Who Am I to Look into a Mirror? - SCP Foundation

Dr. Wondertainment led a surprisingly mundane existence. Given his influence and infamy, one might expect a life brimming with intrigue or eccentricity. Yet, here he was, sitting in a skyscraper, gazing down upon the vast land that once echoed with wonder.

A lifetime ago he had affectionately named it "Wonderland." But the truth was that Wonderland had long been stripped of its magic. The toy-making factories had been done away with years ago. What remained was no different from any other dreary industrial district. The only thing that set it apart was the thin facade that desperately tried to mask the otherwise depressing atmosphere. Not that it needed to try too hard—his workers would obey his every word, unquestioningly. They would die for him if he asked.

Dr. Wondertainment sighed, sinking deeper into his chair. It's for the greater good he thought to himself. In a better, more structured world, there was no room for toys. The factories were far better suited for producing food, clothing, and other dull necessities, or so he kept telling himself.

He fiddled with his fingers for a moment, tracing the grooves on the armrest, his foot tapping against the floor. Then, without warning, he jerked his hand forward, looking down at his wrist. No watch. He blinked, confused for a brief second, before impatiently pushing himself up from his chair. He made his way across his office, placing his hand on the doorknob of the exit door, which honked under his grip. With an almost violent twist, he yanked the door open.

On the other side stood an impossibly large clock. It resembled a grandfather clock, but it stretched endlessly upward, disappearing into the reaches of an unseen roof. He turned to the right, ignoring the clock and instead, focused on the third moon outside the window. It hung low in the sky, watching him with vacant eyes. As he stared, the moon stared back and silently mouthed the words: "11:29 AM."

Dr. Wondertainment took a step back, his forehead creasing with confusion. No, no, no. That couldn't be right. Hours had passed—days, maybe even years! How could it have only been two hours since he last checked the time?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden vibration near his wrist. He looked down again, and there it was—his watch, as though it had always been there. Right. Time for his scheduled meeting. With a snap of his fingers, the world around him dissolved like wet paint, reforming into a bright pink-and-purple room filled with toys. In the center of it all was a massive shining golden computer sitting atop a table, the initials "DW" engraved on its surface.

He strolled over before practically collapsing into the chair. It groaned under his weight. Maybe, just maybe, this meeting would be a good way to kill some time.

Or maybe time had already been killing him.

The monitor flickered to life, revealing the silhouettes of a dozen shadowy figures. Dr. Wondertainment scoffed, rolling his eyes. The theatrics of it all—hiding behind obscured identities when everyone knew exactly who was on the other end. What a waste. His fingers twitched on the armrest as he shifted in his seat.

The screen's silence flickered until, out of the dim silhouettes, one of the figures spoke. The voice was rough, strained, and heavy with gravity. "James Hodge, Director of the Unusual Incidents Unit, is dead."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Dr. Wondertainment felt time slow down—though, in his world, time was never quite reliable. Still, the news drew his interest. He leaned forward slightly, though not out of concern.

"Dead? Really?" His voice broke through the scree. "Was it the paperwork? Always knew that'd be the death of him."

The shadowy figure ignored the comment. "His body was found yesterday, circumstances unknown. It wasn't an isolated incident. Assets around the globe are being compromised. From Europe to South America, key figures are disappearing or turning up dead. We've no leads—no trails. This isn't coincidence."

The call fell silent. Wondertainment tapped his fingers against the armrest, his grin growing. "And you're telling us this why? Because we're next?" He tilted his head, eyes flickering with amusement. “I never liked James.”

"Possibly. We don't know the motive yet, or the method. But whatever it is, it's deliberate. Someone, or something, is systematically targeting our structure, and we need to be prepared." The man responded, ignoring the last comment. "Be on alert."

Around the room, the shadows stirred, some muttering quietly. Dr. Wondertainment reclined in his seat, thoroughly entertained by the sudden panic creeping into the others. "Oh, dear. What a tragedy," he said in mock sincerity. "Isn't it funny how the mighty fall so easily?"

One of the silhouettes snapped back, "This is serious, Wondertainment. If Hodge could be taken out, no one is safe."

The toymaker waved a hand dismissively. "Safe, unsafe, it’s all just semantics, isn’t it? Besides, if someone’s going around playing the Grim Reaper, they’re bound to show their hand soon enough. They always do." His smile widened. "I’m more interested in what comes after the fall. Isn’t that where the fun really begins?"

While most of them traded hushed whispers about increasing security measures, Wondertainment only kept his smile.

"Let me know when the next one drops," he said, his voice almost sing-song. "I’ll be watching closely." With that, he leaned back, disconnecting from the call.

For the first time in a long time, Dr. Wondertainment felt a spark of something real—a tinge of excitement, of anticipation. It was something different from the dull hum of monotony that had dominated his life in recent times. This office work, the endless meetings, the lifeless, obedient workers—it all grated on him. But now? Now there was a chance for fun again. Real fun.

He stood up from his desk, hands twitching with barely restrained glee. Oh, what games he could play with this mysterious threat, the one supposedly killing off key figures around the world. He would send his Little Misters to track them down at once—oh, the possibilities! Maybe they'd play a game of tag…. Or perhaps, he'd wind this figure up like one of his old toys, twist their mind and body into something amusing! His mind whirred with possibilities, and he was practically bouncing with excitement.

Grabbing the door handle, he twisted it sharply and stepped forward, expecting to find his brightly colored office where more toys awaited. But instead, he froze.

The room before him wasn’t the vibrant conglomeration of colors he was accustomed to, nor was it the usual endless expanse of Wonderland. No, this was different. The room was…elegant. There were towering shelves filled with books, their spines old and worn, illuminated by the warm glow of a grand chandelier hanging above. In the center of the room sat an enormous, crackling bonfire that didn’t seem to emit any heat, but cast flickering shadows across the floor. It was a strange, almost otherworldly kind of beauty.

Dr. Wondertainment turned in place, scanning the room with a look of genuine confusion on his face. For the first time in a while, he wasn’t sure what was happening, and that uncertainty thrilled him.

“I’m so glad you could join me.”

The voice was soft, but it carried with it a weight that seemed to bend the very air. Dr. Wondertainment spun around to face the speaker and found himself staring at a figure sitting casually in a plush, high-backed chair. The figure’s silhouette was vague, like a person wrapped in shadow, blending into the light of the room. There were no defining features, no eyes, no face—just a man shaped hole in reality that spoke.

Dr. Wondertainment's confusion melted away, replaced by a wide grin. "Oh! I wasn’t expecting a playdate so soon!" He walked closer to the figure. "Let me guess—you’re the one they’re all so afraid of? The one killing off all my colleagues?"

The figure didn’t move. "Perhaps. Does it matter?"

"Not in the slightest!" Wondertainment laughed, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. "What does matter is that you’ve made my day. All these dull meetings, these drones doing everything I say without so much as a question—it’s been dreadful!" He clasped his hands together, eyes gleaming. "But you… you might just be the most interesting thing to happen in years!"

The figure tilted its head slightly. "Interesting? I suppose that’s one way to describe me." There was a pause, a beat of silence. Then, in a casual tone, the figure added, "I’m here to kill you."

Wondertainment stopped pacing, his grin never faltering. "Oh, is that all? Well, I must say, you’ve got your work cut out for you." He chortled, moving closer to the figure. "But I do so love a challenge. How about a game? After all, you wouldn’t kill me without giving me a chance to play first, right?"

The figure seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded slowly. "A game, then." A smile crossed the doctor's face.

Dr. Wondertainment sat in his chair, opposite to the figure, twirling a bright, golden card between his fingers. His vibrant purple coat shimmered in the low firelight, casting an odd glow across the small, dimly lit room. Across the table the figure sat, still and silent.

Wondertainment gave a wide grin, eyes gleaming. "So, a game of truths, is it?" he said, the lilt in his voice playful. "My, how utterly boring."

The figure inclined their head slightly, as if considering. "The truth is rarely boring," they replied, their voice calm, steady, almost mechanical in its detachment. "It's just that most are unwilling to face it."

"Let’s not make it boring, then," Wondertainment countered, placing his cards carefully in front of him. Three shining cards, each representing a life within the game. Across from him, the figure did the same. The cards seemed to materialize out of the darkness, their backs glinting under the low light.

The figure simply stared blankly before speaking. "Well then, shall we begin?"

Wondertainment tapped his cards with his index finger, pretending to think. He wasn’t concerned. No one could beat him at mind games. He lived for these games. “Let’s start simple,” he said, leaning forward. “What drives you? What’s your purpose in all of this?”

The figure didn’t hesitate, as if they had rehearsed the answer a thousand times. “Curiosity.”

Wondertainment blinked. Curiosity? That was all? His grin widened—too easy. "Curiosity?" He repeated the word with mock disbelief, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I would have thought someone like you would have a grander ambition. Something with meaning." His eyes twinkled, but there was a growing sense of unease creeping in. This was too straightforward. A trap, perhaps?

The figure did not flinch. "Curiosity is enough." There was no emotion in the tone, but something in those words felt absolute.

Wondertainment’s grin flickered. He could usually read his opponents like open books, seeing their doubts, insecurities, desires—pieces he could play with. But this one, this thing… they were impossible to read. A blank page.

No matter, he told himself. Keep playing.

"My turn." The figure’s voice was as soft as before. "What do you regret most?"

Wondertainment let out a laugh that echoed in the room. "Regret? Oh, my dear shadowy friend, regret is for those who fail!" He spread his arms wide. "And I, well… I don’t fail. No room for regrets when you’re always moving forward, creating more, inventing more."

The figure was still. Watching. Waiting.

For a moment, Wondertainment thought he saw something—just the faintest twitch of a movement in the figure’s posture, a tilt of the head. It was brief, so brief that he couldn’t be sure if he had imagined it. But in that fleeting moment, a thought crossed his mind: they didn’t believe him. He felt it like a weight in the air, the figure seeing past his laughter to something deeper, something he wasn’t willing to acknowledge.

Dr. Wondertainment could feel his own words hanging in the air, hollow, echoing back at him.

His grin tightened. "Curiosity is a dangerous thing," Wondertainment quipped, trying to regain his playful tone. "It can lead you down some very dark paths."

The figure’s voice cut through him. "And yet, you avoid answering the question."

Wondertainment’s fingers twitched against the edge of his card. That statement—it felt like a jab. But the figure hadn’t moved, hadn’t raised their voice. How did they do that? How did they make him feel so exposed, so… readable?

He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. "Fine. I’ll bite." His grin was still there, but the fire behind it was starting to flicker. "Regret? Maybe I regret trusting too many people." The words slipped out before he could stop them. He quickly followed with a laugh, brushing it off. "But that's all in the past! I’ve learned my lesson."

The figure remained silent, and again, that oppressive feeling returned, like he was being seen in a way no one had ever seen him before. It was unnerving.

“That’s a lie. Lose a card,” the figure said softly.

Wondertainment blinked. “What?”

“You deflected. You avoided the truth.” The figure's voice was calm, without a hint of malice. “Lose a card.”

For the first time, Wondertainment’s confidence faltered. His fingers twitched again, and one of his cards shimmered and disappeared. He stared at the empty space where the card had been. How had that happened? He was supposed to be in control of this game, and yet…

No. He wasn’t going to lose to some blank-faced shadow.

He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Let’s see if you can keep up." His voice sharpened as his mind worked to regain control. "What’s your biggest failure, then? What’s the one thing you wish you could change?"

The figure paused, as if the question actually required thought. "I have no failures."

Wondertainment laughed, louder than before. "No failures? My, my, you are a confident one, aren’t you? But everyone has failed at something. You’re lying." No cards disappeared from the figure's hand; in fact, another black card manifested. Dr. Wondertainment cursed under his breath—he was wrong.

"No," the figure said, "I haven’t failed. Because I haven’t finished."

It was as if the figure wasn’t lying—not in the conventional sense, at least—but rather, their entire being believed in that truth. They hadn’t failed because their journey wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t a boast; it was just… fact.

A chill ran down Wondertainment’s spine, but he didn’t let it show. He couldn’t. Not now.

"My turn," the figure continued. "What are you afraid of losing the most?"

Wondertainment’s grin faltered, just for a second, but it was enough. The figure noticed, he was sure of it. His mind raced.

"Oh, that’s easy! Nothing! I have nothing to lose." His voice was light, almost carefree, but the figure said nothing, and that silence weighed heavier than any response.

"You’re lying again," the figure said again softly.

Wondertainment felt a lump in his throat. For the first time in this game, he was truly unnerved. The figure wasn’t just playing the game—they were seeing him. Peeling back the layers, exposing parts of him he didn’t even want to admit existed. He was Dr. Wondertainment. He controlled this world. No one was supposed to see through the mask.

And yet, here they were.

He looked down at the last remaining card in front of him. Another one had just vanished. No one had ever made him lose focus like this.

The figure was still, waiting. Their calmness felt almost invasive, suffocating even.

He had one card left. One last chance.

Wondertainment closed his eyes for a moment, focusing, gathering himself. He was a master of his craft—no one could match his intellect, his wit. He had seen a million years of knowledge, lived through eons of experience, witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations. He could out-think, out-play anyone. Surely, this figure was no exception.

He opened his eyes, and his mind began to race. He had to ask the perfect question—one that would shatter the figure’s composure, one that would force them into a lie. He couldn’t afford to slip again.

But the figure’s aura… It ate at him. There was no arrogance, no triumph in their posture. Just calm, unshakable calm. He could feel their eyes on him, or at least he imagined he could. Reading him. Seeing him.

What do I ask?

His thoughts spiraled, sifting through a billions possible questions. He thought of riddles, of complex philosophical dilemmas, of moral quandaries that had stumped the greatest minds throughout history.

The more he thought, the more his mind swam in its own depths. He drew upon everything he had learned from countless beings, from the brightest intellects across time and space. He considered the nature of existence, of reality itself.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, he settled on a question. Simple yet perfect.

He leaned forward, eyes locking onto the figure’s shadowy form. "Tell me," he began, his voice carefully controlled, "if you were to know the outcome of all things—every possible future, every conceivable choice and consequence—what would you choose to change? If you had the power to rewrite existence itself, what would you alter?"

The room was silent. Wondertainment held his breath. It was the kind of question that had no simple answer, a question that would force the figure to reveal something—anything—about themselves. A question that would often be impossible to answer truly, as one might not even know what they believe themselves.

And then, in that suffocating silence, the figure responded.

"Nothing."

Dr. Wondertainment blinked. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," the figure repeated. "I would change nothing."

The simplicity of the answer hit him like a sledgehammer. A single, devastating word. There was no hesitation in their voice, no ambiguity. It wasn’t a deflection. It wasn’t avoidance.

It was the truth.

And in that moment, he realized that he had lost. Their answer was both complete and incomprehensible in its simplicity.

The figure didn’t give him time to recover. They tilted their head slightly as they spoke.

"My turn," Their voice was so calm. The figure leaned forward slightly. "What are you?"

Wondertainment froze.

The question was so simple, so basic, and yet it cut deeper than anything he had expected. What are you? The words echoed in his mind, reverberating through him. It was such a basic question. But behind those words, there was something else. A meaning he couldn't grasp, a weight that felt unbearable. What was he?

He wanted to laugh it off, to shrug and give some clever, dismissive answer. But the figure’s eyes—or at least, the sense of their gaze—held him in place. They weren’t asking for a lie. They weren’t asking for the mask, for the persona of Dr. Wondertainment. They were asking him to look at himself, to confront something he had never dared to confront.

What are you?

He felt it for the first time. Pure, unfiltered panic.

He could lie. He could bluff his way through. But somehow, he knew the figure would see through it. They had already seen through every deflection, every mask. What could he say?

The silence stretched on.

And in that silence, Wondertainment realized that he didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know what he was anymore.

His final card shimmered, flickered, and disappeared.

Wondertainment stared blankly at the space where his final card had vanished. The game was over. A heavy silence hung in the air, colder than before, and the weight of his defeat settled deeper than he ever thought possible.

So this is it, he thought, the realization sinking into him. He had known the stakes, understood that this wasn’t a game for fun or status—it was a game for everything. And he had lost.

The figure stood, rising in a single movement. They didn’t say a word. They didn’t need to.

Dr. Wondertainment’s chest tightened. The coldness in the room seeped into his bones, and the once vibrant colors of his world dulled to muted shades. He understood now. This wasn’t just a loss. This was his end.

For a long time, he sat in that silence, letting it sink in. He had lived for eons, created wonders beyond comprehension, delighted children and baffled gods. But in the end, all those years, all that knowledge, had led him here—sitting in a dimly lit room, defeated, powerless, and alone.

Is this really how it ends?

A part of him wanted to fight it, to resist, to keep playing, to come up with a clever trick or some loophole. But another part, deeper and more truthful, knew it was pointless. He had given everything he had, and it wasn’t enough.

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the beginning—the very beginning, long before he was the Doctor, before he was Wondertainment. He remembered the first time he had made something with his hands, something special. A toy, for a boy he barely knew. It had been simple, just a little wooden figure with joints that moved. But when the boy’s eyes lit up, when he laughed and clutched the toy to his chest, Wondertainment had felt something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Joy.

He smiled, remembering that moment. He had been proud, not of the toy itself, but of the happiness it had brought. That was why he had started. That was why he had created all the things he did. It wasn’t about power or fame or cleverness. It was about joy.

If I could do it again, he thought, the cold now reaching his heart, I’d do it differently. I’d remember that joy.

The memory warmed him, if only for a moment. He smiled softly, letting himself savor it. The boy’s laughter echoed in his mind, a sound that had been buried beneath years of ambition and games.

It all led to this. His eyes drifted closed. But maybe that’s okay.

The figure had made their way to the door, moving with that same slow and composed complexion.

"Wait," Wondertainment’s voice came out weak, softer than he had expected. His chest felt tight, each breath a little harder than the last. He wasn’t sure how much longer he had. But there was one thing left. One thing he needed to know.

The figure paused, their hand hovering just above the door. They didn’t turn to face him, but Wondertainment felt their attention shift.

"What…" he hesitated, his throat dry. "What’s your name?"

For the briefest moment, there was silence. The figure stood still, unmoving, as if contemplating whether to answer at all. Then, in a voice that was calm, steady, and utterly indifferent, the figure spoke.

"I'm Nobody."

The words echoed in the air. And then, without another word, the figure left, disappearing into the shadows.

Wondertainment chuckled weakly, the sound barely escaping his lips. Nobody. Of course. It was fitting, in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

The room grew darker, the cold now a part of him. His body felt heavy, his mind sluggish. But that memory, the memory of the boy and the toy, stayed with him. And in his last moments, as the world faded to black, he held onto that warmth.

He smiled. As he closed his eyes, he felt something—a cigarette placed in his mouth—and heard the chink of a lighter. He chuckled. And then, he was gone.

As the figure departed and the toymaker passed, the room began to dim, the great bonfire slowly dying. On the table, where four sleek, shadowy black cards remained, one began to fade away.

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