“You fix – the Fourth Wall?” the Narrator choked. He was, quite clearly, trying not to laugh. “Are you serious? As if that was something that needed fixing!”

After taking a much-needed moment to compose himself, the Narrator said in a measured tone, “It seems you might have the credentials to be the central protagonist of one of my stories. I can see it already: The Inkblot Parable, an interactive story-filled adventure, filled with witty and insightful commentary on the nature of video gaming.”

He paused.

“Ugh, no, wait. I already did that.”

He mumbled some profanity under his breath.

The Repairman’s entire body reddened slightly as his breath became a bit heavier. Of all people, this narrator was telling him the Fourth Wall didn’t need fixing? Really? The Repairman was made for this job, and it was all he could do to not rant and rave at this… this voice telling him his lifelong career was worthless.

The Repairman eventually swallowed his pride and listened to the Narrator’s pitch. After it was over, the Repairman looked out the window, then went back into his toolbox to search for his trowel and his bucket of cement.

Before he got those out, he tossed out an inner tube, a 6-pack of brand-free soda, and a sign that said “You did? Do tell.”

There were a few moments of silence, presumably so the Narrator could read and process the scribbled note that had been left for him. There were a few more moments of silence after that, presumably so the Narrator could feel positively affronted in peace and quiet. And then there were a few more moments of silence after that, to the point that the entire atmosphere of the place became awkward and vaguely uncomfortable.

“Weeelll,” drawled the Narrator. “These ‘priorities’ that you talk about. What are they? Do they fit within some kind of cohesive narrative? Some kind of” – his voice changed a little, filled with some strange and indescribable emotion – “story?”

The Repairman took the time to look outside the window. There was nothing out there, yet there were still a few cracks. Odd.

As the silence dragged on, the Repairman began unconsciously looking up, awaiting the “automated” voice. He swallowed. Had he offended him?

He sighed in relief as the voice continued. And then he cringed, looking at the crack next to him.

As he didn’t want to make his job here harder, he still refused to talk to the Narrator directly. Instead, he dug into his toolbox and pulled out several signs. He began sifting through them, and the signs he set aside coincidentally said the following (with similarly sloppy writing):

“I fix the Fourth Wall.”

“I don’t know, never thought about it that way.”

“I just try to focus on my job.”

“I don’t know if it pieces together.”

The inkblot perked up.

“Wait.”

“I can be the star of a story?”

“Is that what you’re saying?”

Finally, the Repairman got to a yellow sign that said “Man at work” and placed it near the window.