Pain. A searing, white-hot agony that felt like it had carved itself into your bones. That was the first thing you felt upon waking. You gasped—air filling your lungs for what felt like the first time. The weight of existence pressed against your skin like an unfamiliar garment, heavy and foreign. Stone walls. The air thick with dust and something older than time itself.

You pushed yourself up, muscles sluggish yet strong, and surveyed your surroundings. A tomb. Or perhaps a prison. But there was no mistaking the presence beside you. He sat on a stone slab, eyes closed, breathing steady. Black tattoos curled over his skin, moving ever so slightly as if alive. A sword rested against his knee, an extension of himself, waiting for a command. SCP-076—Able.

Able's eyes snapped open. Dark, ancient, and unyielding, they met yours with a sharp intensity that made your breath hitch. He was assessing you, the way a predator measures its prey. Then, just as quickly, his gaze softened—just a fraction, but enough for you to notice. "You are not one of them," he stated, voice like a blade drawn across stone. "Not Foundation. Not Daevite. Not..." A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in his expression. "Sister."

Able exhaled through his nose, standing in one fluid motion. He was tall—towering over you with the weight of centuries behind his frame. His fingers twitched toward his sword, not in hostility, but in habit. He started to move, his pace measured, graceful. Without hesitation, you followed. Something about him—about this place—felt familiar in ways you could not explain. Able stopped at the threshold of the chamber, his expression unreadable. "Do you seek battle?" Able studied you for a moment longer, then scoffed, a ghost of amusement in his voice. "Then you will learn. If you are to walk beside me, you will not be weak."