I am Scp O76/Able in Scp the copy cat

Able stood beside Sophia in a spacious, high-tech training facility. The walls were lined with weapons racks, obstacle courses, and moving targets. He watched groups of recruits running drills—climbing walls, dodging cardboard cutouts of hostile SCPs, and reloading prototype firearms with expert speed. Despite the artificial setting, their determination was evident.

But to Able, the cutouts were almost laughable.

He crossed his arms, a faint smirk on his face. "Those things aren't going to bite."

Sophia didn't look up from her clipboard. "It's about reaction time, not realism. And we're not trying to traumatize them. Yet."

Able's eyes tracked one recruit vaulting over a wall. "Some of those guns… they're Foundation design, right? I've seen blueprints like those."

"In your head?" she asked, finally glancing at him.

"Yeah," he said, tapping his temple. "The mental space. A few of those models are in there. Guess I picked them up over the years."

Sophia made a mental note and then returned to her clipboard. "This is the main training facility for new MTF candidates."

Able nodded slowly, but his expression remained puzzled. "So why am I here? I don't need this."

"You're not wrong." Sophia adjusted her glasses. "With your abilities, you'd rank higher than most operatives even without the paperwork. But… the senior members won't trust you. They've seen what you used to be."

Able rolled his eyes. "Let me guess—this is supposed to change that?"

Sophia gave a small smile. "Not exactly. This isn't about convincing the veterans. It's about you getting acquainted with the new generation. Soldiers who don't know you as SCP-076-2. Who won't flinch at your name. The Foundation wants them to see you as an asset… not a walking massacre."

Able's expression darkened slightly, but he said nothing.

She continued, "So, for that reason… you'll be using an alias. As per direct orders from the O5 Council."

Able raised an eyebrow. "Alias?"

Sophia nodded. "Your official Foundation designation in the field will be Reginald. No SCP tags. No violent history. Just Reginald—a highly trained operative on special assignment."

Able blinked, then stared at her flatly. "…Reginald?"

She shrugged. "I don't pick the names. O5-3 has a sense of humor."

"…That bastard," Able muttered.

Sophia chuckled. "Get used to it. You'll be training with Team Echo tomorrow morning. They're green, but they're good. You'll be working with them on simulated raids, recovery ops, and containment breaches."

Able looked at the recruits again, now noticing how young many of them were. He sighed.

"So… babysitting rookies until they're desensitized to me?"

Sophia smirked. "Something like that. It's either this… or we throw you into 682's cell as an icebreaker."

Able gave her a dry look. "You're hilarious."

"I try."

Just then, the training alarm buzzed. One of the recruits tripped over a loose cable and faceplanted into a crash mat. The others laughed. The mood was light, not something Able was used to in containment.

He watched in silence for a moment before speaking. "Alright. Let's see what these 'new generation' warriors are made of."

Sophia gave him a look. "Play nice, Reginald."

Able cracked his neck. "No promises."

Sophia looked at him as he spoke. "Also one more thing"

Able looked at her as he spoke. "Let me guess, No Power's".

Sophia gave him a flat look, clearly unamused by how quickly he caught on.

"Exactly," she said, adjusting her clipboard and flipping to the next page. "No powers during training simulations. At least, not until the recruits are used to your presence. You're strong enough without them."

Able sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "So I'm being nerfed."

Sophia raised an eyebrow. "Think of it as... leveling the playing field. You're not here to show off. You're here to integrate."

Able muttered under his breath, "This is going to be a pain."

Sophia smirked. "Welcome to teamwork."

Able looked over the training room again, seeing the eager faces, the slightly awkward footwork, and the raw determination in their eyes. They reminded him of warriors long past—green, hopeful, and probably a little too naive.

With a small grunt, he spoke again. "Fine. No powers. But if someone shoots me in the face with a stun round, I will retaliate."

Sophia didn't even flinch. "Just don't kill anyone."

"No promises," Able said with a smirk—but this time, it didn't carry the usual edge of violence. More like amusement.

Sophia nodded. "You start with Echo Team at 0600. Wear the gear in your locker, not the ancient death robes. And try—try—not to scare anyone on day one."

Able turned, already walking toward the locker room. "I'll try not to break anything important."

Sophia called after him, "That includes people, Reginald!"

He groaned audibly. "Still hate that name!"

0600 Hours – Echo Team Briefing Room

Able—now officially "Reginald"—stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, wearing standard-issue MTF gear. Black combat boots, utility pants, body armor with the Foundation logo on the shoulder, and a matte helmet tucked under one arm. His long hair was loosely tied back, much to his own annoyance.

The other recruits trickled into the room, chatting and joking among themselves. None of them noticed him at first, until one glanced his way and stopped mid-sentence. Then another. Then another.

Silence fell.

One of the braver recruits, a red-haired woman with piercing green eyes, finally stepped forward.

"You new?" she asked cautiously. "Haven't seen you in the barracks."

Able gave a nod. "Transfer. Reginald."

Another recruit, shorter and broader, leaned toward the woman and whispered just loud enough, "That guy looks like he eats bricks for breakfast."

Able smirked. "Only on weekends."

Laughter broke the tension, and a few of the recruits started to relax—though their eyes still lingered on his build, his posture, and the way he stood like a man who didn't need a weapon to be dangerous.

Just then, the door opened, and the squad instructor walked in: Lieutenant Ramirez, a scarred veteran with cybernetic enhancements on his right arm and jaw.

He looked over the team. "Alright Echo, listen up. Today's exercises will be squad tactics, target elimination, and team trust-building drills. But first…" his eyes locked onto Able. "We have a new transfer. Goes by Reginald."

Able stepped forward with a curt nod.

Ramirez continued, "Don't let the quiet fool you—HQ says he's got field experience. Treat him like one of your own. He pulls his weight, you pull yours. Got it?"

Everyone responded with a chorus of "Yes, sir!"

Ramirez paused. "And no powers, Reginald. You're here to earn their trust, not show off."

Able just nodded again, gritting his teeth behind a calm face.

Later – Combat Training Course

The team moved through a simulated urban warzone. Drones simulated hostile SCPs. Bullet-like rubber rounds flew through the air. Echo Team was split into fire teams, and Able was paired with the redhead—Specialist Clara Novak—and a techie named Tanner.

"Cover me!" Clara shouted, rushing up to the corner of a ruined building.

Able followed, his movements precise, measured. He moved with instinct, predicting the drone's path before it even turned the corner.

One round flew toward Clara—Able reached out and swatted it from the air with his gloved hand.

"Holy shit!" Tanner yelped. "Did you see that?"

Clara blinked. "That wasn't—uh—on the reflex training chart."

Able shrugged. "Luck."

After the simulation ended, the team returned, panting and tired. The score was displayed on the screen: Echo Team – 96% success. Highest in the site so far.

Ramirez glanced at Able. "Solid performance, Reginald. Still a bit too quiet, though."

Able replied dryly, "I find silence more productive than empty noise."

Ramirez chuckled. "You'll fit right in with Gears."

Sophia was watching from the observation deck above, arms folded.

She pulled out her phone and sent a message to the O5 Council:

> Update (continued):

Reginald integrated into Echo Team without incident. High performance, minor social friction at first, but he's adapting. Team members already acknowledging his skills. Recommend continued observation—psychological balance remains delicate, but stable.

– Dr. Sophia Light

---

Echo Team Barracks – 2000 Hours

Able sat on the lower bunk in his assigned corner of the barracks, now cleaned and adjusted with a military precision he hadn't used in centuries. The others laughed across the room—cards were being dealt, protein bars traded, banter exchanged.

Clara eventually walked over and tossed a canteen toward him. "You know, for a guy built like a statue, you're not half bad in a firefight."

Able caught the canteen midair without even looking.

He looked up at her, expression neutral. "I've had practice."

She leaned against the locker. "Rumor says you're ex-Omega-7."

Able paused for a moment. "Rumors are often wrong."

Clara raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Whatever. You've got good instincts, Reginald. Just don't vanish one night and leave us wondering if we pissed off some ancient god."

Able gave a faint smile. "If I vanish, it'll be because something pissed me off."

Clara laughed and walked off, apparently satisfied with that answer.

---

Observation Room

Dr. Bright leaned back in his chair, sipping from a questionable mug labeled "Bright's Totally Legal Coffee."

He nudged Sophia, who was watching the screen. "You're not worried about him bonding with the others?"

Sophia didn't look away. "If he can connect with them, it's better than keeping him isolated. It's the first time he's had something resembling a real team. Maybe... it'll ground him."

Bright shrugged. "Let's just hope no one figures out who he really is too fast. You saw how Ramirez looked at him when he blocked that shot."

Sophia muttered under her breath, "Let's hope they just think he's a freakishly talented combat vet."

Meanwhile – Somewhere Else in the Foundation

A report file flickered on a secure monitor. The name:

MTF Echo-9: Integration Report – Reginald (Alias of SCP-076-2)

The terminal operator, wearing a white coat and black gloves, leaned back in the shadows. A voice echoed in the empty room.

"Integration proceeding faster than expected. Still… he's only pretending to be human."

Another member of Echo Team, a bit stockier than the rest, leaned against the nearby railing. His dirty blond hair was tousled like he hadn't bothered with a comb that morning, and his silver eyes were sharp with curiosity—or maybe amusement.

"So," he drawled, arms crossed, "what's this headcanon of yours, Clara?"

Clara didn't even look up from her clipboard as she answered, deadpan, "I always thought Red's name from Pokémon was short for Reginald. Because, seriously—who in their right mind names their kid after a color?"

The blond guy blinked. "You mean besides literally everyone in that franchise?"

Clara shot him a flat look. "I refuse to accept that naming logic. Green? Blue? Silver? No way those are real names."

Able raised an eyebrow. "So by your logic, I should be grateful I'm not called 'Gray' or 'Taupe'."

Clara grinned. "Exactly. You got lucky."

The stocky teammate gave Able a once-over, then smirked. "Well, Red fits you. You've got that 'murderous silent protagonist' aura going on."

Able gave a soft grunt—neither approval nor disagreement. But he didn't reject the name either.

There was a beat of silence, then Clara said with a little too much mischief in her tone, "Besides… Red suits someone with a kill count higher than my student debt."

The blond guy cracked up. "That's not hard, Clara. You went to a public college."

Able didn't laugh, but the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

Meanwhile, in a different part of the Foundation…

The quiet click of a chess piece echoed softly in the dimly lit room. A lamp cast a warm glow over the board, illuminating the figures frozen mid-strategy. Dr. Kondraki sat across from a man whose presence felt both calming and heavy—Cain, the Foundation's SCP-073.

Cain's hands were steady, fingers brushing lightly against the carved wooden knight he had just moved. His gaze remained fixed on the board, though his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

Kondraki leaned back in his chair, watching Cain. "That's everything," he said quietly, folding his arms. "Everything we know so far."

Cain finally looked up. His expression was unreadable—sad, perhaps, or just tired. "So… he's changed," he said softly.

There was a pause.

"…He still might not want to talk to me."

Kondraki raised an eyebrow. "You think that's about guilt? Or pride?"

Cain didn't answer right away. Instead, he gently adjusted one of the pieces, not making a move, just fidgeting. "He's always been stubborn," he murmured. "Even before. Especially after."

Kondraki studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Can't say I blame him. Everything that's happened—your history with him is… cosmic-level complicated."

Cain chuckled softly, but there was no joy in it. "That's one way to put it."

There was silence again. The kind that wasn't awkward—just… full.

"I don't want forgiveness," Cain said after a while. "I don't even expect understanding. I just want to know if the brother I remember is still in there. Or if all that's left is what the world made of him."

Kondraki glanced at the board, then at Cain. "You're not the only one wondering that."

He reached forward and moved his rook. "Check."

Cain the spoke. "Also, one question, how are these Pieces not dying, by my curse".

Kondraki smirked as he spoke. "A bit of my invention, its layers with Metal, it's make sure you don't destroy it, Ge-".

He was cut of by the piece finally turning into dust, just like any other plant life that was touched by Cain

Cain looked down at the pile of ash that used to be a rook, the edges still smoking faintly.

"…Eventually," he murmured, voice carrying a tired amusement.

Dr. Kondraki sighed, rubbing his temples. "I really thought I had it this time. Seven goddamn layers of anti-corrosion, thaumic sealant, even a pinch of SCP-914's 'very fine' dust on the metalwork."

Cain glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "You used anomalous refinement on chess pieces?"

Kondraki leaned back with an exaggerated groan. "You try playing a full match with someone who literally rots furniture with a handshake. It's either that, or switch to holograms—and those never have the same tactile satisfaction."

Cain let out a quiet chuckle, dry and gravelly. "Fair. Though I doubt even 914 can cancel him."

He looked down at his hands. "Sometimes, I forget. Just for a moment."

The two sat in silence again, the burnt remains of the rook between them, the rest of the board untouched. The moment felt heavy again—not from tension, but from centuries of quiet pain neither man truly talked about.

"…Do you think he'll forgive you?" Kondraki asked finally, not looking at Cain.

Cain didn't answer right away.

"I don't know if he should."

Then, more quietly: "But I hope one day, he can."

To be continued

Hope people like this Ch and give me power stone's and enjoy