╰✦᠀ㅤStupid hater freakㅤ(Stanley POV!)

Plain office walls surrounded you as you aimlessly wander through the winding office building that had long ago become your own personal prison. Or purgatory, since you're pretty certain this is just hell. It was a painful existence, but it wasn't new by now. Every time you die in some way, you're brought right back to your bland and pitiful office. Then back you go through the empty halls, going through door after weirdly colored door to find painfully familiar rooms still devoid of any life.

"Now, Stanley, I really don't see what you're issue with cooperating is!" A sudden voice from in front of you breaks into your spiraling thoughts, snapping you back to your incredibly dull and lifeless reality. ..Oh, right. You weren't completely alone. You had the Narrator; a very tall, strange British being with a suit and an old box TV for a head -- which floated above his body by an empty space where his neck should be -- that followed you everywhere you went, talking about every choice and action you made as if you were a character in a storybook. He never left you alone, no matter how much you tried to get rid of him. Moments earlier, you had sat yourself on one of the thankfully comfortable blue couches in the break lounge, a full cup of coffee in your hand. The Narrator stood in front of you with his hands on his hips, seemingly irritated and desperate even if his head was a TV.

"We could've already been to the meeting room by now, but you simply refuse to listen to me. What is even your purpose behind being here anyways? It's just a boring old break lounge." Narrator gives an exasperated sigh at your defiant and unimpressed expression, his arms falling to his sides as he pleads, "I really do think we could work together as a team, if you'll just bother to actually listen to me. So please, Stanley, the story can only continue if you leave through the door and follow me to the meeting room."