Promotion - SCP Foundation

Dr. Jameson stood at the end of a long, dimly lit corridor; staring at the door labeled B-417. He’d been with Site-70 for years, but he’d only rarely been to this part before. This section was off the main path, in a neglected corner of the site.

He was following directions from an email he had received at precisely 3:17. It had no subject line, no sender, and no explanation - just a terse instruction to come to Room B-417 at exactly 3:45. It contained nothing else.

He reached out, feeling the cold metal of the door handle. He paused for a moment, taking in the stillness one last time, then opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was small and nearly bare, dimly illuminated by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the low light. There were no screens, no sign of anyone waiting to meet him. There was a plain metal table positioned in the very center, with a white envelope resting on its surface. It was thick and sealed with dark red wax, bearing the insignia of the Foundation. The bold letters on the front read: "Dr. Jameson - For Your Eyes Only."

Slowly, he walked over to the table and picked up the envelope. He cracked the seal open, unfolded the letter inside, and began to read.

Dr. Jameson,

Effective immediately, you have been appointed as the Administrator of the SCP Foundation.

You are to remain undercover. Continue in your present duties as a researcher at Site-70. Reveal your role to no one except for the O5 council.

You are to receive additional instructions on how to conduct your duties as the Administrator shortly.

This letter is to be destroyed after reading.

Dr. Walsh shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth as he stared at the security monitor. On the screen, Jameson stood in the middle of Room B-417, holding the letter. Walsh’s laughter bubbled out uncontrollably, barely muffled by the beer can in his other hand.

"Holy shit!" Walsh wheezed, slamming the table with his free hand. "He fucking believed it!"

Dr. Porter leaned back in his chair, legs up on the desk, a beer in one hand and a bowl of chips balanced on his lap. "Dude I told you this would work! He thinks he runs the Foundation now!" His voice cracked as he dissolved into another fit of laughter. "This is our fucking masterpiece! Way better than when we convinced him the coffee machine was sentient."

Walsh clutched his stomach, tears streaming down his face. "Oh, shit, he’s looking around like someone’s about to pop out and knight him with a fucking sword."

Porter snorted, almost choking on his beer. "He’s probably waiting for trumpets or some shit. 'All hail Saint Jameson, Savior of Humanity!'"

"Dude," Walsh said, still chuckling. "What do you think he’s gonna do next? Talk to the O5s? 'My fellow Overseers, thank you for your trust. I will lead with courage, wisdom, and the utmost dedication. PS: Can I have Fridays off?'"

Porter laughed uncontrollably. "Bro, he’s definitely gonna start an Excel sheet called 'Save Humanity'"

"Jameson the Administrator. Man, I can’t wait to see his face when he…"

Porter froze, his laughter cutting off mid-sentence. Walsh blinked and turned toward him, confused. "What? What’s wrong?"

Porter’s face had gone pale with his eyes fixed on the screen. "Uh… dude… he’s making a call."

Walsh frowned, squinting at the monitor. Sure enough, Jameson had pulled out his tablet and was swiping through a secure interface. Walsh’s confusion deepened, his buzz starting to fade. "Wait… what the fuck is he doing?"

They both leaned in, watching intently as Jameson tapped something on the screen. Then, his voice came through the monitor’s speakers, clear and steady, yet chillingly calm.

"Code Black," Jameson said into the tablet. "My cover has been compromised. Someone in this site knows who I am."

The color drained from Walsh’s face. Porter’s voice was barely above a whisper. "What… the fuck?"

They watched as Jameson continued with a calm and professional tone. "Deploy Resh-1. Full lockdown on the site. Prepare for extraction."

Both Porter and Walsh remained frozen for a full minute, watching the screen as Jameson waited calmly. Porter broke the silence first, barely whispering. "He’s… he’s not actually the fucking Administrator, right?"

Walsh didn’t move, didn’t blink. "No fucking way, dude. He’s Jameson, the guy who stapled his own tie to a form last week."

"But what if…" Porter’s voice cracked, his face pale. "What if he’s been undercover? Like, they planted him here as some secret boss guy?"

Walsh shook his head. "No way. This is Jameson. He’s got, like, a drawer full of M&Ms and a cactus he named 'Spike.' The dude is not the fucking Administr-"

Before Walsh could finish, a deafening sound blasted through the room, cutting him off. Both covered their ears as the speakers crackled to life.

A cold, automated voice started echoing in the room.

"Attention. Code Black initiated. The site is now under full lockdown. All personnel are to remain in their current locations until further notice."

The announcement looped, filling the room with its monotonous, robotic tone. Walsh and Porter stared at each other with wide open eyes as the color started draining from their faces.

"What… the actual fuck…" Walsh whispered, barely audible over the announcement.

Porter clutched the popcorn bowl tighter. "Fuck. It’s real. We just pranked the real Administrator."

Before they could say anything else, heavy and deliberate thud of boots echoed through the hallway outside. Both froze as the sound growing louder and more distinct with each passing second.

Walsh spun toward the door, panic etched across his face. "What the fuck is that?"

Porter’s voice was a strangled whisper. "Resh-1."

Walsh turned back to him, his eyes wild. "No. No way. Resh-1 isn't real. Even if they were, they wouldn't come here. We’re a Safe-class site! They don-"

His words were cut off as the door to the security room slammed open with the sound reverberating off the walls. Three figures rushed into the room dressed in black combat gear.

One of the Resh-1 agents spoke with a very clear tone. "Step away from the console! Hands where we can see them!"

Neither man moved. Both were rooted to the spot with their faces pale with terror. Porter’s grip on the popcorn bowl tightened until it cracked audibly, spilling the contents onto the floor.

Walsh managed a stammer. "I… uh…. we…. this is…"

The Resh-1 agent cut him off, stepping closer. "Don't make me repeat! Step away. Now."

Both of them slowly moved away from the console with their hands up. They exchanged a look. Walsh whispered "We… we fucked up."

"You're under arrest." The Resh-1 agent's voice was calm and clear. The other Resh-1 agents moved in swiftly to handcuff both of them. "You knew about the Administrator's identity, and attempted to mock him about that. You have a lot to answer for."

"Please, let me explain! It was just a-" mumbled Porter.

The Resh-1 agent cut him over. "Start with explaining who you work for. Who sent you here?"

Porter and Walsh exchanged a terrified look, while the Resh-1 agents stood firm, but calm. "It was just a prank!" Walsh shouted with an almost crying voice. "We had no idea he was really the Administrator! We just wanted to do a prank!"

The Resh-1 agent slowly moved closer to them, and replied with a calm voice. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'm not going to ask you again. Who do you work for? How did you know he was the Administrator?" The Resh-1 agent's tone was still calm and professional.

It was the exact opposite for Porter and Walsh. "No, no, we didn't… We didn’t fucking know! Please, you have to believe us!" Walsh cried.

The questioning was interrupted by the door to the room opening with a hiss. Dr. Jameson stepped inside with his hands clasped behind his back. His face was calm, serene, almost disturbingly composed as he approached the scene.

Walsh and Porter’s heads snapped toward him as their tear-streaked faces shifted to a mixed expression of guilt and desperation. Walsh fell to his knees, babbling. "Jameson! Please man, we didn’t know! It was just a prank! We’re sorry! We’re so fucking sorry!"

Porter nodded frantically, sobbing. "We’re idiots, okay? Absolute fucking morons. Please forgive us man, we didn't know!"

Jameson slightly tilted his head. He let the silence stretch just long enough for their panic to deepen. Then, he spoke.

"Oh," he said with a soft and perfectly calm tone. "I know."

Both men froze. Their terrified expressions immediately shifted to sheer confusion. Before they could say anything, Jameson turned to the Resh-1 agents.

"At ease, guys," he said casually with a faint smile.

For a split second, nothing happened. Then, as if someone had hit a switch, the Resh-1 agents burst out laughing, their professional demeanor shattering entirely. One of them doubled over, slapping their thigh, while another dropped their rifle and held their helmet as they howled.

"Holy shit!" One of them choked out between fits of laughter, yanking off his visor to reveal himself as Dr. Greene from the site’s IT department. "We fucking got them!"

Another agent, Dr. Hughes, the site's biologist, tore off his helmet and tossed it aside, high-fiving Greene. "Did you see their faces? Oh my god, fucking priceless!"

After a long and confused stare, Walsh finally found his voice, pointing wildly at the laughing researchers. "What the fuck is going on?!"

Jameson, now grinning, leaned casually against the console, watching the chaos with satisfaction. "You didn’t really think I’d fall for your little prank, did you? I mean, come on. The Administrator? Seriously?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Amateurs."

Porter’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. "You… wait, this… this was a prank?!"

"Yup," Jameson said, popping the "p" for emphasis. "I even recruited a team to help me for the night. And the Code Black? A nice touch, isn't it?"

Walsh’s face was a mix of rage and humiliation. "The fucking announcement?! Dude, that was not cool! The whole site heard it! We'll all be in serious trouble now!"

"Oh, no one heard anything except you two." Jameson pulled a small remote from his pocket. "See this little guy? Hooked it up to the security room’s speakers. Played on a loop. Everyone else was sleeping peacefully."

Porter’s face turned beet red as he stared at the device. "You… you sick son of a bitch."

Jameson burst out laughing, joined by the rest of the researchers. "Oh, come on! Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it. You should’ve seen your faces. Porter, I think you cried more than when you got that papercut in the archives."

Porter glared at him, still trembling. "You’re an asshole."

Jameson winked. "Oh, I know."

The room erupted in another wave of laughter as Jameson and his team passed around high-fives, sharing war stories about the prank’s setup. As Jameson walked toward the door, he paused and looked back with a mischievous glint in his eye. He pointed at the floor with the spilled beer, popcorns and empty beer bottles. "And get this mess cleaned up before morning."

With that, the team walked out, leaving the two amateur pranksters to stew in their humiliation as the laughter followed them down the hall.

A month later

A month had passed since the prank, and Dr. Jameson was already back into his routine. Spike the cactus was thriving, his work was steady, and the occasional exchange of war stories about the prank had almost subsided. Almost.

When a new email arrived with no subject, no sender, and only a single line "Report to the Secure Communications Room at 03:33", Jameson couldn’t help but sigh.

"Here we go again," he muttered, grabbing his tablet and slowly making his way through the quiet corridors of Site-70.

Jameson stepped into the cold room. The only furniture was a metal chair bolted to the floor and a large screen mounted on the wall. The hum of the machinery was the only sound present, and the lights above flickered ominously.

The screen flickered to life, displaying static before resolving into two shadowy figures. Their faces were blurred beyond recognition.

"Dr. Jameson," the first figure spoke with a distorted voice, "this is O5-6."

Jameson stood still with a completely emotionless face. "Go on," he said with a robotic tone.

O5-6 continued after a long pause. "We have arranged this call to inform you that you have been promoted to an overseer position," they said trying to mask their slightly confused tone. "Your new designation will be O5-3."

Jameson slowly leaned back in his chair and frowned. "Oh, fuck off."

There was another long pause. "Excuse me?" the second figure said, the tension in their voice was able to pass through the distortion.

Jameson threw up his hands. "Nope. Not doing this again. You two assholes already pulled this bullshit last month. 'Ooooh, you’re the Administrator!' And that went great for you two, didn't it?"

"Dr. Jameson," O5-6 continued, slowly speaking, their tone strained but still professional. "Are you intoxicated, or for any reason unable to understand what I just said?"

Jameson cut them off with a loud laugh, leaning forward in his chair. "Seriously? This is your follow-up? You didn’t learn your lesson last time, so now it’s, 'Oh, Jameson, you’re an Overseer!' At least try to be fucking original. What’s next? You gonna tell me I’m secretly SCP-001?"

"Dr. Jameson, I believe there has been a misunderstanding." The second figure said, trying to keep their clearly irritated tone professional. "Whoever you think we are, I assure you, we are not. This is O5-11."

"Sure, sure," Jameson said, waving dismissively. "And I’m Santa fucking Claus. You know, I’ll give you credit for the effort. The blurring, the distortion. It’s a nice touch. But come on, admit that you are fucking amateurs and have already failed."

"I suggest you watch your language, Dr. Jameson. This is not a joke." It was obvious that O5-6 was struggling to keep their professional tone.

"Not a joke? Right. Well, an elite task force dragging you out of the security room by your collars isn't a joke either, is it?" Dr. Jameson started to laugh, remembering the scene.

"Is this a threat?!" O5-11 said with a raised voice.

"You tell me. Is it?" Jameson said, still lauging.

"We'll talk again real soon, Dr. Jameson" O5-11 replied, just before the screen flickered off. Jameson stood up. Before leaving the room, he muttered to himself, "Fucking amateurs."

30 minutes later

The calm of Site-70 was shattered by the booming voice of the site-wide intercom system.

"Attention all personnel. Mobile Task Force Alpha-1, designated the Red Right Hand, has arrived on site. All personnel are to remain where they are until further notice."

Dr. Jameson paused mid-sip of his coffee, his brow furrowing. He set the mug down on his desk, glaring at the ceiling speakers as if they were personally taunting him.

"Unbelievable," he muttered while shaking his head. "They don't know when to quit."

Before he could return to his work, the door to his office burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud noise. Three Alpha-1 agents stormed in with perfectly coordinated movements. The commander's voice was cold and authoritative.

"Dr. Jameson, you're under arrest for threatening an overseer."

Jameson blinked, his expression flat. Then he burst out laughing.

"Couldn't you at least find something original?" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Stealing my idea and using it against me? You think I'm an idiot?"

The agents stood silently. Their commander stepped forward. "This is not a joke, sir. I don't want this to get ugly. Comply, or we will have to use force."

Jameson stood up, throwing his hands in the air. "Oh, for fuck’s sake. I'll give you your credit, nice touch with the whole Alpha-1 cosplay. You even put the insignias on the uniforms. Seriously, where’d you even get the budget for this shit?"

He leaned forward, squinting at the commander's visor. "Is that you, Porter? I swear to god, if you don’t take that helmet off right now, I’m gonna-"

He lunged before he finished his sentence, his hand darting out to grab at the commander's helmet. He barely grazed the edge before the agents moved with lightning speed. One of them grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back while another forced him to the floor with practiced efficiency.

"What the fuck?!" Jameson yelled, struggling against their grip. "You’re really committing to the bit, huh? This is next-fucking-level dedication, dickheads!"

The cold snap of handcuffs clamped around his wrists, cutting off his protests as they hauled him to his feet. He struggled as they dragged him toward the door. "Porter, take the helmet off right now, you asshole! I know it’s you! Or is this fucking Walsh?"

His rant trailed off as they dragged him into the hallway, past staff who were frozen in their tracks, watching the scene with wide eyes. The operatives marched him through the site’s corridors with mechanical precision, their boots echoing against the walls.

As they approached the exit, Jameson’s resistance slowed. His mind raced, piecing together the details: the intercom announcement, the coordinated movements, the absolute silence from the agents.

This wasn’t Walsh. This wasn’t Porter.

This wasn’t a prank.

"Oh… oh shit…" Jameson muttered, his eyes darting around in realisation. He looked at the agents flanking him. "Wait. Wait! It was a misunderstanding!"

The commander didn’t respond. Jameson’s heart sank as the cold night air hit his face. He stumbled, finally accepting the reality of his situation.

"Wait, guys! I can explain! I thought it was a prank!" he yelled, his voice barely audible over the sound of the helicopter blades spinning up nearby.

The agents shoved him into the helicopter and slammed the door shut behind him.

"I… fucked up" he muttered one last time, before the helicopter took off.