Nico's Proposal - SCP Foundation

Fritz sat at a curved desk with only a lamp, a bottle, and two glasses on its surface. The rest of the room was sparsely decorated with a replica statue of David, a statue of an angel carrying the Foundation logo, and hunting trophies of an ox, a lion, and an eagle. The statue of the angel in particular stuck out among them, its blank eyes looking in the direction of the door. Fritz pushed a pair of spectacles up his crooked nose and drummed his fingers along the surface of his desk.

A knocking, then creaking, summoned his attention.

"Ah, hello. Finally ready?" Fritz smiled at the figure at the door.

A gaunt man with a mop of greying hair entered the office. His pace was slow and careful, as if he were calculating something. "Yes," Mann spoke, pausing for a moment to meet eyes with the angel statue. Feeling its burning gaze upon him, he quickly moved on.

"Good, good. Here, have some whiskey. I've got plenty to spare." Fritz grabbed the bottle and poured out two drinks. He held the second glass out for Mann, who gently took it and swirled the drink in its receptacle. Dark brown. Nutty scent.

"Thank you," he said. Fritz stood, raising his glass to match Mann's.

Clink.

They both drank.

Mann gagged. "What is this, quinoa whiskey?" His eyes turned to the bottle, where he spotted the dreaded ingredient.

"Don't like it? I wanted to try something different."

"It's disgusting." He put the glass back down on the table.

Clink.

"Shame. I like the chocolatey, earthy tones."

Silence.

"Well, my boy," Fritz continued, "you certainly didn't come to my office to drink lousy whiskey and shoot the breeze."

"I didn't."

"Let's get down to business."

Mann nodded, and they both took a seat.

"You know, the role of Administrator is not one handed to the unworthy. I chose you because you have what it takes. I made sure of this myself. Ever since you first joined the Foundation all those years ago, I've had my eye on you," Fritz grinned.

"Please. As if my experiments were even that interesting to begin with."

"But they were. Your exercises in exploring undeath were revolutionary. That's when I knew you were destined for greatness. Your ascent into the leadership of the medical corps was not undeserved, son. You were doing the Lord's work, truly."

"You flatter me."

"Of course, it's not like you could do any of the things you did back then nowadays. Not with the damned Ethics Committee shoving their noses into everything… but I digress. With you as the new Administrator, the Foundation will continue to prosper as it has for time immemorial."

There was a pause as if Fritz was expecting Mann to say something in response.

"I'm here to reject the title."

Fritz's expression remained unchanged. He set down the glass and merely stared Mann down.

Mann cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to disappoint."

"You haven't gone soft, have you?" Fritz's statuesque figure sent shivers down Mann's spine. "You always were a man of action. What happened to you?"

"Nothing. I just don't want to perpetuate the Foundation in your stead."

"And why is that?"

"Because I believe the world has grown beyond the need for a Foundation."

Fritz thumbed the glass in his hand. He leaned forward in his chair and poured himself another shot of whiskey. Fritz gingerly sipped the shot, his eyes on nothing but the dark wood of the desk. He looked back at Mann, his gaze icy and distant. The smile on his face, once warm and friendly, had turned bitter and cold.

"The world needs us," Fritz said, voice low. "We protect the status quo."

"That's something I've considered as well."

Fritz only stared, giving his glass a minute shake.

Mann took a breath and continued. "We can't protect the status quo anymore. There are nearly ten thousand objects in containment, and the rate of discovery increases every day. What if the definition of normal has changed? What if the world is just this weird and we're fighting a futile war to keep it all in check? We can't keep playing God."

"The Foundation is the status quo, and it is forever unchanging. For it to go, for it to dissolve now would mean a disaster for the world at large. Do you know how many K-Class scenarios we mitigate on a yearly basis?"

"And do you know how many go through with no sense of consequence?"

"That's hardly important to the topic at hand."

Fritz set down the shot glass with enough force for it to cause an echo in the room. Mann fought down a smile; he had gotten to him. "But it is. It means the world can survive without the Foundation. It means we aren't necessary."

"And pray tell, Everett, how long have you felt this way?"

"Some time now."

"Why did you not simply quit if you believed that your work here was pointless? Why remain in your position as O5? Why accept the promotion?"

Mann sighed. "I don't know." He looked away, breaking eye contact for a moment. "I just thought that maybe if I stuck around longer I could find some meaning in it all. But I suppose I was grasping at straws. Desperate to hold onto what I believed, what I had known to be correct my whole life. But I see now I was wrong."

Fritz leaned far back into his chair, his face slipping into the shadows outside his singular desk lamp. "I see," he said. His hands made their way to his lap, where their fingers intertwined. "Then I suppose it's too late to tell you about SCP-001."

"I've made my peace with never knowing."

"No such peace is necessary. You will know. SCP-001 is the position of the Administrator itself."

Mann waited for a follow-up that didn't come. Once his curiosity got the better of him, he asked: "Why?"

"It's a failsafe. Without the Foundation, the Administrator can't exist. So without the Administrator, neither can the Foundation. It's simple, really."

"Oh stop being dramatic, Fritz. I won't be guilted out of reneging the title. You have other candidates."

"We did, yes. That was until you accepted."

Mann crossed his arms. "It was a spur-of-the-moment acceptance. Now that I have had time to think, I'm no longer afraid of whatever you'll do to me. I have lived plent—"

"Don't be so god damned stupid, Everett."

The acid in Fritz's tone was enough to shut Mann up.

"No one is here to kill you. No one is here to reassign you to Antarctica. And worst of all, no one here is capable of compelling you to say yes."

Fritz sighed.

"I officially resigned from the position of Administrator twenty-two minutes ago. It's over."

Mann raised his eyebrows, then a huff of confused amusement left his lips. "Come now. I'm not buying it."

"I don't think you're fully understanding me. The SCP Foundation ceases to exist without an Administrator. Without someone on the throne, everything starts coming undone."

"I don't believe you."

"Take a look for yourself."

He leaned back on his chair to look at the Foundation logo carved into the angel statue. The symbol which had permeated his life ever since he graduated from medical school all those decades ago was fading, as if it were being reclaimed by the marble itself. Mann sat back for a moment before leaning forward again.

"I hadn't anticipated your change of heart. I was so sure of your commitment. You were so promising, so full of vigor. Vision. Some other positive v-word," Fritz scoffed.

"So, now what? If I don't take on the job the Foundation just ceases to be?"

"Precisely."

"And no one has refused the position before me?"

"Not after accepting it first!"

"And what's stopping you from taking it back?"

"It's too late for that. I already gave it up. The power that held me to it has worn off, and it's ready for a new host that doesn't exist."

"That's… that's stupid."

"Maybe it is, Everett. But it was the type of stupid to survive hundreds of years without a hitch. We wanted security, so we created this method. An unbreakable tie between the organization and its head, so that we would never be headless. Never be directionless. Our pillars could not be broken. As long as one existed, so did the other. It was immortality, Everett. It is immortality. My strength was the strength of four million personnel and thirty thousand containment cells, the strength of eight hundred Sites and Areas across forty dimensions maintained by thirteen Overseers. And their strength was me. Was the Administrator. Was SCP-001. Recursive life, Everett. As long as one exists, so does the other. As soon as one doesn't…"

They were quiet for a moment before Fritz spoke up again.

"But now you get to find out if the world really needs the Foundation. Or will you? Maybe you're too Foundation to survive the transition."

"Fuck you, Fritz."

Fritz laughed with the scorn of a man who knew he was already dead. "What's the matter? Are you having second thoughts? The power still hangs in the air, Everett. You still have the ability to—"

"I made up my mind already. I won't become the Administrator."

Fritz splayed out his hands. "Then you're the master of our destiny. Succeeded in what so many failed to accomplish: the undoing of the Foundation. Shall we sit until everything comes undone?"

"Sure. Pass me another shot."

"I thought you hated it."

"It's better than nothing."

"Very well."

Fritz poured another shot for himself and one for Mann. He slid the glass across the desk.

"To the Foundation. It was good while it lasted."

"Whatever you say, Fritz."

Clink.

Mann struggled not to gag at the flavor he so disliked. Fritz smacked his lips contentedly, his opinion altogether different.

The two men sat in silence. Five minutes passed. Ten. Twelve.

"I regret joining the Foundation," Mann spoke up.

"Why is that?"

"I could have had a life. I could have remained ignorant of all of this nonsense and lived free of the curse of knowledge. I could have been happy."

Fritz merely chuckled.

The statue wavered slightly as the symbol it had once held so inviolably further waned. Mann couldn't help but feel this was accusatory.

"I've often wondered what my life would have been like if I hadn't joined myself," Fritz mused. "Maybe I'd have been an explorer."

"Sometimes I forget you were born before the seventh continent was discovered."

"What about you? What would you want to do with your life?"

"I would have been a doctor. Put my degree to use. Help people."

The Foundation logo held by the angel was now barely an outline — still present, but quickly fading, like a sunset on a winter day.

"I find this rich, coming from the man who made his name hacking his way through corpses and cadavers. You? Help people with normal medicine? Your license wouldn't last a year."

Mann snickered.

"It wouldn't be the first time I surprised you, old man."

"But it's not as if your work was purely macabre. Your research into undeath allowed Doctor Masterson to live long enough to synthesize a cure for SCP-008."

"Fritz."

"Your research into prosthetics facilitated Doctor Everwood's promising career even after losing their arm."

"Fritz."

"You even personally crafted a partial cure for the Clockwork Vi—"

"It doesn't matter what I did, especially if the world is meant to be like this. I just upset the natural order."

"Can't blame an old man for trying, can you?"

Mann smiled and shook his head.

"You're as stubborn as a mule."

"And you changed, Everett."

The two fell silent again.

More time passed.

The statue was now devoid of any carvings.

"What do you think happens next?"

"I don't know. But it's too late for guessing now."

"Are you scared?"

"For the first time in years."

The angel statue fell,

and then they were nothing.

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