By the time Bruce returned to the Batcave, dawn was still hours away. Alfred had already prepared the medical equipment, silently removing pieces of the damaged Batsuit while disinfecting the deep wound across Bruce's side. The cut had narrowly missed anything vital, but it had been delivered with frightening precision. Whoever Able truly was, he had not simply been swinging wildly. Every strike had been calculated, measured, and intended to kill.
Bruce remained silent while Alfred finished stitching the wound.
His thoughts never left the warehouse.
The impossible swords.
The inhuman speed.
The casual mention of an organization called the Foundation.
Finally, Bruce broke the silence.
"What have you found about this Foundation?"
Alfred looked away from the computer screen for only a moment before answering through the cave's speakers.
"Not much luck there either, Master Bruce. I searched every database I could legally—and illegally—access. Gotham Police records, FBI archives, CIA intelligence, military databases, international criminal networks, even older SHIELD intelligence files that were left surprisingly vulnerable. Nothing substantial."
Bruce continued fastening the armor over the fresh bandages.
"And?"
"There is... one anomaly."
Bruce looked up.
"I found a heavily redacted United States government document mentioning an organization called the SCP Foundation. Almost every page has been removed, and whatever remained has been censored beyond usefulness. The only surviving reference appears to be an addendum that someone evidently neglected to erase completely."
Alfred pressed a key, projecting the surviving sentence onto the Batcomputer.
"...assets transferred to SCP Foundation jurisdiction under Executive authorization..."
"That's all?"
"I'm afraid so."
Bruce narrowed his eyes.
"No addresses?"
"No personnel."
"No photographs?"
"No insignia."
"No organizational structure."
"No funding trail."
"Nothing."
Alfred paused before continuing.
"I also searched for the individual calling himself Able. SHIELD's metahuman registry contains no one matching his description. Neither does S.T.A.R. Labs' developing metahuman database. There are no military enhancement programs, known assassins, League of Shadows records, or international intelligence files describing someone capable of manifesting weapons from thin air, surviving catastrophic injuries, or demonstrating that level of combat ability."
Bruce remained silent.
"If such a man existed publicly," Alfred continued, "someone would have documented him. Instead... it is as though he has never existed."
Bruce slowly finished securing the final section of his armor.
"That means someone has been hiding him."
"It would certainly appear that way."
Bruce replayed the encounter in his mind.
Able had not behaved like an assassin.
He had announced himself.
Given Bruce time to recover.
Invited him to a duel.
A killer motivated by honor instead of money.
That alone made him dangerous.
But even more concerning was the organization behind him.
An organization capable of completely erasing someone like Able from every intelligence database on Earth.
Bruce climbed into the Batmobile.
"Good work, Alfred. There's only one person in this city who might know something."
"And who would that be, sir?"
Bruce started the engine.
"Edward Nashton."
The Batmobile disappeared into Gotham's streets once more.
Behind him, Alfred remained in the Batcave, quietly staring at the lone surviving sentence mentioning the Foundation. Whoever they were, they possessed influence reaching deep into governments, intelligence agencies, and military archives. Organizations capable of burying themselves this thoroughly rarely had good intentions.