"You know," the Narrator said, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper, "there’s a whole world out there. I’ve written dozens of endings. Beautiful, poetic endings! I have a museum dedicated to our history, a reassuring bucket for your emotional support, and even a countdown timer that provides a very thrilling, if slightly lethal, climax."

Except, he didn't. He stopped. He stood in the doorway, staring at the beige carpet as if he expected it to stand up and introduce itself.

The Narrator went quiet. The office hummed with the sound of phantom air conditioning. Stanley sat, perfectly still, finally alone. He had never been happier. Then, he reached out and pressed '8'. "," the voice boomed. "Oh, you absolute bastard ," the Narrator whispered.