I See You - SCP Foundation

Cafes were always nice, quiet places to work—havens for often quiet people. In and out they went, following their whims and desires, each patron with a reason for being there. The cafe didn’t judge, and neither did most of its patrons. Everyone had their own affairs to handle and often lacked the time or inclination to spare even a fleeting thought for a stranger they’d likely never encounter again.

Honestly, it wouldn't be surprising if most people didn’t visit cafes for the food; it was more about the atmosphere than anything else.

Students, parents, office workers, teachers, librarians, and many others drifted in and out throughout the day, most of them returning eventually, each time forgetting the familiar yet unknown faces they'd passed by before. This suited Nobody just fine, though in his case, the forgetting wasn’t really due to a lack of attention.

So, it was peculiar for Nobody to find himself sitting in one of these places. In truth, he should have been searching for Herman Fuller at that moment. After all, Fuller was the next target on a long list of men and women Nobody had to ‘meet’. Yet, here he was, sitting in a heavily air-conditioned cafe, sipping from a cold cup of coffee. His plan had been to begin his trek to Kazakhstan, where his contacts seemed to believe the circus's next stop would be. But his gut had told him to come to this coffee shop instead.

From experience, Nobody knew to always trust his gut.

What his gut was trying to tell him, though, remained entirely unknown to him. That was until he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see Herman Fuller himself sitting across from him, sipping a freshly steaming cup of coffee.

Fuller wore his signature outfit: a slightly dark maroon suit with a white undershirt, fit for a ringmaster. He smiled at Nobody, and it seemed genuine. Unlike how the reports that painted Fuller as a deranged psychopath with a cruel fascination on the anomalous, the man sitting before Nobody seemed warm, and his eyes, rather than appearing empty or suppressed with rage, were steady, experienced.

“Well,” Fuller began, “I’m glad we could meet in a place like this!” He shifted awkwardly. “You know, you’re a hard person to get in touch with.”

“I suppose I am,” Nobody replied, meeting Fuller's gaze directly. “Though I have to wonder why you'd seek me out, knowing what I’m doing to your colleagues.”

Fuller’s smile turned sad as he set down his coffee. “Ah, yes,” he said, pausing to fiddle with his fingers for a moment before continuing. “You’ve been causing quite the stir, you know?” He chuckled lightly. “I mean, Hodge’s death was one thing, but we all knew that the UIU’s director was just another bureaucrat easily replaced. The same goes for all those others you’ve killed. But Wondertainment and Anderson?” He shook his head, looking almost wistful. “You should’ve seen Al Fine’s face when the news came in.”

“Well,” Nobody gripped the table slightly “I’m sure it won’t be too long until I see her in person.”

Fuller simply smiled at the remark as he lifted his cup and took another sip of his drink. “Now, to answer you’re question on why I’m here.” he looked into his cup “i’m here because I want to talk to you. I know you’ll find me nonetheless so I wanted to at least approach you in a more…amiable context”

“Quite the bold death wish you’ve got,” Nobody said, taking a sip from his coffee. “Though, I suppose, given your guts, I can spare you some time.”

Fuller’s smile widened, his hands resting comfortably around his cup as though they were two old friends catching up.

“I hope you understand,” Nobody began, “that I find no joy in the work I do. But it is both a duty and I burden I am bound by.”

Fuller frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Are you saying you’re forced to your task? That some higher force compels you?”

“No,” Nobody replied simply.

“Then why?” Fuller leaned in. “Why go around killing my colleagues, dismantling everything we’ve worked so hard to build?”

Nobody stared at Fuller for a moment. He placed his cup down, the sound of porcelain against the table louder than it should have been. “Because,” he said, “the world you and your new friends have built is broken. It’s a fancy cage. Worse in many ways than the old veil.”

Fuller’s frown deepened. “Broken? That’s an awfully simplistic take for someone as intelligent as you. The world we’re shaping is safer. For everyone. The chaos that existed before, wars, anomalies running unchecked, unpredictable horrors tearing through lives, has been subdued. People can live without the constant threat of the unknown.”

“Safe?” Nobody’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “For whom? For the masses who get to eat the scraps you decide to throw their way? For the ones who don’t even realize the price they’re paying for your so-called safety?” He leaned forward now, his voice biting. “You’ve traded freedom for control, and worse yet, you’ve made yourselves the arbiters of this system. The gods of this new order.”

Fuller shook his head. “We aren’t gods,” he said. “We’re caretakers. The ones who saw what this world could be and decided to take the risk to shape it. Do you know what he showed us? That by coming together, the impossible could be achieved. No more infighting between us. No more bureaucratic red tape. Just pure, efficient progress. Do you have any idea how many lives have been saved? How many catastrophes we’ve averted simply by agreeing to work as one?”

Nobody’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve seen your progress,” he said. “Entire regions stripped of autonomy. People erased because they didn’t fit into the neat little boxes you created. Sacrifices justified in the name of your precious order.”

“Another generalization on your part,” Fuller sighed, his tone weary. He traced a finger around the rim of his cup, staring into the dark liquid. “We try everything. The Foundation, the GOC, even Wondertainment. Well… we used to include him, anyway.” He gave a soft, bitter chuckle before shaking his head. “We only resort to extremes in extreme cases. And yes, we make mistakes. But who doesn’t? What matters is that we’re trying. We’re learning.” Fuller paused momentarily “We don’t take away people’s freedoms, we don’t control their beliefs. We simply created an environment where they’re no longer in a position to harm themselves.”

Nobody tilted his head slightly, watching Fuller. “And yet you act as arbiters of what constitutes harm, don’t you? You claim it’s a burden, but it’s one you chose gladly.”

Fuller’s gaze didn’t waver. “We act as arbiters because we must. It’s a burden, yes, but it’s better us than entropy. Someone has to step up and make the hard decisions.”

“Your burden is nothing,” Nobody replied. “I’ve seen it all before. Men and women believing they can do better, that they can finally bring the change they want to see. It’s always the same. Such altruism never lasts.”

Fuller leaned back in his chair. “And there it is. The cynicism. The assumption that because perfection is unattainable, striving for it is futile. Let me ask you something, Nobody: who are you to judge us? What gives you any more of a right than us to decide what’s best? What makes you free from the very failures you speak of?”

Nobody’s reply was quiet but firm. “It’s because of what I know. What I’ve seen. And what I’ve lost.” His eyes darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. “Who I am, or rather, who I am not. That’s what gives me the right.”

Fuller scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “That’s rich.” He set his cup down. “You justify using your lack of identity, yet you define yourself by that very absence. Do you even realize how contradictory that is?”

Nobody didn’t respond immediately, his gaze unchanging as he studied Fuller.

Fuller leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “In truth, know one knows who they really are. There’s a different version of you in the mind of every person you’ve ever met. In some, you’re quiet and thoughtful. In others, you’re ruthless and cunning. To some, you’re a friend. To others, a monster. The version of you that exists in your own mind isn’t the ‘real’ you, either. It’s just another version—one shaped by memories, feelings, biases. That person? That’s just for you.”

He gestured toward Nobody. “Who you are isn’t something to be defined. It’s something to be discovered, moment by moment, through your choices and your actions. But you? You’ve shackled yourself to an idea. You’ve made what was taken from you the very core of who you are now. You define yourself by absence instead of simply forging a new path. And in doing so, you’ve bound yourself more tightly than anything the rest of us could ever do.”

For a moment, the cafe was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Nobody’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes.

“Who you are does not give you any more right than anyone else to judge our actions, let alone your own. You are not special because you don’t know who you are—you’re simply unique in that you refuse to move on from it.” Fuller clutched his drink tightly. “I was like you once, you know? Lost, aimless, unsure of what I could become. I was an orphan, a loner, a nobody. But I found my way. I found comfort in the show. The circus I created is a product of my circumstances, and I aim to give others as unfortunate as me the same chance.”

Fuller’s eyes were fixed on Nobody now. “That’s why I’m asking you, please, just stop. We’re building a better world here. You don’t have to tear it all down.”

Nobody raised his head slowly, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Very touching words,” he said softly. “But I don’t think you truly understand what it means to be Nobody. I didn’t just lose who I was, Fuller. I lost what I could have been. I lost my ability to be.”

Nobody rose from his seat, standing over the man before him. “You know, I don’t blame you for thinking the way you do. To you, life is one big mystery, moment by moment, person by person. But I don’t share that perspective. In fact, no one sees it the way I do.”

His voice was calm as he gazed down at Fuller. “When I look at the world, I don’t see chairs, or walls, or even people. I see something raw. Emotions. Ideas. I see a man for what he truly is, not what he claims to be. Not in a figurative sense either.” He began to pace toward the door, the faint sound of his shoes against the tiled floor filling the silence. “I see you. I see your hope. Determination. Altruism. I see your past, your memories, your pain. I see your laughter, your tears as your labor bore fruit. I see the struggle against a world that sought to crush you, and the one you’re trying to build in its place. It’s all physical, or as physical as ideas can be.”

He turned back, his eyes locking onto Fuller’s. “But most of all, I see a good man.”

Fuller shot up from his chair, grabbing Nobody by the collar of his coat, his voice trembling. “Wait. Aren’t you going to kill me?”

Nobody only shook his head. “One day, perhaps. But maybe by then I won’t have to. I am a judge, Fuller, not a senseless killer. And today, I judge you free to continue on.”

“Even though I’ll do everything I can to stop you?” Fuller’s voice was quieter now, uncertain.

Nobody’s smile deepened. “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, Fuller. How you use yours is up to you, not me.”

He pulled away, straightened his coat, and as he turned to leave, he added, “The world is cruel, but it’s also beautiful. Your actions don’t define truth, only your own will.” He turned and gave one last look.

Nobody turned to leave the café, only to find that the door had suddenly morphed into a solid wall, the texture strangely reminiscent of the fabric of a circus tent. He paused, his hand brushing against the wall, feeling its faint hum of energy. With a sigh, he turned back to face Fuller, who was no longer seated at a café table but standing in a dimly lit tent. The air carried the faint, sour scent of sawdust and old fabric.

“I’m sorry but I can’t let you leave,” Fuller said quietly, his voice calm but resolute.

“Fuller, listen—”

“No, you listen.” Fuller exhaled sharply, cutting Nobody off. His voice, while not raised, carried an edge. “Our world will endure. And it deserves far better than anything you or your school boy morality could ever offer.”

Nobody’s gaze dropped to the floor, a flicker of something like regret crossing his features. He’d expected this outcome from the moment he’d entered the cafe—or rather, this trap. He had known Fuller’s convictions wouldn’t falter. And yet, some small, hopeful part of him had wanted to believe that words could sway the ringmaster. That Fuller, presented with the freedom to choose a different path, might grasp it.

But when he looked back up and met Fuller’s unyielding gaze, he saw the truth. Fuller was a man who believed utterly in his cause. He was a good man—or at least, a man who saw himself as such—fighting for what he thought was a noble purpose. Nothing would move him from his ideals.

Nobody sighed, taking a step back and rubbing his temple briefly before letting his hand fall to his side. “Well,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the room, “let’s get to the point, shall we? State your challenge.”

Fuller’s expression hardened, his usual demeanor replaced by something colder. “The Doctor Game.”

Nobody said nothing, waiting for Fuller to explain. The ringmaster continued, his words measured.

“The rules are simple. Each round, one of us will act as the doctor. A patient will be presented, and that patient will either have a random ailment or no ailment at all. The doctor of that round will spend ten minutes with the patient alone. After the diagnosis is made, the opposing player will be given a detailed profile of the diagnosed condition, including symptoms and background. The opposing player must decide whether to call out the diagnosis as false.”

Nobody raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

Fuller went on. “If the accuser correctly identifies a lie, the diagnosing player suffers the symptoms of their false diagnosis until the game ends, and they’ll lose three points. If the accusation is wrong, the accuser loses one point, and the diagnosing player gains five for a successful deception. A correct diagnosis awards one point, while an incorrect one costs a point. Points won’t be revealed until the game concludes. The game will have ten rounds.”

“And if there’s a tie?” Nobody asked, his voice devoid of curiosity but tinged with weariness.

“In the case of a tie,” Fuller replied, his smile returning faintly, “both doctors will be presented with a patient who, unknown to them, is completely healthy. The winner will be the one who convinces the patient that their diagnosis is true.”

The two men stood in heavy silence, the weight of the stakes hanging in the air. Finally, Nobody sighed again, his voice low and resigned. “I offered you a chance to live. A chance to stop this, to abandon your conquest.”

Fuller’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And I’ve chosen to stand by what I believe. What makes you think you have the right to judge me? To impose your will over mine?”

Nobody didn’t answer. Instead, he moved toward the center of the tent, his hands in his coat pockets. “Very well,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Let’s begin.”

As Nobody spoke, a door materialized on one of the tent’s fabric-like walls, its edges glowing faintly. Fuller smirked and strode toward it with the practiced confidence of a performer stepping onto a stage. "I’ll take the first turn," he said smoothly, vanishing into the room.

Nobody watched him go, his expression unreadable. For Fuller to challenge him to this game, he had to be confident. Hubris was a fatal flaw, after all, one that had toppled the mighty throughout history.

Ten minutes passed in silence, save for the faint ticking of a clock somewhere beyond the tent. When the door finally creaked open, Fuller stepped out, accompanied by a man in his mid-thirties, olive-skinned with dark, curly hair. His gait was nervous, his eyes darting around the room. Nobody pegged him as Italian.

In Nobody’s hand, a file appeared. The label on the front read SCP-610. His gaze flicked to the man, who was scratching compulsively at patches of scarred and reddened skin. The diagnosis was clear, almost too clear. Something didn’t sit right.

Nobody’s eyes narrowed and glanced back at Fuller. As he did, he realized exactly why Fuller chose this game. No involuntary twitches, no betraying microexpressions, Fuller was completely blank. If he hadn’t talked to him moment before, Nobody would have been convinced Fuller wasn’t human.

Turning his attention back to the patient, Nobody’s gaze narrowed. He didn’t just look at the man, focusing beyond the surface of his skin. He saw past the dermis, past the muscles, the cells, even the fabric of the man’s existence. He studied everything—the way the patient’s form existed, vibrated, and resonated. Finally, he exhaled softly and nodded.

“Fuller didn’t lie,” he said, stepping back.

Fuller inclined his head slightly, his expression calm yet unreadable. Nobody found himself momentarily fascinated. Fuller wasn’t like anyone he’d encountered before—a man capable of shaping himself so seamlessly that it altered the very fabric of perception around him. Where Nobody had previously been able to see Fuller’s essence so clearly, it now felt as if Fuller had willed a cloud to form around them, obscuring them entirely. Somehow, through means unknown to Nobody but certainly worth investigating later, Fuller was masking his very presence within reality. From what Nobody could observe, it didn’t appear to be anomalous; it seemed to be sheer force of will. Nobody allowed the thought to linger in his mind as he stepped through the door.

The room was simple, worn, and unremarkable. Dust coated the wooden panels of what appeared to be a cabin. A solitary stool stood in the center, occupied by a visibly uneasy man. His youthful face, dark and weathered with faint lines, betrayed confusion rather than fear.

Nobody crouched, examining the man, unbothered by his evident unease. His sharp eyes roved over every detail. The faint lines on his face weren’t mutations—just stress, mundane and human. Satisfied, Nobody straightened and exited without a word. Passing Fuller, he said simply, “Healthy.”

Fuller’s gaze lingered briefly before he gave a curt nod, his belief implicit. The man vanished as if he had never existed. The next rounds followed in a steady rhythm, each man entering the room, each evaluating the figure within.

By the seventh round, as Nobody scanned an unmarked file, he broke the silence for the first time. “Impressive,” he said, his voice even.

“High praise,” Fuller replied, arching a brow. “Especially from you.”

“You’re good,” Nobody admitted. “A skilled ringmaster, a skilled actor, and a skilled doctor, it seems.”

“I had to be,” Fuller said. “In the circus, you wear many hats. My people relied on me, so I studied.”

“Commendable,” Nobody said with a nod. “Though I wonder—will it be enough?”

Fuller’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

“We don’t see the score until the end. What if you’ve missed something?”

Fuller smirked faintly. “Unlikely. This game was designed by me. For me.”

“Perhaps,” Nobody said softly, stepping into the next round.

When he emerged, a frail elderly woman followed him. Fuller’s gaze flicked to the file that appeared in his hands. To his delight, it was a familiar diagnosis. A disease of the mind rather than the body that caused its victims to hallucinate a parallel world. He looked to Nobody, and, as usual, he saw nothing but an empty void. The man was something else, unreadable. When he turned to the woman however, he saw her finger twitching. His eyes widened. People with the condition had motor functions in their hands restricted.

“Lie,” Fuller said.

As he did, Nobody staggered back as if struck. He clutched his head, a groan escaping him. Fuller simply stood, watching.

“It’s cruel, isn’t it?” Fuller said softly. “Already, you must the pulsing in your mind. The pull.”

Nobody straightened, his body taut, his expression locked.

“It’s over,” Fuller said. “I’ll give you this—you’re extraordinary. I wish things had been different. I wish that you could have simply let us be. But victory was inevitable.”

Fuller entered the room for the ninth round, emerging moments later, another file manifesting in Nobody’s hands. Nobody remained, gripping the file, visibly strained as he read its contents. His breath came shallow, his movements sluggish. When he finally raised his head, he spoke. "Lie."

“Wrong,” Fuller snapped back.

Nobody flinched as if the word itself had weight. Stumbling, he approached the door for the tenth round. He returned almost immediately with a diagnosis, his body trembling.

Fuller’s eyes glinted as he spoke his verdict. “Lie.”

The word seemed to shatter something within Nobody. His body turned unnaturally, his form appearing to darken, collapse inward. He staggered but remained standing, his head bowed.

“It’s finished,” Fuller said quietly, stepping closer. “You were worthy of this game, Nobody. Truly.”

The numbers appeared, glowing in the air. Fuller’s smile faltered as he read them:

Nobody: 10. Fuller: 2.

Fuller staggered back, his breath catching in his throat. His mind raced as Nobody stood calmly, brushing off imaginary dust, his movements precise and deliberate. When he finally straightened to his full height, Nobody’s eyes met Fuller’s.

“How?” Fuller whispered, his voice faltering. “How could you—?”

Nobody’s voice cut through the tent’s heavy air. “When you claimed I had lied, I didn’t.” His tone was measured, patient. “I knew you’d encountered the ailment before. I counted on your confidence. But tell me, Fuller, think back—what did you do?”

Fuller’s breath hitched. His mind clawed at the memory, piecing together the details. Then it struck him like a thunderclap. “I… I only skimmed the file,” he murmured, his voice hollow. His hand rose to cover his mouth as he took another step back. “I thought I knew. I was so sure—”

“Hubris,” Nobody said, stepping forward, “isn’t absent in a good man. In fact, it clings to him even more fiercely.” He paused, eyes steady. “Before I went to the café, I took precautions. I knew we’d likely end up here. I knew what kind of man you were, Fuller.”

Fuller’s eyes were locked on Nobody as he inched backward, astonished.

“I called in a favor,” Nobody continued. “From a higher being, if you will. In exchange for something small, they let me change one detail… and I chose to alter the disease you were so confident about.”

Fuller kept retreating, shock carving deep lines into his face. “How could you have known? You couldn’t have predicted this.”

Nobody offered a casual shrug, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “Call it a gut feeling,” he said.

Fuller’s retreat faltered.

“When you thought you had caught me,” Nobody continued, his voice low but steady, “I let myself falter. I let myself fall. I knew you’d seize the advantage, that you’d see me broken and struggling. I knew you wouldn’t bother looking closer during my turn. You thought I was too weak—too defeated—to stand against you. And in the final round, you thought you struck my heart—but with that same blow, you pierced your own."

Nobody now stood mere inches from Fuller. “You abandoned the care you carried before. You believed in yourself more than the truth.”

The air between them stilled. Fuller closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a trembling breath. When he opened them, his gaze was calm, as if resignation had settled over him.

“You’ve won,” Fuller said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

Nobody’s hand moved, producing a gun that gleamed dully in the dim light. He raised it without hesitation, pointing it directly at Fuller’s chest.

The crack of the shot echoed through the empty tent. Fuller staggered back, the impact driving him to the ground. He lay there, his breathing shallow as blood pooled beneath him, dark against the vibrant floor.

Nobody stood over him, his expression unreadable. “Do you see it now?” he asked, his voice tinged with something unreadable—perhaps curiosity, perhaps regret. “The inevitability." Nobody paused "You rise, only to fall. It is the way of all things.”

Fuller’s lips curved into a faint, wavering smile. A low chuckle bubbled from his throat, hoarse but filled with something unnameable.

“You’re afraid,” Fuller rasped.

Nobody tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Of you?”

“No,” Fuller whispered, his voice growing weaker. “Not of me. Of what’s at the end of your road. Whatever it is—you fear it.”

Nobody remained silent, his gaze fixed on Fuller. The faintest flicker of something passed through his expression. But he said nothing. He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the oppressive quiet of the tent.

As Fuller’s vision darkened, his breaths growing shallower, he found his mind slipping into a strange state. The figure of Nobody lingered in his sight, but it no longer looked human. Instead, it was the visage of a formless void, an absence so complete it seemed to swallow the light around it.

His lips moved, forming his final words as his vision dissolved into darkness. “So… that’s how it is, huh.”

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