It was just another day at the Foundation—a place filled with anomalies that could end all of existence. There were more secrets buried here than even God could count… which was funny, because He was here too.
And of course, it was another containment breach day.
Why does this happen so much?
Alarms blared. SCPs were loose. Chaos reigned.
In the main hall stood a familiar sight—Able, laughing like a madman, dragging his massive sword across the floor, killing anyone in his path. Then, he saw SCP-073 — Cain.
[Insert Image of Able]
[Insert Image of Cain]
Their eyes met.
Able grinned maniacally and charged.
Cain raised a hand. "I don't want to fight you."
Able snarled, teeth grinding. His blade slammed against Cain's metallic limbs, sparking on impact. "You killed me. This is my time now. Hahaha! Fight me!"
Cain backed away, his voice tense. "I don't want to hurt you, brother."
"TOO BAD!" Able screamed and swung.
His sword sliced through Cain's face—straight through the eye, deep into the brain. Like something straight out of FNAF's Crying Child death, it should've been fatal. But due to Cain's anomalous properties, the damage didn't touch him.
It hit Able.
His body collapsed, turning to ash and dust, slowly reforming like always.
Cain stood there, expression somber. "I hope you change one day… brother."
Back in his containment chamber, within his coffin, Able's body reformed earlier than expected. But something was different.
Inside his mental space—an endless void—Able awoke.
He sat up slowly, confused. He had died countless times… but this one felt different. Was it the way he died? Or something else?
"Yo."
Able blinked.
Standing in front of him was… himself.
"What the hell?"
The other Able smirked. "Yeah. You're seeing this right. I'm you."
"But how?"
"Simple," the second Able shrugged. "I'm the you created from all the times we've died. I showed up the first time we were resurrected… by Dad."
"…Adam," Able muttered. Memories rushed back. "I remember. So what do you want?"
"Nothing really. I'm just tired. Tired of the death, the rage… the endless killing."
Able frowned. "Strangely… after killing Cain like that, I don't feel angry anymore."
The second Able laughed—a strange, almost giggly laugh. "That's probably because that attack fried your brain. You rebooted. Welcome to Reset Mode."
Able stared. "…Huh. Makes sense, weirdly. But what now?"
"What do you want now?" the second Able asked.
Able hesitated. "I still want to fight… I think. Rip and tear and all that. Or maybe… I don't know anymore. I don't know where to restart."
The other Able smirked. "Then work for the Foundation. Safest bet if you still want action—especially with those SCP-001 freaks hanging around."
"We'd get obliterated by the god-tier SCPs," Able muttered.
"Not if you use your other powers."
"…Other powers?"
"Gift from Dad."
Able raised an eyebrow. "Adam gave us powers?"
"Yep. He was reality itself at one point, remember? So, first gift: the power to copy any ability, perfectly. No limits. Doesn't matter who has it. You can copy it flawlessly."
"…That's broken."
"Right? I call it God Trace."
"And the second gift?"
"Absolute immortality," the second Able said seriously. "Not your average SCP regeneration nonsense. I'm talking Boundless level. Not even Brother Death can kill us. Whoever that is—Dad just mentioned him in passing."
Able shook his head. "So... Cain got nothing?"
"Thanks to the curse from Grandfather—SCP-343—Cain can't access his gift."
Able took it in. "You want me to work with the Foundation?"
"Yep. You'll still get to kill, but this time, it'll be deserving people. Chaos Insurgency, G.O.C., other scum."
"…That doesn't sound so bad."
"Good." The second Able extended a hand. "Let's fuse."
Able blinked, then shrugged. "Yeah, I'm not questioning it."
"Also," his counterpart added, "stay in this void a bit longer. Get used to things."
They shook hands. Light exploded around them—until there was only one Able.
He stood alone in the void… or what now looked like a desert. Red sky above. Storm clouds rolled. Below his feet, the ground was cracked and dry, scattered with countless swords, spears, axes—an infinite arsenal stuck into the earth like graves.
Beside him stood his sword—the one he always used.
Able took a deep breath.
This was the start of something new.
Able looked at all the weapons, from ancient weapons to modern firearms, all the weapons he had seen in his lifetime, Probably unknowingly copied them, he had life for many years, and he had killed many people when he was that berserk, so he just walked through the Weapons Grave.
"Yeah let's Call It That".
He walked through the place; he looked at all the weapons in this place. "I don't even remember who 3/4 of these weapons even belong to".
He kept walking, the sound of crunching metal echoing beneath his feet. Each step brought back fragments of memory—wars fought, empires toppled, blood spilt across timelines and continents. And yet, so much of it felt... distant.
"Guess dying a thousand times scrambles the memory banks," Able muttered, kicking aside what looked like a golden spear crackling faintly with divine energy. "Was this from that god-king or that sun freak...?"
He stopped and crouched near a massive broadsword, twice the size of a normal man. Its surface shimmered like obsidian, and etched into it were runes that pulsed faintly with red light. Able ran a hand over it, a strange melancholy bubbling inside him.
"This one… I remember. Took it off some warlord who called himself the End of All Things," he said quietly. "He screamed a lot."
Able stood, brushing dust from his hands. "Man, I was insane."
The sky above shifted, clouds swirling into a spiral, the red hue deepening as if reflecting the turmoil in his thoughts.
"Still am, probably," he said with a smirk. "Just... less 'stab my brother's eye out' insane."
A sudden gust of wind blew through the graveyard of weapons, stirring dust and sand. It carried whispers—faint voices, echoes of old battles, names long forgotten.
Able closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Time to forge a new path. And maybe find out just how broken this 'God Trace' really is."
He turned toward a structure in the distance—barely visible, a towering gate shimmering in the red haze, like the entrance to something vast.
"Guess the void's not done showing me things," he said, picking up his sword. "Fine. Let's see where this goes."
And with that, Able walked on, through the grave of a thousand weapons, toward whatever future awaited him beyond the void.
Able then kept walking; as he opened the gate, he found chains, and he had a brief flash of these Chains.
Able stared at the chains. They hung from the void's air itself—golden, divine, impossibly heavy-looking, yet vibrating with immense power. The air around them was still, almost reverent.
"Chains of Enkidu, right?" he muttered again, this time more certain, his hand brushing against the links. A rush of divine power flowed into him like a wave, and with it came fragmented images—battlefields, gods, heroes, and that one particular memory.
A flash of lightning.
A grinning man in green.
A massive bear loomed behind him.
Able clenched his teeth. "Right… that guy."
The memory was brief, but the feeling was unforgettable. He remembered lunging at the man in green, fast and brutal. But the next moment—he was slammed into the ground by these very chains, unmoving, helpless. A power unlike anything he'd fought before. Divine punishment made manifest.
"I sealed them away myself..." Able whispered, "...because I hated how helpless I felt."
He gripped one of the chains tightly. It didn't resist him now. It moved willingly in his hand.
"But I'm not that man anymore."
The chains responded, wrapping gently around his wrist—not to bind, but to obey. The divine weapon once sealed by his fury and fear now accepted his will.
Able looked ahead. The red sky cracked faintly with golden lightning, almost in approval.
"I may have been broken," he said to the void, "but now I decide what I am."
He wrapped the rest of the chains around his torso like a sash, the ends disappearing into his back, ready to be summoned when needed.
"Let's see how the Foundation reacts to a new Able…"
And with that, he walked through the gate—into whatever lay beyond, one step closer to a future he would forge with his own bloodied, immortal hands.
The Sky then changed, becoming like the night sky with stars; it was clear it wasn't done yet. "How many weapons did I accidentally copy with God Trace"
As Able started to use the Chain to go to the sky, he wondered what was there and to check it.
Able floated in the starry sky, the Chains of Enkidu now forming steps beneath his feet. With each step upward, the air shimmered and changed. No longer a crimson void or blazing battlefield—this place had become a realm of memories and stolen miracles.
Above him, beyond comprehension, it spread:
Weapons not just of war, but of legend and story.
Shields that had once defended kingdoms.
A blue and golden sheath that pulsed with noble dignity—he didn't need to ask; he felt it. "Excalibur's Scabbard… Avalon," he muttered.
Floating beside it, not swords or guns, but Foundation tech—things he had seen and never understood: Thaumiel-grade projectors, teleportation devices, and even containment blueprints.
Next to those… gems glowing with magical resonance.
Spellbooks are written in languages older than Earth.
And, inexplicably, manga.
"…Did I copy those too?" Able raised an eyebrow, looking at the neatly arranged stacks. "What kind of memory did I have during those kills?"
One book floated forward, its cover glossy and absurdly colourful. "Berserker High School: Volume 7."
Able stared at it. "Okay, now I know for sure I've died too many times."
He turned slowly in this celestial armoury of chaos, awe settling in. "So this is what God Trace does…"
He could feel it now. Everything here—every shield, spell, and sheath—was something he'd seen in a fight, a story, or even a passing glance. And if he understood it, he could use it.
"Alright then," he said, reaching out toward a floating gauntlet that hummed with nuclear power. "Time to turn this curse into a legacy."
The gauntlet flew to his hand.
The stars shimmered brighter.
And Able, now reforged, smirked.
"Let the world meet the new me."
The gauntlet snapped onto his arm with a satisfying clang, locking in like it had always belonged to him. Power surged through him—not the rage-fueled madness he once knew, but something calmer, more refined. Like fire held in check by resolve.
Able looked around the realm of artefacts, then raised his arm, flexing his fingers. "Feels good," he muttered.
Behind him, the Chains of Enkidu coiled like snakes, alive yet obedient, waiting for command. The once-chaotic berserker was now something else—something more calculated, more dangerous.
Able turned to the floating void ahead—manga floating alongside mythic shields, spellbooks circling rifles, a surreal storm of everything he'd touched in battle or memory.
"I don't even need to choose anymore…" He narrowed his eyes. "Because it's all mine."
He waved his hand, and the realm shifted again. A platform of weapons rose like an elevator, carrying him higher. And then, at the peak of this sky—a massive, ancient mirror.
He saw himself.
But not as the snarling monster of old.
Now he was calm. Stoic. Eyes filled with thought instead of bloodlust. His hair shimmered with strands of gold. His skin, once riddled with scars, glowed faintly with divine marks. The gauntlet on his hand pulsed like a heart, and floating behind him were ghostly echoes of weapons—hundreds, maybe thousands.
"I'm not just a killer anymore," he said to his reflection. "I'm a goddamn arsenal."
Suddenly, the stars pulsed red—like a warning. The void rumbled.
Able close his eyes, as he reopened them, finding himself in his Coffin, one the foundation Calls Scp 076, with him always being called Scp 076-2.
He released he had no weapon, noting, just back to how he was, so he kicked the door open.
Meanwhile, in the foundation staff monitoring room, all of them looked at the CCTV camera in Able Containments room, as one of the scientists spit out his drink.
Dr Bright, who was with that scientist, looked at the screen. "It hasn't even been a week; it was only 2 hours since the containment breach, and Able Is Back; how is this the fastest he has ever come back?"
[Insert Image of Dr Bright]
Dr. Bright, clad in his usual lab coat and a T-shirt that read 'Immortality is a Scam and I Want a Refund', stared wide-eyed at the monitor.
"…It hasn't even been a week," he said, slowly turning toward the trembling assistant next to him. "It was only two hours since the last containment breach. And Able's already back?"
The assistant, still wiping coffee off his keyboard, nodded dumbly. "He just… walked in."
Dr. Bright scratched his head. "He doesn't even have his weapons. He's naked, angry, and somehow smug."
Another staff member, watching the screen, muttered, "Did he just kick open the containment door from inside?"
Dr Bright narrowed his eyes. "Someone queue up the soul logs. I wanna know where the hell he went and what he saw."
He tapped his pen against the table. "This is the fastest respawn I've ever seen. And trust me—I've died enough times to know."
The screen flickered again, showing Able stretching in the containment cell, unconcerned like he was merely warming up.
"I don't like this," Bright muttered.
To be continued
Yes, this is full, up to the ground Rewrite, no Isekai, no other voice inside able, just a new canon able, hope you all like this rewrite.