Chapter 1: The Majestic Tale of a Madman with a Typewriter
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--2023--
Alan sat in his writer’s room, frantically trying to finish his manuscript. With the help of Saga, he has planned an ending to Return that would save everyone from Scratch. But Casey would soon be breaking down his door, and the words weren’t coming. Suddenly, a rift appeared on the wall of his room, appearing like a crack that was growing in size incredibly quickly. No sooner than he had noticed it, a strong force pulled Alan into the rift. It shut behind him, leaving the last page of Return still unfinished in his typewriter.
--2010--
Alan sat in his writer’s room, desperately trying to start his manuscript. It hadn’t been long since his fight against Insane Alan, and he knew that writing Return was the only way to escape the Dark Place. However, no matter how long he stared at his title page, the words weren’t coming. Suddenly, a rift appeared on the wall of his room, appearing like a crack that was growing in size incredibly quickly. Alan quickly leapt out of his chair and ran for the door, but a strong force pulled him into the rift. It shut behind him, leaving the title page of Return still unfinished in his typewriter.
--2012--
Alan sat in a chair at the Desert Shore Motel, unsuccessfully trying to control his anger. He thought his plan had worked, he thought he had finally reunited with Alice, but he was still trapped in the Dark Place. The only positive was that he had destroyed Mr. Scratch’s body, giving himself a slight advantage over him. However, no more good news was coming. Suddenly, a rift appeared in the sky above him, appearing like a crack that was growing in size incredibly quickly. Before Alan could back away, two men fell out of the rift, each producing a heavy groan as they were tossed out onto the floor. Alan couldn’t see their faces, but one was wearing a parka and a tweed jacket, while the other was wearing a brown suit with a satchel.
Getting up off the floor, the two men looked at each other. Alan wasn’t sure why, but they suddenly shot away from each other with a shout. Finally seeing their faces, Alan saw why they were so startled. They both looked exactly like him. Convinced that Mr. Scratch had returned, Alan pointed his gun at the two men. “How are you back? I destroyed you!” he shouted at the two men. The one in the suit put his hands up, but still looked surprisingly calm considering he had a gun pointed at him. “Calm down,” The man said. “We’re not Scratch, but I don’t think you’re going to like who we really are.” “Alright then, who are you?” Alan said, still holding the gun to the suited man; he’d had more than enough of people who looked just like him for one day. “My name is Alan Wake. I’m a writer,” the suited man said. At that point, Mr. Fashion Disaster decided to join the conversation. “Hey, that’s my line,” he said defensively.
Alan dropped the gun, a fair reaction to the information he had just received. These men didn’t just look like him, they were him. Suited Alan picked up the gun and gave it back to him. “And I’m assuming you’re me as well,” he said. “Wait a minute, how is this possible,” Tweed Alan said. “And why do you look so much older than us? How long have you been in here?” “Time doesn’t work the same in the Dark Place,” Suited Alan said, “but in terms of the real world, I’ve been trapped for 13 years.” This sent Tweed Alan and Flannel Alan into a fit of panic. “Are you saying we’ve got another DECADE trapped in here?!” Flannel Alan shouted at Suited Alan, anger and panic obvious in his voice. “I’m sorry,” said Suited Alan regretfully, at a complete loss of words. What could you say to your past selves if they discovered that the next decade of their lives would be a never-ending hell?
“Trying to put that aside,” Tweed Alan said, “as I said before, how is this possible?” Suited Alan, trying to fulfil his role as the eldest among the three Alans, started pacing around the Motel. As he had been in the Dark Place for longer than any of the others, he should have more knowledge about how the Dark Place works, and how this could have possibly happened. Meanwhile, Tweed Alan and Flannel Alan got the chance to talk. “Was flannel the only thing I… we… you could find?” Tweed Alan said, unsure how to address himself. “Hey, anything’s better than that. A hoodie, a parka, and a tweed jacket?” Flannel Alan jokingly replied. “We went to the Pacific Northwest, not the Antarctic.” “Well, at least we eventually get some fashion sense.” said Tweed Alan, gesturing in the direction of Suited Alan. “What year are you from anyway?” “2012,” Flannel Alan replied. “Oh, not long until I have this conversation again then.” joked Tweed Alan. “It’ll be just as good the second time, I’m sure.” replied Flannel Alan in a very deadpan way.
Suited Alan suddenly ran back to them, seeming to have an answer. “What were you two doing when the rifts appeared?” he asked. “I was starting a manuscript.” Tweed Alan said. “And I had just finished fighting through a manuscript,” answered Flannel Alan. “But what manuscript was that?” Suited Alan asked. All three of them answered with the same word. “Return.” “Time works like a spiral here,” Suited Alan explained. “Think about it. Three artists, connected by a single piece of art. That must have had such an influence on the Dark Place that it brought us together.” “That doesn’t make much sense.” Tweed Alan said disbelievingly. “Makes about as much sense as anything else here.” Flannel Alan replied. “The question remains, how do we,” Suited Alan pointed at himself and Tweed Alan, “get back to our times, our levels of the spiral?” Before anyone could answer, they heard noises around them. They were not alone. The Taken had found them.
The three Alans immediately sprang into action. While Tweed and Suited Alan pulled out pistols and flashlights, Flannel Alan pulled out a submachine gun. “You wouldn’t happen to have any more of those, would you?” Tweed Alan asked. “Just start hitting them with the light, I’ll shoot them!” Flannel Alan shouted. And so they fought. They fought until they were low on batteries and ammo, but the Taken kept coming. Backed against the garage, they feared for their lives. But just then, they heard something. A voice on the nearby radio. A voice they all knew all too well. “It's been two years. I -- this sounds awful, but yes, I believe he's dead. Otherwise he would've... well, you know.” the voice on the radio said. It was Alice. Somehow, the radio was repeating an earlier broadcast of Eddie Rodman’s show, Night Springs Radio. While it meant nothing to Tweed or Suited Alan, Flannel Alan seem to realise something. He dashed away from the Taken, beckoning for the other Alans to follow. “I know where we need to go!” he shouted.
They followed him away from the Motel, up the hill and past the oil derrick. “Oh hey, I remember this. Kasabian.” Suited Alan reminisced. “I’ve never really listened to Kasabian.” Tweed Alan said. “Well, I had a lot of time and not much else to do for the first two years.” Suited Alan replied. “We can compare music tastes later. Come on!” Flannel Alan shouted at them. They ran until they reached the canyon that Flannel Alan started from in every loop of his story. But hovering above the ground in that canyon was another rift. “But how did you know it would be here?” Tweed Alan asked. “Alice. I don’t know how, but it was her voice that showed me.” Flannel Alan replied. Suited Alan understood the power of the connection between him and Alice, and Tweed Alan had seen so much in the last hour that he didn’t bother questioning anything anymore, so there were no objections to that explanation. Seeing the Taken still close behind them, the Alans quickly jumped into the rift, leaving 2012 behind, and allowing the town of Night Springs, Arizona to return to the town it once was.
Chapter 2: The Shoebox And The Portal
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--2023--
Tim Breaker was content. At least, as content as you can be while trapped in a world of darkness underneath a lake. He was sat on a bench thinking about this, when suddenly three men dropped out of the sky right in front of him. As they stood up with groans, he recognised one of them immediately. “Hey Alan.” Tim said to the man he recognised. Strangely, all three looked at him when he said this, but only the man he knew responded. “Hey Tim.” said Alan, clearly still winded from the fall. It was then that Tim really looked at the other men with Alan. They looked exactly like him. “More doppelgangers, Alan? No offence to you, but I think the other two are more than enough.” “No Tim, these aren’t doppelgangers.” Alan explained. The other two men then took it upon themselves to introduce themselves to Tim. “My name is Alan Wake.” they both said in unison. Tim looked slightly confused, but less than you would expect from a man in his situation. He had seen enough over the past few days to know not to question anything that happened in the Dark Place.
“Tim, these guys are me from the past, or rather, different levels of the spiral of this place.” explained Suited Alan. “Guys, this is Tim Breaker. A friend, or someone I can trust at least, which is more than you can say for most people down here.” Both Alans looked at Tim with some sort of recognition. Tweed Alan spoke up. “Breaker? You’re not related to Sarah Breaker, by any chance?” “Yeah, that’s my cousin.” Tim said. “Is she not the sheriff of Bright Falls anymore?” asked Flannel Alan. “No, she went off to join the feds.” explained Tim. Suited Alan then interrupted their conversation, clearly tired of the pleasantries. “Look Tim, we need to find a rift. Kinda looks like a big crack in a wall. Any idea where it might be?” “I haven’t seen anything like that, sorry.” Tim said apologetically. “But I did notice something strange.” This peaked Alan’s interest, all three of them. “You know that shoebox in front of Parliament Tower? I thought Saga had taken everything out of there, but there was a manuscript page still in there.” Tim explained. “I didn’t put any manuscript page in there.” said Suited Alan. “Then that must be where we need to go.” exclaimed Flannel Alan. “Thanks for the help, Sheriff Breaker.” said Tweed Alan. “Please, call me Tim. You already do anyway.” joked Tim. With that, the three Alans rushed to Parliament Tower.
Arriving at the statue, the three of them took a minute to admire it. A statue of the woman they loved, a woman they had not seen for a long time. Weeks for one, years for the others. That was when Suited Alan noticed the shoebox he had placed the photos in. Just like Tim said, there was a manuscript page in there. Suited Alan took the page, and read it aloud to the others. “The three of them had made it. Just like the page promised, there was the rift, standing tall on the back wall of their dressing room. Their conversation with Mr. Door had helped them realise exactly what they needed to do. They looked at each other, all three with determination on their faces, and jumped into the rift.” “What kind of a name is Mr. Door?” asked Tweed Alan. “And what does it mean by a dressing room?” asked Flannel Alan. “I know where we need to go. Follow me.” said Suited Alan. He rushed off towards the Talk Show Studio, with both of him in tow. As they ran, it occurred to Alan, all of them, that something was not right about the manuscript page. The writing style was not like theirs. Like someone was trying to write like Alan, someone who knew his writing well. They would probably never know the true author, but with what Suited Alan knew, he hoped beyond hope that it was Alice. He hoped that somehow, she was still helping him, even now.
Arriving at the Talk Show Studio, they found it to be completely empty. Suited Alan at least expected Ahti, until he remembered that he was back at his writer’s room, finding a way for Saga to join him and finish his story. “Wait, who’s that?” asked Tweed Alan, pointing at a man behind a desk, almost invisible in the darkness of the studio. He got up, and the Alans approached him, all four now standing in the middle of the talk show set. The man did not look concerned, and that concerned Tweed and Flannel Alan. A man unafraid of being outnumbered three to one must be powerful. Of course, Suited Alan knew very well who he was. “What have you done, Mr. Wake?” asked Warlin Door. “Did you really think the only one who could save you was yourself? How very egotistical.” “I didn’t do this!” shouted Suited Alan. “This was an accident, and we’re trying to fix it.” “And how do you propose to do that? Do you even have a plan?” asked Mr. Door. “We need to get to our dressing room. That’s where the next rift is.” explained Tweed Alan. “And then what?” asked Mr. Door. “You’re going to write an ending to this? You’ve seen what your writings do. They give false hope, then take it all away.” The three Alans looked at each other, realising that Mr. Door was right. They had all tried to escape, and none of them had ever succeeded.
Just then, Flannel Alan seemed to come up with something. He turned to Mr. Door. “Yes, we’re going to write an ending. The most important ending in history.” He turned back to the other Alans, who both looked at him with a mix of confusion and intrigue. “Think about it. We were brought together by a single manuscript. And if he,” he pointed at Tweed Alan, “was just starting the manuscript, and I was, quite literally, in the middle of it, then where were you?” he asked Suited Alan. “At the end of it.” he said, seeming to realise the same thing as Flannel Alan. Suited Alan then continued their explanation to Mr. Door. “The ending of this story decides the fate of the entire world. I discussed the ending with Saga, but I have to write it myself. Far too much at stake for a single writer.” “And so the Dark Place gave us a single advantage; it brought all three of us together to write this ending.” realised Tweed Alan. “But why would it do that?” None of them knew, but Suited Alan once again hoped for Alice’s influence to have made it happen.
“An impressive plan, Mr. Wake.” Mr. Door interrupted. “But how do I know this isn’t going to do more harm than good? How do I know this isn’t more false hope, your modus operandi playing out like it always does?” Suited Alan seemed to piece something together. “That person you told me about, someone I pulled into the story. It doesn’t matter who it was, but if we don’t get to our writer’s room, everyone, including that person, will die. Please,” begged Suited Alan, “we’ll save her.” This seemed to resonate with Mr. Door. The lights flickered for just a moment, and he was gone. The three Alans took this as a good sign, and ran through the Talk Show Studio, Suited Alan taking the lead. They stopped just outside a room Suited Alan knew all too well. The three of them had made it. Just like the page promised, there was the rift, standing tall on the back wall of their dressing room. Their conversation with Mr. Door had helped them realise exactly what they needed to do. They looked at each other, all three with determination on their faces, and jumped into the rift.
Chapter 3: This Time There's Three Of Us
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--2010--
The three Alans reached their destination, this time all landing on their feet. Looking around, they all recognised where they were immediately. They had made it back to their writer’s room in Bird Leg Cabin. They ran to their desk, all accidentally running into each other trying to reach their chair. “This is my time; I’ll have the seat.” said Tweed Alan. With him in the seat and Flannel and Suited Alan standing awkwardly behind him, they set about putting their plan into motion. “What did you discuss with this Saga person for your ending?” asked Flannel Alan. “I let Scratch invade my mind, then Saga uses the Clicker and shoots me with the Bullet of Light in order to destroy him.” explained Suited Alan. The other Alans looked at him with a mix of confusion and disappointment. “And are we going to die?” asked Tweed Alan. “That was the plan, yes.” said Suited Alan. “And why does that have to happen?” asked Flannel Alan. “This is a horror story; any hero must pay a heavy price.” explained Suited Alan. “And why does this story have to follow the rules?” asked Tweed Alan. “This is about as unconventional as stories go, why should it have a conventional ending?” Flannel Alan continued.
Suited Alan looked at them as if they had just had the craziest idea ever, an idea that would never work. “Look, there are rules here. The ending has to be perfect, or it won’t come true.” “So what if there are rules?!” exclaimed Tweed Alan. “There’s one thing these rules would never have accounted for.” explained Flannel Alan. “This time there’s three of us.” Suited Alan started to come around to the idea. “Alright, but I need to talk to Saga about this. She’s my co-author, she needs to know what we’re doing.” “Do you have something in your writer’s room we could use to contact her?” asked Tweed Alan. “Yeah, there’s a TV.” said Suited Alan. “Perfect, we’ll find a way to contact her.” said Tweed Alan, beginning to type on his typewriter. “But you can’t just create something out of-“ started Suited Alan. “What did we just say about rules?”
--2023--
Saga stood in the writer’s room, very confused. Alan was nowhere to be seen. How could this have happened? Was she too late? As she was thinking this, the television in the corner of the room turned on, and Saga heard a familiar voice. “Saga? Can you hear me?” She looked at the TV, and saw Alan on the screen. “Saga, it’s Alan.” Then a man dressed in flannel appeared on his left. “Also Alan, hello.” Then a third man dressed in a tweed jacket appeared on his right. “Also Alan, don’t freak out.” “Dear God, there’s three of you.” Saga exclaimed. “Look Saga,” said Suited Alan. “We’ve come up with a plan.” “A way to save ourselves…” continued Tweed Alan. “While still saving everyone else.” continued Flannel Alan. “Great,” thought Saga. “They’re finishing each other sentences now.” “I thought you said we had to make a sacrifice.” said Saga. “Forget about that, these guys have helped me realise something.” “We don’t need a perfect ending.” “But we do need your help.” Saga felt very outnumbered in their conversation. “What do you need me to do?” she asked. “A sort of peer-review.” “We need to know you’re happy with the ending.” “And then we’ll bring it to you to end this.” And so they discussed the ending with Saga, making changes where she felt there should be changes, and finally finishing a story 13 years in the making.
--2010--
The Alans stood in the writer’s room, as two rifts appeared in front of them. “I’ve managed to write myself in control of the rifts.” explained Tweed Alan. “They’ll take you to where you need to go. However, I’ve added a small courtesy. You and I,” he said, pointing at Flannel Alan. “We won’t remember any of this once the rifts close.” “Why?” asked Flannel Alan. “We don’t have a good chance of getting out of here for over ten years.” explained Tweed Alan. “I know I certainly don’t want to remember that.” “But what about me?” asked Suited Alan. “Why should I still remember?” “Chronologically, this is the last time you’ll be here.” said Tweed Alan. “No point in you forgetting.” continued Flannel Alan. “Alright, well where’s the ending?” asked Suited Alan. “I locked it in one of the drawers of this desk. Here.” said Tweed Alan, throwing Suited Alan a key. “Open it when you get back; it’ll be there.” “Seems pretty ridiculous.” said Suited Alan. “Well, I thought having our escape be at arm’s reach for thirteen years would be a pretty good plot twist for your perfect ending.” explained Tweed Alan. “Now go on, go save the world.” Suited Alan looked at both of them solemnly, and said “I’m sorry for what you will have to go through.” Then he walked into his rift. “See you in a few years.” Tweed Alan said to Flannel Alan. Flannel Alan just smiled at him, then walked into his rift.
--2023--
Saga didn’t know what the weird thing that had appeared in the writer’s room was, but she sighed in relief when Alan stepped out of it. The Alan she knew. “Where’s the ending?” Saga asked, seeing that Alan wasn’t holding a manuscript page. Alan silently rushed to his desk and opened the drawer with his key. Inside was a single manuscript page. He thought it was pretty ironic that the ending had been there for thirteen years, and he had never known. “We finished it.” he said to her. “The ending we talked about.” “I have the Clicker. And the Bullet of Light. Let’s do it.” As Alan and Saga prepared for Casey’s arrival at the writer’s room, he noticed that there was a final paragraph written in pencil at the bottom of the page. Alan had no memory of writing it, but that was to be expected. He thought about that paragraph as Scratch entered his mind. As Saga shot him with the Bullet of Light. As Alan survived the shot and finally defeated Scratch once and for all. As he walked out of the writer’s room a free man.
Tim sometimes asked me if I dream. "Of course I dream," I told him. "Everybody dreams." "But what do you dream about?" he'd ask. "The same thing everybody dreams about," I told him. "I dream about where I'm going." He always laughed at that. "But you're not going anywhere. You're just wandering about." That's not true. Not anymore. I have a new destination. My journey is the same as yours, the same as anyone's. It's taken me so many years, so many lifetimes, but at last I know where I'm going... where I've always been going. Home... the long way round.