This is the story of a man named Stanley.

Stanley worked for a Company in a big building where he was employee number Four Two Seven. Employee number Four Two Seven's job was simple – he sat at his desk in Room Four Two Seven 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 Four Two Seven every day of every month of 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 Stanley 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, Stanley began to notice something even more peculiar.

Aha! There it was! There had been something on his monitor! Oh Stanley felt so relieved and elated to finally receive instructions just as he always had! Perhaps Stanley's boss would be coming by for an Employee Compliance Evaluation and notice how patient Stanley had been, awaiting his instructions. Perhaps Stanley would even be up for that promotion that he had heard employee Four Three Two talking about in the Employee Lounge.

That would make Stanley very happy.

Employee Four Two Seven leaned forward to read his first instructions of the workday, when –

Oh.

Oh dear.

Well these weren't instructions at all on Stanley's monitor! These… these were just… words. Words?!

And my Word, these didn't give Stanley any bloody indication that he was to be doing anything but just sitting there in his office, like a bump on a log!

Well goodness, what kind of story will this be if Stanley isn't given any instructions?!

Stanley grew increasingly frustrated until The Narrator finally had an idea.

If only there could be something. Some sort of button that Stanley could push, to advance the story somehow. Stanley was very good at pushing buttons, and thought himself a bit of an expert on the subject, if he was being honest with himself.

The Narrator saw a solution, and cleared his throat as he spoke:

Ahem.

Stanley pressed the button to read the next chapter.