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It is a gut feeling.
An uncomfortable and bothersome gut feeling. Because the situation is as expected as it is weird, which to some would be very much, and to others, not at all.
To Cypher it is an unending nagging feeling.
He notices it accidentally. Only because Raze mentions the name.
“No! That’s Omen’s!”
When he lifted his head to see what the sudden exclamation had been about he noticed Raze snatching a cat themed mug from Breach’s hand and settling it back in the cupboard. It is only at the mention of the name that he noticed the wraith was missing.
Omen is a man of routine, as much as his body seems keen on disagreeing. He’s often off by a few minutes but he always does the same things around the base. At around that time he should’ve showed up to fill one glass jar with water for the plants he watched over in the common hall.
Omen hadn’t shown up to do that yet. Cypher had glanced at the plants and noticed they were indeed dry.
Well… the day hadn’t been closed to done so there was no issue there, perhaps he had just been late again, or caught up with an issue, he still could show up. He finished preparing his tea and moved to his office. On the way back to his room after a day of work, he walked by the same dry plants and an empty couch the wraith liked haunting at night while everyone was asleep.
That was a day ago.
Next morning Cypher woke up and the plants still looked dry.
He took pity on them and watered them, hoping Omen would bump into him before accidentally drowning the green fellas.
And he tried to move on with his day really, though unable to not take notice of the still empty couch the next night.
It is the third day when an odd feeling takes a hold of him. It started as something he brushed off but that kept coming back to him.
He hasn’t seen Omen in two whole days.
He has to be on base. Last time he saw him was when he came back from a mission. Earlier than the rest of the team. Frustrated. Cypher wasn’t privy to the details, so he dug into it to find Omen was sent back as his reactions to the topic at hand we’re getting a bit too unpredictable to be safe at an incognito mission digging at Kingdom’s files. It is not a very nice way to be sent home but Omen's... condition sometimes called for some unfortunate decisions. Much to the wraith's distaste, most likely.
Viper and Fade kept the mission objective, Omen was sent back to report and get a check up from Sage.
And Cypher hasn’t seen him since.
So he spent a few spare minutes to track the other agent through the base in the camera recordings, following him as he left the infirmary to train against some bots and then head to his room. Where he has been… for over two days.
He could’ve teleported outside the base but Cypher doubts it. Omen has no reason to go outside and surely no motivation.
It was not entirely odd for Omen to go into hiding every once in a while but this time… well… that gut feeling was there.
Something is off about that footage with Omen. The speed he did things? The way he turned? He walked? Cypher can’t tell but he can’t stop thinking about it.
On his way out of his office he spots Sage.
“Sage! Have you seen Omen lately?” He asks, just to be sure Omen was not possibly just hiding from cameras.
“I have not. Why?” Sage asks politely.
“He forgot to water the plants at the lounge, so I just wanted him to know that I did it for him.” Cypher comes up with the excuse, sheepishly scratching at his head to cover up the sour mood the confirmation put him in.
Sage smiles at him.
“I see. Thank you! I’ll let him know if I see him.”
Cypher nods politely and returns his walk towards his room.
This shouldn’t be bothering him this much. Why is it? What detail is grabbing at his mind? Why is he worried?
Cypher stops in his tracks, hesitating for a while.
His body makes up his mind for him, making him turn around and retreat the corridor until he is facing Omen’s door.
He knocks on it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
He waits, fidgeting with a tripwire in his pocket and receives no answer.
“Omen.” He calls through the door. “I know you’re in there. We need to talk.”
He couldn’t come with an excuse to bother the man other than concern, but Omen wasn’t one to care about niceties either.
“I’m worried about you, so I’m letting myself in, okay?”
He gives him 5 more seconds before turning to the digital lock and pressing zero four times.
The door clicks unlocked and slides open for Cypher.
The room is as empty and soulless as usual, lights off and no personal items on display sans the knitting bag poking from under the slightly ruffled bed. Other than the standard VALORANT tablet laying on the desk and the aforementioned details, there’s nothing in the room signaling anyone even used it.
Cypher barely lets himself in, doors closing behind him when he’s hit with a pungent, uncomfortably sweet smell. His hand goes up to his face on his own as he frowns at the familiar but not yet recognized odor.
“Omen?”
The wraith is nowhere in sight, which means he could only be in the adjacent bathroom or somewhere else entirely.
Cypher takes the few steps that lead to the ajar door, feeling his limbs start locking up in discomfort as his instincts blare alarms in his head that something is very wrong. His hand itches to hover over the Ghost tucked hidden in his belt, but he takes another step instead, feeling how the smell becomes nauseatingly stronger as he approaches the door.
He places his palm on the door and slowly pushes it open.
He finally makes the connection of the smell.
Back before he worked for VALORANT, and after his old hopeful life was over, Cypher was often hired not only as an information broker but as a hitman. At first he had his wits and some leftover equipment for the former tasks, but for the latter, he lacked the weaponry that would allow him hits that would put him at a distance.
Not to worry, working up close and personal meant Cypher could more easily get rid of the evidence that he was ever there.
In the time between pulling a bullet in someone’s head and finishing collecting up all the information he needed, blood would pool from the body and all the nasty things would happen. Soon, when Cypher was done wiping his prints from everything, the iron in the air would sting his nose, and if he ever returned later, the smell would turn sweeter, as maggots and flies made a feast of a carcass.
This smell reminds him of that.
There, sitting down inside the bathtub, leaning against the wall, he finds Omen.
And right behind Omen is an explosion of dark rotting blood going all the way up to the ceiling.
Cypher doesn’t quite get what he’s seeing at first, trying to connect the obvious points.
He takes a step (and then another) inside the bathroom and finds a hole in the wall. He finds another hole in the back of Omen’s hoodie right where his head is, painted a disgusting dark red/brown. And when he comes close enough to look inside the bloodstained bathtub, there’s a sheriff in Omen’s unmoving hand.
Cypher’s brain compartmentalizes it all as it was trained to do, letting him take every detail with an impressive degree of detachment until it comes to a brilliant conclusion.
Omen killed himself.
It keeps working. How long was it? The smell and color of the blood suggests it must’ve been a while. Two days? Is that what Omen did once he came out of training? Is that what he was there for? A gun? Did no one notice Omen gone for two whole days?
Did anyone suspect this would happen?
He should’ve, right? He was supposed to know things.
Cypher kneels by the bathtub, swallowing dryly as he comes eye level with Omen’s corpse. Luckily, he sees no flies or maggots, which he’s very thankful for, although he can’t explain why they haven’t been drawn to his corpse yet. Maybe it’s the radianite? He’s curious but his brain doesn’t let him wonder. There’s a faint blue where before his skin glowed, dulled and dead. His body was still in a way Omen could never be in life.
He knows it’s no use thinking like that but he can’t help but think that he had to be lying dead for two days and no one even noticed it.
Cypher takes a deep breath, iron filling his lungs, and then lets it out.
There might be a chance his soul was still around for Sage to bring back to the body, but two days is a long time.
He reaches inside the tub, slowly, uncurling Omen’s still pliable fingers from the gun.
As he lays the hand back down on Omen’s lap, it twitches.
Cypher pauses, wondering if perhaps he imagined it.
Omen is laying still.
He pinches at the bloodstained bandages around Omen’s arms, tugging it slightly so he could see a bit of skin.
There’s that dull blue, but now that he watches it closely, he can see it faintly swirl, so subtle it's almost imperceptible.
“Omen?” He calls, although by all means Omen should not be able to hear, much less answer.
Cypher wraps a hand around Omen’s wrist, letting his thumb rest over where his pulse should be.
“Omen?” He calls again.
It’s so faint he almost misses it, but he presses his thumb into the skin and feels the way Omen’s heart beats through it. Almost shyly. Too slow.
At that, Cypher finally feels panic build up in his lungs, dutifully suppressed.
“Omen.” He calls once more, using his other hand to grab his shoulder and shake him slightly.
Omen lets out a trapped breath in a gasp, head lolling to the side.
How is he alive?
“Omen, can you hear me?”
Omen’s fingers twitch again, his head hangs at an uncomfortable angle, jostled by Cypher and weightening heavily. He lets another breath out. It doesn’t turn as much as it twitches pathetically, achieving nothing.
It is a disturbing, if not heartbreaking, visage, seeing Omen struggle to move in a pool of his own drying blood.
“Omen, I’m going to touch your face, okay?” Cypher asks, watching for any sign that he was heard. Omen twitches his fingers again but nothing more.
Cypher decides to go ahead. He shifts his weight on his knees and leans forward. He grabs at Omen’s stiff hoodie and with a small apology, tugs it down. There’s a barely discernible crust of blood around Omen’s head that drips down his shoulders and back. Cypher gently holds Omen’s head and turns it so he can look at the back.
There’s a dull blue mark that mimics the hole in the wall, a straight line if Omen were to put a gun under his chin, where Cypher finds another mark, if he tilted his head back.
It is very clear Omen did shoot himself, he just didn’t die.
“I am going to move you, alright?”
Omen doesn’t respond to him.
Cypher leans forward, grabbing Omen by his arms so he can pull him up with a grunt.
“There we go.” He steadies Omen against his side, draping one of his arms over his shoulder and holding him by the waist so he can stand up. Omen groans very lowly in the back of his throat, mostly dead weight in Cypher’s grasp as his legs bend and refuse to stay upright.
“Come on. Like that.” He throws small encouragements as he tugs Omen away from the tub, watching his limbs twitch uncoordinatedly as he seems to try to remember how to move them, or that he has limbs at all. It is an awkward and uncomfortable ordeal as Cypher holds his weight up and finally gets Omen’s legs out of the tub. Luckily it is all dried out and there are no bloodied smears on the floor when Omen’s feet touch it.
He keeps trying to get him to walk, patiently and slowly moving back towards the bed, a small shuffle of a step at a time until Omen can actually plant his feet on the ground. He’s not yet walking, more akin to being dragged by Cypher but it is still progress.
“Almost there.” Cypher calls, as Omen’s knee moves a bit, shuffling as Omen puts weight on that leg.
It’s tiresome and slow but they finally reach the bed and Cypher sits Omen down on it gently. He tries to leave him sitting, but as soon as his hands leave him, Omen starts tumbling forwards. Cypher holds him upright, watching his head lull heavily again.
He notices that dull blue in his whole body seems ever so slightly brighter.
He helps him lean against the headboard, letting go of him for a moment.
Omen humms.
He’s laying slack, arms sprawled over his lap and head hanging to the side against the headboard, blood staining all of his clothes. His fingers move every now and then, and sometimes even his hand, but it is as if he still has no real control over his body.
Cypher should probably contact Sage. Or Viper, or Skye. Anyone with the knowledge to actually help, but watching Omen like this puts a stop on him whenever he thinks about getting help.
It's the vulnerability of it all. Omen is not in a good position. When Cypher checked him he seemed to have no open wounds, just left out marks of something that must’ve happened, but still he is covered in his own blood, unable to stand up. It’s sad. Miserable. And something Omen probably didn’t intend for anyone to see.
Cypher returns to the bathroom for a moment. The gun is on the floor by the bathtub. When Cypher picks it up, he checks the bullets and counts 5. He walks up to the crack in the wall where the hole is and finds the bullet embedded there. The tub is a disgusting mess of dried blood and strange organic matter. Cypher has been to enough crime scenes to not be nauseated by the sight, but knowing it’s a friend’s makes his stomach turn uncomfortably.
He finds no notes. No goodbyes. No alcohol. No meds. Nothing to indicate what happened before Omen’s… attempt.
He returns to Omen. He moved his arm, bent over his lap, fingers flexing and relaxing slowly, head bent down.
How can someone shoot a bullet through their head, bleed for over two days and survive ?
“Omen.” Cypher calls again. Again, there’s no real response, but Omen is still moving, slowly, very small movements.
It seems like a stupid conclusion but Cypher can’t help but look at him and think Omen looks sad.
There’s this sharp pain in his chest as he purses his lips, looking at his friend. He doesn’t want him to be like that, so he offers what he can at the moment.
He kneels by Omen’s feet, looking up into his face, the blue seeming to pulsate slightly back into a brighter glow, even though it is still dim.
“Omen.” He once more calls for him. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yes? We’ll think about what to do next after. Okay?”
Omen is still flexing his hand, his undivided and foggy attention focused on that task alone.
Cypher turns on his camera that overlooks the corridor outside looking for anyone that might be around. It is unlikely that someone would be roaming about at that time, but he still wants to make sure it is empty. He doesn’t want anyone else to see this.
Knowing for sure the coast is clear, he moves to pull Omen up to his feet again. Holding his hand so he can place it over his shoulder. This time however, Omen reacts to the touch, fingers curling gently around Cypher’s but not holding on when Cypher lets go to hold his waist and stand him up.
Omen manages to stand on his feet thanks to Cypher’s help. He is still unsteady but at least Cypher is not dragging him anymore.
They make it to the door and Cypher opens it for them.
The air outside the room is much fresher and a sudden realization that staying in Omen’s room had given Cypher a pounding headache, only because the clean air eased it even if just a bit.
He tries to make the walk to his own room as fast as possible to avoid any bystanders catching them, but Omen is still not walking entirely, only discoordinatedly putting one foot in front of the other every once in a while.
They make it there without issue though, and Cypher pulls them inside as quickly as he can, still muttering praises of how he should walk “yes, just like that” or “not too far now”.
His room mirrors Omen’s in lack of personal details, but it is immaculately kept and bright. He leads them both to his bathroom.
“Just a bit further.” He assures again as they go through the door. He sits Omen down on the toilet lid, catching his breath for a moment. His lungs feel uncomfortably tight and his exhale comes out in a wobble. He takes another few more deep breaths until he doesn’t feel like… like he…
He takes another.
“I’m gonna take your clothes off. Wash away all that. It must not be comfortable as it is.” He explains, though still unsure if Omen can hear him as he goes back to staring at his flexing claws.
Cypher sighs.
He moves to unwrap the bandages on his arms first. It is not an arduous task at all, though it takes a moment to unroll both arms. He leaves the bloodied wraps on the floor. Then its the hood and cape, already pulled down from his head. He brings them up and takes them out, placing them on top of the bandages. The pile is more red than it is purple.
Next he gets to Omen’s boots, undoing the straps so he can pull them out. Omen lets his legs be held and moved wherever without any protest, still focused on moving now individual fingers as Cypher tugs the boots off.
He doesn’t know what’s going through Omen’s head. He looks at him and he wants to know, but he can’t. He avoids staring, looking at him brings this feeling up he can’t quite describe and there’s no time for that now. Now he needs to get Omen cleaned up.
Once the boots and the socks are out, Cypher gets up again to get rid of Omen’s armor.
It is an elegant piece, all things considered. It is pretty slim and lightweight for its purpose, and it doesn’t seem to limit Omen’s movements by any means, parts moving independently to allow him to bend or stretch whichever way he needed. It however takes Cypher a moment to find where the latches are to open it. As soon as the piece is open, a shudder seems to run through Omen’s body and he lets out a grunt.
Cypher stops, glancing at the man but he seems unbothered, or at least not more bothered than he was a moment before.
The armor is set down as well.
The black tanktop underneath it is as stained as everything else with sweat and blood.
He starts tugging it up Omen’s torso, stopping as it reaches his armpits. He makes it to move Omen’s arms up to keep pulling it out and Omen actually helps, keeping his arms up until the tanktop is off.
Then he brings them down again to his lap.
“Well… The pants now.” Cypher instructs, but Omen doesn’t seem keen on getting up any time soon.
Cypher struggles with lifting him up from his seat and tugging the pants down enough he can pull the rest off while Omen’s still sitting, but he manages. He gets it down his thighs then to his ankles and then it is off, leaving Omen only in his underwear.
He decides to leave it on for now, just so Omen can still have some decency left.
“Up you go.” He says, holding Omen’s hands and pulling him up on his feet again.
He leads the wobbling man to his pristine clean bathtub, he sits him inside letting him make himself comfortable, which is sitting half slouched, leaning against the wall, mimicking the state Cypher first found him in.
Cypher shudders.
He pulls his sleeves up to his elbows, unstrapping his gloves and pulling them off his arms, leaving them by the floor, although not in the same pile as Omen’s dirty clothes.
It is as much skin he has shown to anyone in many years, though he knows that is barely a compromise given Omen’s position. However it is still a necessity for them both.
He grabs the handheld showerhead, turning the water on and adjusting it until it is comfortably warm.
He sits by the side of the tub, showerhead in hands, staring Omen down.
“Let’s get to it then.”
He starts spraying Omen’s back, watching the water slide off the surface and fall into the bottom of the tub in a reddish, dark color. The door to the bathroom is open to his room, but the air around him is still stuffy and uncomfortable and that choking feeling starts crawling back up Cypher’s throat.
“I’m more partial to baths than showers, only because I really do enjoy lazing about in the water.” He starts babbling. Words coming out of his mouth without much thought just to fill in the silence. Just to keep them both from choking on it. “It’s too comfortable, I can’t help it. I didn’t have a bathtub when I was a kid, so I’m only making up for lost time, yes?”
There is no response. Omen’s body seems to shudder again but that’s all he gets.
Cypher uses his other hand to rub the skin off the worst clumps of blood and… and something, letting it all stream down the drain.
“I actually got a bathtub when I moved as an adult to my first house. It wasn’t a big house, nor a big tub, but it was enough. You could fit two people in there if you tried hard enough.” He smiled, recalling fond memories of him and Nora laughing while trying to share the small bathtub. It was a competition that, as usual, Amir lost.
The fondness is quickly gone, replaced with a feeling of longing. He notices he stopped what he was doing and moves the showerhead to Omen’s left arm instead.
“I still didn’t have the money for a lot of things I wanted to do back then.” He continues, gently taking Omen’s arm to throw water down the whole length. “Fancy bath salts and the like were mere fantasies. But I was an optimist man back then. I dared to dream.” He drops the arm down and reaches for the other. Omen moves his head slightly, following Cypher as he brings the arm closer to him to throw water at it as well.
“Of course I mostly mean bigger things. Like a bright future for my city, or a happy life for my family. But big dreams can have small goals too. So… Fancy baths with expensive salts.” He says.
He places the arm back on Omen's lap gently.
"Excuse me." He warns before moving Omen a bit so he can spray water at his chest and neck. Omen leans his head back slightly when Cypher pushes at it a bit.
"I don't even understand those. I couldn't tell what I should be buying or what to use. But still, one can wish."
He sprays Omen's legs as well, making sure to send all the brown water down the drain as not to stain his bathtub or bother Omen any longer.
"I say that because now I do have the money to do those things. Yes it is very transient money, and that I'm very careful with, but still."
He stops with a moment pondering.
He shakes his head, placing a hand on top of Omen's brows and spraying water on top of his head. Omen shudders again, leaning away slightly but Cypher avoids throwing water at his face. Admittedly he doesn't know exactly what is happening there but he still tries to at least run some water under his chin.
With this first rinse done, he shakes off his arms and washes away the remainder blood in the tub, finally placing the drain stopper in its place and filling the tub with water just below Omen's waist, mostly because he’s scared more water could be dangerous.
He gets up on cracking knees, reaching for the soap and a bath sponge.
He applies the soap on the sponge and leaves it on the floor next to the tub where he sits again.
He groans as he does.
"Haven't bathed someone since…" the words escape his mouth before he realizes. He pauses, laughing a bit startled at himself.
Last time he did that it was to his daughter. With bubbles and toys and all.
Omen looked nothing like his daughter, obviously. Cypher doesn't hold the same dynamic with him either, and thinking of this experience as anything close to what caring for his daughter was seems almost insulting.
But there's something in his chest, swirling and asking to be recognized that draws the connection anyway.
He starts rubbing Omen's back, getting rid of the blood that dried there for good. It's a bit hard to see, as if Omen's skin has a perpetual layer of smoke hovering above it, but that just means Cypher has to be through.
“Ah… I forgot what I was saying.” He smiles as he talks.
It is a sincere smile for a moment, feeling tenderness in doing something so domestic. But then reality slams on him as blood comes off in his hands that this is something really far from tender.
That feeling grips his throat and head again.
He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what he could say.
Don’t do that ? It’s honest but it is stupid.
I’m sorry ? And what does that do to any of them?
Why?
Now that’s an interesting one.
Would Omen ever tell him?
And if he did? Then what?
Cypher lives in anonymity, but Omen was born in it. He has nothing to tell and nothing to lose. Too much of an odd case, an impossibility in the world of physics.
Operating out of the standard made everything about him that much more hard to deal with. It was too specific, barely studied and widely unknown.
Cypher can’t harm nor help him.
It finally clicks in his head that he was mistaken.
Omen didn’t survive his suicide attempt.
He really died.
He just came back again.
He’d done it before, right?
What’s another death?
Cypher keeps scrubbing, lip hurting from how hard he’s biting it under his mask.
The foamy soap keeps turning red as Cypher goes through Omen’s skin, and he cleans the sponge up as much as he can, applying a generous amount of soap until it is overriding that sweet tang and sharp smell of iron.
He drains the water and fills it with a shallow amount again.
Now that the words have stopped, his mind keeps churning to undesirable paths.
He’s slowly becoming angry, as he scrubs Omen’s chest of the blood.
He can’t tell at what exactly, only that there’s this contempt and spite in him.
Why?
Why like this? Why now? Why do you think you’re allowed to do this? Why are you allowed to get through it anyway?
Guilt follows right after the train of thought, causing Cypher to stop for a moment. Taking a second to just breathe.
He knows it’s not that simple. It’s just that the option had always been there for him as well and he never took it. Even as it loomed close, there was always something else that had to be done. Someone else to hunt. Something else he had to protect.
Cypher had too much to do to get his easy way out.
Whatever, it wasn’t like Omen got his anyway.
It shouldn’t have come to this, for neither of them.
“Sorry.” The word slips out of his mouth before he can think about it.
He is sorry for a lot. His thoughts, their predicament, and all that came before those things.
Cypher stops scrubbing Omen’s chin and finally the soap bubbles remain white.
Good as new.
Cypher opens the drain again and takes the shower head to rinse him.
He runs his hand alongside the water, making sure there’s no more blood anywhere, reassuring Omen that there’s someone here for him. Willing to hear, to understand.
To hope to help.
The blues in Omen’s skin gain back that typical jitter to them, still glowing dimmer than usual, but making the wraith seem much more alive than before.
He turns off the water.
He gets up again, opening the cabinet to grab a towel.
It's a white one. Fluffy and heavy. He drapes it over Omen’s shoulders.
“Come on.” He grabs at Omen’s forearms and pulls up.
Omen gets on his feet with not much difficulty, and when Cypher takes a step back he follows with a slow step of his own. Cypher guides him out of the tub, mindful of the wet floor and sits him on the toilet lid again.
Omen sits without much prompting. It is almost as if he's on autopilot now, performing actions without any intention behind it. Just following the lead.
Still not acknowledging Cypher entirely.
Cypher starts petting him dry. Arms, shoulders, back chest. It’s completely quiet as Cypher runs out of words to say. He pulls out Omen’s wet underwear without much fanfare and doesn’t look more than he has to, covering him up with the towel and taking a step back.
“I can borrow you some clothes for now. I think I have a hoodie somewhere.”
As expected, there’s no response.
Cypher turns around and leaves, heading for his wardrobe and the few possessions he has.
Indeed he owns a single, old hoodie. It is grey and just a bit too large for him, but it is comfortable and warm, and it has followed him through many hardships. He grabs a shirt and some pajama pants as well as some clean underwear.
All his clothes are in shades of greys and whites and there’s some hesitation in reaching any of them as if his hands would stain them red.
He goes back to the bathroom with the clean clothes.
Omen is still sitting on the toilet lid. He’s not leaning against anything for once, and his hands grip the towel on his lap.
“Here. You can use these for now.” Cypher tells him as he approaches, though of course he doesn’t answer.
He helps Omen get dressed, coaxing him up for a moment to slip the underwear on, then the pants. Omen moves his arms slowly so Cypher can put the shirt on and as soon as he has the hoodie on as well, with Cypher tugging the hood over his head, his arms curl closer to his chest.
Covered so much, Omen looks eerily human. It is a thought that slaps Cypher in the face. It shouldn’t ever occur to him like that but it does.
For the last time he coaxes Omen to his feet, holding his hand gently and tugs him towards his bed.
“Don’t worry about your bathroom. I know a thing or two about getting that cleaned up so it should be good as new once I get to it. Mostly…” He speaks gently, feeling too tired to put that lilt in his voice.
He’s feeling miserable as well.
He sits Omen down and the wraith pulls his legs up, curling in on himself with his arms tucked close to his chest.
“In the meantime, you can use mine, I suppose. You’re already here, after all.”
Omen’s position seems a bit uncomfortable, clutching at himself as if he’s cold when certainly shouldn’t be. It is likely he’s trying to put pressure on them again, Cypher realizes. He should get the armor cleaned up fast.
“We need to talk to Sage about this, you understand, right? I’m not qualified to tell what kind of assistance you might need after…” Cypher stumbles on his words. “… when you…”
They don’t come out right, there’s just that choking feeling instead.
Cypher looks down, pressing the palms of his hands hard against the eyes of his mask, dark spots dancing under his closed eyes.
“Do you even know that?” He mumbles.
His eyes hurt from the pressure.
“Omen…” Cypher whispers. “Did you know you’d come back?”
He wants to know. Wants to know if it was just one more sadistic trait, a self-punishing whim moved by a hatred for himself, or if Omen’s goal truly was oblivion. But he thinks he knows the answer. If anything, it was probably a gamble. One that didn’t go his way.
Had it gone his way, he would’ve left a blank will addressed to no one and a corpse to be picked apart piece by piece to be studied until the parts could never resemble the whole. Age: unknown. Name: unknown.
Who would mourn something so fleeting?
Cypher, apparently.
Because Cypher thought he understood losing things. Losing yourself.
He cared, but even still there was a gap between them he was unable to cross.
“Cypher.” He hears a mumble in the air.
He doesn’t want to look up, but he still acknowledges his friend, taking a deep, wobbly breath in.
“I found out…” his voice cracks with disuse, more dry air than sound. It is a statement, lacking any flourish of feelings like the one’s gripping at Cypher’s chest. “I will never be human again.”
Cypher feels his face scrunch up, eyes stinging harder and harder under his eyelids.
What could he possibly say to that?