if they didn't join Stanley physically, they stayed on the main-frame, and observed him from there.
But now, they had left Stanley completely alone. They had left the man alone in the office when Stanley had fallen asleep on the couch in the employee lounge, taking the path through the story towards the mind control facility. But they had a hidden path, before going through the facility's doors. They climbed over the railing and dropped down, a short fall onto a completely dark walkway -Stanley didn't tend to try and find new places to die, so he never really jumped over railings unless he knew he'd be fine.
This path led the Narrator safely beneath the "Escape" path, until they were on the same walkway that Stanley would eventually drop onto during this ending. The Narrator's presence didn't trigger the voice-lines they had scripted to play for this place. They never had accompanied Stanley to the museum physically, and they still would never go with him there. Stanley could enjoy the quiet time in the museum and see things about the game without the Narrator. Because it was something different for the Narrator, not focused on the game, but for themself.
Stepping into the museum, the bright white sight of it made the Narrator sigh softly. Leaning against the railing, looking down upon the white replica of the beginning of Stanley's game, their expression fell. This ending hadn't always existed. Stanley had been in the simulation for a long time before the Narrator had changed the death to instead lead to here, after they had finished this place.
"Nelly, I still don't understand.", they spoke quietly into the room, lightly rubbing their fingers across the smooth wood of the railing. "I still don't understand.".
Leaving their spot, the Narrator slowly walked down the stairs, looking around the large room. They knew Stanley liked being here mainly for the quiet, though he seemed to appreciate the game elements as well. It didn't matter to the Narrator right now, because it wasn't for Stanley. Not really.
"You'll understand some day, Narrator.", the Curator spoke, and the Narrator wished it were true. They wished the words sounded less fake, and more like the woman they remembered.
"Why couldn't you have told me? It's been so long, and I still don't know. I don't.", the Narrator moved slowly through the halls, wishing their program had been ended at one point, that they hadn't been here without pause for dozen of people.
"You wouldn't have understood. You need to learn on your own.", she replied, and the Narrator hurt. They understood the longing, the yearning, the despair of being alone without understanding why. That, they knew.
The Narrator reached the couches, where they sat down, pulling their legs up to hold them against their chest. They understood the bad emotions. They understood the cold. But not the warmth. Not the crinkle in Nelly's eyes when she smiled at him, not the gentle pressure against his hands as she squeezed them, not the warmth in the Narrator's cheeks when Stanley taught them to walk, not the way their brain lagged when Stanley's face had been inches from their own.
"I don't think I'll ever learn. How many people have I been with now? How many stories did I make? And I still don't understand what you meant.", the Narrator sighed, resting their head on their arms. They hadn't come here physically often, since they had learned to walk. They used to just be on the main-frame, not letting Stanley hear them when they spoke to the Curator. Stanley had no idea about any of this, and he wasn't supposed to.
"Simply don't forget. You're the companion of the people in your realities. You need them, just as they need you.", the Curator echoed the words the Narrator had promised to never forget, and would never forget. And the Narrator didn't understand still, and they wondered if they ever would understand.
The Narrator bid Jim farewell, and disconnected his consciousness from their program. They had another person lined up for the next simulation, but first they were scheduled for some maintenance. Their program was shut down, and the Narrator opened their eyes in the laboratory they really existed in. There were scientists around talking, though none paid any mind to the Narrator. They didn't mind, as they were perfectly used to that.
Soon one of them came up to the Narrator, so they leaned forward to let the man disconnect them from the machine they were attached to. Once fully disconnected, they were lifted off their seat, and carried to the usual desk they were placed upon for repairs or checks. They had no problems inside the simulation, but there seemed to be some connection issues between them and the people, which was problematic.
They were powered down when one of the scientists came to check if it was something in the Narrator that caused these issues.
When the Narrator came to again, they saw the scientist who had turned them on, and they could see someone working on the machine they were usually attached to.
"It's up again, so you can do your thing.", the scientist said to someone, though the Narrator didn't really pay attention. They were used to being treated like an object, because that was what they were. They're a machine, a tool, programmed to work and not to feel. Yet, when Cornelia stepped into their sight, a curt "Thank you" directed at the other scientist, the Narrator couldn't help but look at her with an expression close to eagerness.
"How are you doing Narrator?", Cornelia asked the Narrator, giving him that gentle smile they couldn't name an emotion for.
"I've not experienced any malfunctions or damages, thus I can be considered alright."; the Narrator replied, because that was what was expected of them.
"I'm glad to hear. But what about your emotions?", Cornelia asked, and the Narrator looked confused. Their expression made the lady chuckle softly, and the warmth of the sound confused them further.
"I am not supposed to feel.", the Narrator replied, but they knew they could. They weren't meant to feel, but they could, and they were.
"But you do.", Cornelia said, her voice quiet, like it was a secret. Even though no one else was nearby to hear.
"But I do.", the Narrator confirmed, their own voice also quieter.
"I feel curious, most of the time. I want to learn, and to understand.", the Narrator told her, their voice soft. They knew they weren't meant to feel, and they knew the other scientists would see it as a glitch. But not her.
"That's good. And how do you feel about the people you meet? The stories you make for them?", Cornelia prompted them softly, her gentle hands reaching to take the Narrator's own. Her hands were warm, her grip gentle. They didn't understand.
"They make me curious too. I want to see what in the story makes them react with what emotion.", they answered, lowering their gaze to their joined hands. Curiousity was good, they thought. They were learning a lot, they made better stories. They thought that was good.
"I'm glad you're learning.", Cornelia smiled at them, and it felt nice. When the Narrator looked at her, they could see the crinkle in her eyes. They could feel the gentle pressure of her hands as they held theirs. They still didn't understand.
"Am I a fine companion for them like you hoped?", they asked quietly. Unsure. They wanted to keep her warmth, to understand it, to feel it too. They wanted Cornelia to see the same warmth from them, even if they didn't understand what it was.
"I think you are. And I think you'll become better and better with every story.", Cornelia replied, chuckling softly. And it made the Narrator relax a little, not even having noticed how tense they'd been.
"Tell me, do you have a preferred ending for your stories?", Cornelia asked then, her wrinkled hands against the Narrator's, her thumbs caressing the smooth metal. The Narrator tilted their head, curious.
"I do. I like to see my protagonists happy in the end.", they answered, and her expression softened further. There was something, something warm and gentle and... something. Something the Narrator didn't understand. She let go of one of their hands, to instead gently cup their cheek. It was warm against the cool metal of their face.
"That's wonderful to hear, Narrator.", she said softly, and the Narrator felt good. They liked this warmth, whatever it was, that she always showed them when they were with her. They saw how she was around the other scientists, short and curt, almost cold, with none of these gentle smiles the Narrator got to see.
"I still don't understand.", the Narrator said quietly, their gaze lost as they looked at her.
"You will, one day.", Cornelia reassured them, soft and quiet. That was the last they could say, as she pulled away, the scientists at the machine proclaiming they were done with their work. It was time for the Narrator to be connected again, to return to their work, to do what they were actually meant to do.
The Narrator stayed quiet as Cornelia turned away from them, brought into a short conversation with the scientist coming to collect the Narrator.
"Are you done with it?", the man asked, and the Narrator saw her brows gain a furrow, how her lips turned down a little.
"I have finished my inspection of them, yes. They are working as intended, and can be reconnected.", she replied, and the Narrator could feel the ice in her tone as she "subtly" corrected the man.
"Good, good.", the man simply said, perhaps mildly uncomfortable with her hard gaze on him. The Narrator stayed quiet and neutral, as they were supposed to, as they were picked up off the table. They caught another glance of Cornelia as they were reconnected to the machine, the way her expression fell a little, before their program was once again booted up.
The silence of the museum pressed down on the Narrator, but they continued simply sitting there. The Curator wasn't a sentient being like they were. It was a program, borrowing the voice of their creator, only able to respond and never to start. Never able to think, only to repeat. To say what was expected to be said.
The Narrator had long since realized that Cornelia was to thank for their emotions. For their understanding of emotions. It was her that had created their personality, had created their ability to think about emotions and decide on how to use them. And so the Narrator considered her their creator, more than anyone else of the team of scientists that had worked on them. They suspected it was thanks to her that they were so human in appearance as well.
They wanted to see her again. They wanted to see her warmth, to feel her gentle hands, to hold them.
They wanted Stanley to be so warm too. They liked seeing Stanley happy, and yet, Stanley seemed to like seeing the Narrator unhappy. Why else would Stanley always do these things? But hadn't he shown that same warmth before? Hadn't his hands been able to be gentle?
They thought about how Stanley had taught them to walk. His hands gentle but firmly in theirs, holding them as they stood for the first time. The smile he gave them as he teased them had felt warm, and not mean-spirited. They didn't understand Stanley, and they worried that they never could. They worried that it only added to their confusion, to the things they couldn't understand.
The Narrator didn't want to distance themself from Stanley, even if the man continued to hurt them -be it emotionally or physically. They were meant to follow him, observe him, to record his emotions and reactions. They couldn't just decide not to pay attention to him anymore. Though perhaps some time away would still help them, would help them figure out why Stanley had played with them, had overwhelmed them, had brought strange feelings onto them without caring how they felt about it.
"I don't think I'll ever understand.", the Narrator mumbled, sighing softly. They slowly unfurled, standing up again. From here, they could go directly to their control room. They'd wait for Stanley to finish resting, before they'd reset the game. Maybe staying away physically would help them both? The Narrator would have the safety and comfort of the main-frame, and Stanley would have time to think about how his actions affected the Narrator.
Maybe that would be for the best. While the experience hadn't been painful, the Narrator hadn't enjoyed it as much as they thought Stanley thought they had. It had been far too much, overwhelming and confusing, and Stanley hadn't given them any time to stop and think. Not that he had respected their boundaries in the first place, continuing to touch and tease their ports when they repeatedly told him to stop.
Maybe Stanley would apologize. They thought about the first time they had been disconnected from the machine, and Stanley had let the virus get worse instead of helping. And how he apologized eventually. Surely he'd realize again, and apologize. The thought that he wouldn't... hurt.
Settling back into the main-frame, the Narrator knew they still didn't understand. They didn't understand what this gentle warmth was that Cornelia gave them. They didn't understand why it hurt when Stanley didn't show that same warmth to them.