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“Sova, this is Cypher. Do you have visual?”
“Affirmative.”
The words are spoken by rooftop, a bird’s eye view allowing the hunter to see the spike just as it’s being planted. Among their numbers, he can see the five Omega agents assigned to the task—his double, Cypher’s, Raze’s, Omen’s, and Viper’s—some already disappearing into the various alleyways surrounding the bomb site.
“Very few are remaining on site,” he relays over comms. “The other Cypher, Viper, and Sova have evacuated. The other two are uncertain.” (He takes a moment to make certain of his gear’s attachment as he continues.) “Is everyone else ready to retake?”
“Indeed,” Cypher answers.
“Affirmative,” echoes KAY/O’s voice.
“You got it,” Jett replies.
“Righty-o!” Clove chirps.
“Perfect.” (One step and then the next, the hunter bringing himself to the ground in a few calculated leaps.) “Clove, block off vision from the entry points I’ve marked. Once my recon bolt lands,”—(here, he nocks an arrow, already calculating the optimal trajectory)—“we close in from the remaining openings.”
A chorus of affirmations is the response, and so he waits, careful and calculated; until he sees the pink and purple dust coalesce, and his arrow flies.
Thus: the battle begins.
Jett appears first, dashing onto site with an array of knives commanded about her. At her heels is an overeager Clove, rifle at the ready and mischief already brimming in their eyes. The opposing Omen turns his attention to the both of them rather quickly, but between the immortal on the ground and the assassin in the sky, he’s very quickly turned into a ghost. (Again.)
Cypher—their Cypher, his ally—announces himself next, tapping his defuser to the ticking spike in order to bait a reaction from beyond the clouds; KAY/O stands nearby with a flashbang at the ready, likewise awaiting Legion’s next move.
But there is no immediate response, and Sova wonders—where did Raze go?—before: the telltale beam of his double’s fury.
Sova’s eyes lock onto the bolt, mind already calculating the potential places of origin. A quick glance is sent back to his allies to confirm their well-being, and then: “I’ll find him,” he announces, already following the path. Cypher shouts something after him, but the hunter moves quickly and hardly hears what was said.
From what he could determine, his copy had set himself up at an altitude within one of the nearby buildings. Quick, he thinks, but any of the exterior stairs could’ve worked for an easy scale. He eyes the structure he believes to be the most likely home and climbs his way to the fourth floor, kicking against the window once, then twice before the glass shatters.
Sage would scold him for that later, but his mind is trained on the man on the other side.
Rifles up. (You’ve been announced.)
Neither can take a shot, however, before a small disk lands at his feet, erupting into a cylinder of static shades of grey: one of Cypher’s cages, he notes, and he hates that he cannot tell from a glance which one it is. From beneath him, he hears bullets echoing, but they sound parallel to the ground—not perpendicular. (His Cypher’s, then, most likely.)
Another disk comes a few seconds after, ricocheting off the brick across the alley before landing a few feet ahead the last.
“I’m joining you,” Cypher says over comms. “Don’t die before I arrive.”
Sova huffs, before entering the building anyway. The second cage has already lit up, allowing him a relatively safe path—so he aims for where his copy was previously standing but when he steps past the barrier of grayscale isolation, he finds that the other man is already gone.
You’re going to make me fight for this, aren’t you? (The spike continues to beep in the distance, each tick a grim reminder of what was at stake, and Sova understands he might’ve done the same.) Back to the hunt.
First, to his right: towards the long hallway of abandoned rooms. Sova had stepped out of the cage to his left and saw nothing at first; so he presumes that his double had taken to his own left as well, vanishing along that route. With a moment to analyze his surroundings, he finds the building to be some sort of unattended to office space, the rooms mostly dust-covered and empty—leaving a fairly easy tail to track. His suspicions are confirmed.
Thus: he follows.
On the other side of the communication network, bits and pieces of combat from the ground floor are translated—he hears something about Viper being located, but she is nowhere near him; he tunes it out.
Down the stairs next, heading down the flight two steps at a time; there’s more abandoned offices, more long hallways. (No sign of his copy.) Just more footsteps, winding between rooms and senselessly across halls; a part of him wonders if he’s been tricked to mistake the path down for the path up—until he rounds a corner, entering a lobby of sorts, and he comes face-to-face with Cypher. Quickly, he checks which one it is.
Not ours. (An enemy.)
Already, he’s grabbing his vandal, but the other Cypher hardly moves to oppose; instead, his lenses reflect something to be cautioned, and Sova finds that before he could find his quarry, it had found him.
Quick, smooth, ruthless; he is shoved to the floor, pressed in place, and his copy is drawing a weapon. His own rifle is knocked to the ground separate from him, and the other Cypher calmly kicks it further away. (Seems he’d have to fistfight then.)
A bullet fires, and Sova braces, but then he realizes the weapon is silenced and from a distance—eyes flick up to see his own Cypher appear; there is less than a moment of distraction provided, and Sova uses the opportunity to clock his copy in the jaw.
Next movement: regaining his mobility. With his assailant sent off-kilter, Sova is able to quickly jump to his feet, and that momentum becomes a fist directed at the other Cypher as well; the rat ducks, grabbing his phantom in the same swift motion as Sova draws his knife, but then the hunter is dragged back by the hood—and he already knows by who.
I should’ve punched harder.
The other Cypher raises his weapon now, only to be set off-balance by Alpha’s Cypher pistol-whipping him in the neck—
“I’ll handle him,” his Cypher says, one arm wrapped around the other Cypher’s neck, and all Sova can wonder is why he only seems to have his ghost with him. His mind leaves the question when he’s promptly slammed against a wall.
He doesn’t exchange words with his copy, instead delving immediately into their next round of combat—scratching and scrapping without regards for reservation or image; even as the quietest part of his mind points out that he’s losing (the fight against Sova; the fight against time), he keeps on fighting, hoping that, maybe, choosing to hunt him in the first place wasn’t the mistake it was looking out to be.
(If the spike detonates, would that be his fault?)
He falls to the ground with a clatter, but he doesn’t give fatigue or exhaustion the chance to settle in before he’s already trying to get back up. The other Sova looks down at him, just as battered and bruised but infinitely more confused.
“Don’t you know how to stay down?”
“You’re me,” Sova spits back, pain pounding through his brain as he pushes himself up. “You should understand.”
The other Sova makes a face he can’t quite read—some mixture of contemplation, unease, and wanting to bite back—before his gaze sharpens into the distance, focused on nothing in particular. Sova takes the opportunity to dive for his fallen rifle.
(Pick up, aim, fire, repeat.) It’s a familiar motion, feeling the weight of the weapon and focusing the barrel on a target—even as it is an effort to force himself through the motions against the weight of the world on his shoulders, he perseveres; but the other Sova doesn’t seem to be concerning himself with their fight anymore, instead turning his attention to the other two, still cleverly scuffling in their mazes of walls and cages. The next instant, his eyes find a window instead—the one at the end of the hall near the stairs where Sova had emerged from. The spike was sure to detonate soon—(he’d lost track of the time; had lost focus on its ticking)—and the hunter’s first thought is that the other was looking for a way to escape the blast.
And then he hears it:
Two explosions, drawing rapidly nearer; the signature clanks and clatter of Raze’s iconic Showstopper snapping into action; in the corner of his eye, Sova sees his copy diving for one of the freshly uncaged Cyphers; in crystal clear definition, the glass around them shatters.
He watches as everything moves in slow motion, looking because he has to (he has to see); and then everything clicks in a flash of reds and purples.
The walls close in, and everything goes dark.
Blue lenses blink back at him, the figure on the other side of the table an enigma he never could’ve fathomed existing had he never laid eyes upon him first.
‘Cypher,’ so he was called. The man with no name; the man with no past; the man in charge of keeping all of theirs.
Sova stares back into those voids and can’t help but wonder what secrets they’ve swallowed whole; what he was the only remaining witness of, those moments killed forever the moment he deigned to never speak of them again. Something burns in his chest in retaliation—the thought that this man must be trusted with his very life, only to have nothing to show that such trust was worth being given.
Brimstone calls for their attention, and the meeting begins.
Cypher blinks back with a wave of dull pain.
Seems Raze had done some damage with her Showstopper, a good part of the building having collapsed upon him and Sova and their doubles. He supposes that if all four of them died, that wouldn’t be too bad for leveling the playing field—they were the strongest of both sides, and he figures the rest of his team was better than the rest of theirs—but it could prove to be a hassle for Sage if their bodies ended up being unrecoverable. (Actually, it would be quite bad, he thinks, given the roles the two of them held within VALORANT and its management.)
Lucky for him at least, his body seemed to be in pretty decent condition. Unlucky for him, when he tries to activate his comms and locate the rest of his team, he is met with static and a dead screen.
Perfect. I’m cut off from everyone else.
A nuisance he’d get past at least—all he had to do was find someone from his side of the rift, and from there, they’d board the VLT/R and make their way back to HQ; simple as that. Cypher wriggles himself out from beneath the rubble and catches a familiar sight of blue and blond.
Sova.
“Sova!” he calls out—perhaps another cut off, but that was fine; better the two of them together than separate. Quick strides close the gap between broker and hunter, a careful effort put into clearing the path and reaching out a hand:
A hand that is met with a steely glare—the sort that makes Cypher pause for a moment, trying to process the uncharacteristic hostility—before it is accepted, the broker left able to pull Sova to his feet.
“Are you alright?” the masked inquires. “Have you any injuries?”
“I’m fine,” Sova replies tersely, dusting himself off before moving to remove the dirt and grime from his face and hair. Considering all the cuts and bruises he had from fighting the other Sova earlier, Cypher isn’t entirely certain that’s true, but he trusts him all the same.
“That’s good.” (Nervously, he fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeves—dirtied by the blast but still in working condition.) Eyes flick back up and his heart nearly stops.
Sova looks back with a cross over his eye, and that is when Cypher realizes he is with Alpha’s Sova.
Sova blinks back to reality with Cypher, thankfully, still in his arms.
He’d had very little time to react when he heard the whistle of the incoming missile, only focusing on finding his broker and shielding him from the brunt of the blow. Even now, he could feel the weight of fallen rubble pressing against his back, but as far as he could tell, Cypher had been untouched. Good.
(Assuming he’d protected the right one.)
Cypher shifts, turning his head slightly to make eye contact. For a moment, the broker tenses, and Sova worries that maybe—just maybe—he’d been mistaken, but then the other frees an arm, reaching for Sova’s face and brushing aside his cowlick.
And just like that, Cypher relaxes. I found him. (Sova relaxes too.)
But only briefly, his next efforts being directed towards getting them out of the mess they were in. Carefully, he wields his mass against that of the crumbled debris until he moves out of the way; it’s a difficult balance, especially given he had to make sure nothing above them fell, but ultimately, it is done, and they are freed. (It becomes easier to breathe as a result.)
He lets go of the broker, giving him the opportunity to self-assess and take note of his utilities. Of his own effects, Sova finds his bow damaged from the collapse and some of his arrows (though not all) rendered useless; he’d dropped his vandal when moving to save Cypher, but he still had his sheriff, and it remained in good condition. If any Alpha agents chose to attack them here, he wouldn’t be useless.
The next matter of business is checking the communication network—still working, but he notes one agent missing from the system. He looks up and sees Cypher fidgeting with his earpiece behind thinly veiled frustration.
“Broken?” he asks.
Cypher nods, sheepishly, and Sova laughs softly.
“It’s fine. Mine are still good. I’ll give the others our coordinates so we can get picked up soon.”
“Sounds good,” Cypher replies. “And, ah, thank you for protecting me.”
“Anytime.”
This was so terribly and horrendously bad, Cypher couldn’t even begin to explain.
After all, here he was with the enemy Sova—with no way to contact his team or relay his situation; and genuinely, what were the odds that Omega’s Cypher was down as well? Surely, Sova was plotting an elaborate scheme against him to bring reinforcements to their location in order to guarantee his death—or worse, his capture. Sova begins his reporting and Cypher, calmly, carefully, analyzes the hunter for any sign of weakness.
Nothing too obvious besides the bullet Cypher had shot him in the chest with earlier; there were also the scrapes and bruises of his fisticuffs with Sova, but otherwise? (Well, there was the slightest of winces whenever he moved his torso in a particular way—so maybe outrunning him was an option?) Unfortunately for Cypher, Sova has always excelled in ranged combat, and though he didn’t seem to have a primary on him, there was no doubt that his sheriff was hidden on his person.
Next: Cypher quietly assesses his own equipment, and he isn’t very fond of the outcome. (He’d lost track of his phantom a while before the encounter began; his ghost was in decent condition, but he also had very few bullets, and he was low on cages–)
Whatever his next move was, he needed to be very, very clever about it in order to survive.
Sova looks over at him and he tries to appear natural. “Brimstone is expected to arrive within the next half hour,” he relays, adding, a bit grimly, “after he’s got the dead bodies.” Cypher nods, feigning remorse.
“Any news about the spike?”
Sova sighs. “Defused. At the very least, we have the resources to depart on another mission soon, assuming Killjoy can find a weak enough patch in the mesh…” (Something grim comes over his expression, something of concern mixed with impatience.) “We need something soon.”
“It’ll be alright,” Cypher replies, because he thinks that’s what the other Cypher would say. He isn’t entirely confident that his Sova would’ve gone through such lengths to ensure his safety, so whatever his double’s dynamic was with this Sova, it was probably… kinder than its counterpart. He tries to imagine himself a friend to the man and dares to rest a hand on Sova’s shoulder; the hunter accepts it—leans into it, even.
“I hope you’re right.”
Cypher nods. He has to wonder:
(What is my copy’s relationship with this Sova?)
Cypher is still fidgeting with his effects when Sova finishes communications. KAY/O was still in good condition, though he’d be needing repairs from Killjoy and Raze; Jett had gotten some scratches but was largely alright; Clove had died, but they also assured him that they hardly remember the bullet that got them anyway, so there was ‘no need to worry’ about their condition. Overall: the mission had gone pretty well, and Jett had managed to defuse the spike, however close the detonation had been. They had agreed to converge on the VLT/R over the course of the next twenty minutes or so to prepare for a return to base; when Sova looks at the broker, the broker looks back.
“News?” Cypher asks.
“The spike was successfully defused,” Sova relays, though he doubts Cypher hadn’t been eavesdropping on the conversation to begin with. “The others are alive, though in varying states. We’ll be returning to the VLT/R shortly.”
Cypher nods. “That’s good to hear.” (A moment of pause.) “…How far are we from the VLT/R again?”
Sova raises an eyebrow. “Did you hit your head or something?” You’re not the sort to lose track of this sort of information so easily.
Cypher scoffs, and the indignation is familiar. “Rude. I did not hit my head. I’m perfectly fine, actually.”
The snappiness is too. (He probably did sustain some sort of injury and just didn’t want to admit it.) Typical.
“If you’re certain,” Sova replies. “Now help me clear a path.”
When Sova goes to move some of the rubble, Cypher doesn’t immediately follow. He raises a brow, and Cypher stares back before walking over to join him.
Weird. (But it was nothing, he thinks. Cypher has always been a bit strange, and it was far too early to make too harsh a judgement.) Everything was telling him this was fine, therefore: this is fine.
Everything’s fine.
Considering they had been on the third floor when the rocket landed, Cypher figured they were in remarkably good condition.
Each moment that passed implied that maybe, maybe Cypher had actually managed to trick this mirror Sova; when they had navigated their way down to the second floor (a tricky task given a good chunk of the building had been landslided into the plaza), Sova had asked him how his neck was faring, and Cypher realized he was talking about the improvised attack he’d made when the other Cypher was about to shoot Alpha’s Sova. He had replied that it was doing pretty well, all things considered. Sova simply believed him and didn’t press further.
It was… not ‘comfortable’ (that would be the wrong word, given how strange and foreign it feels), but rather… strange. He was used to seeing Sova’s kindness from a distance—his care and concern through the lenses of an observer—so this was different. And he was still trying to put that into words.
“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” the broker asks, gesturing vaguely at the wound in Sova’s chest. The hunter looks over and nods, though it was rather apparent that he was doing his best not to agitate it.
“We’ve been through worse,” Sova replies, and there’s a weight and honesty to it that sounds oddly intimate. Cypher looks away, focusing his gaze on the skyline beyond one of the open windows.
“I suppose we have.”
And then he gets up, though he isn’t quite certain why, fueled by something he can’t even—(that he doesn’t want to)—begin to name and turns his head to the rest of the complex they rested within.
“Regardless, I’m going to see if there are any resources nearby to patch that up with.” (He tilts his head towards Sova, who looks back up at him from his spot on the floor with eyes that feel far too trusting for Cypher’s tastes.) “This place couldn’t have been abandoned for too long.”
And Sova smiles, the same kind of warm and welcoming smile he’s usually only ever saved for the rest of their team. “That’s appreciated, Cypher. Thank you.”
Compared to his own Sova, this one was more like… a machine. Not even a well-oiled one in Cypher’s opinion, seeing as he seemed to be, behind that veneer of self-assured perfection, running on absolute fumes.
(He wonders what Alpha’s Cypher usually does about that. He wonders if he does anything at all.)
Maybe it was just because he was impatient. His first inclination had been to head back to the VLT/R immediately, but Cypher wasn’t confident in his ability to safely navigate the enemy’s den without getting captured, so he pointed out that they should probably be prepared to run into their Omega counterparts again. Sova decided that was worthy of agreement, and thus, Cypher had pulled out some tools and gotten to work fixing up his communicator—‘In case we need to separate for a time,’ he had explained. Sova had decided that fair as well.
That’s how they came to their present situation, with Cypher seated on the floor, the broken device and its innards splayed out before him alongside the replacements he’d had stored in one of his pouches. Sova stands with his back against a wall off to the side, eyes looking everywhere but hardly fixing in one spot for longer than a few moments. Impatience, he can recognize—something that doesn’t look too different on this mirror, but still the sort of thing he hasn’t seen in quite a while. Omega Earth was always ticking, always marching closer to annihilation, but Cypher thought that meant every moment should be cherished; because there were only so many of them, and therefore, they shouldn’t be put to waste.
That’s what his Sova taught him, at least.
“How’d you lose your phantom anyway?” Sova asks suddenly, likely trying to break the silence.
“How’d you lose your vandal?” Cypher replies, and he thinks it’s quite clever—perhaps even Alpha-coded, if he had chosen correctly.
“I lost mine when the building collapsed,” the hunter retorts, eyes sharpening. It takes much of Cypher’s will to keep still instead of panicking. “You didn’t even have yours during the fight earlier.”
“Maybe I did,” he continues, keeping the majority of his focus on fixing his gear. “Maybe I just wanted to show off the versatility of my sidearm—they’re useful tools, you know!”
Sova sighs, and the weight and exhaustion behind it sounds like Cypher had responded just perfectly.
Cypher returns with a sigh, his head hung low and his hands on his hips. “I wasn’t able to find anything,” he admits, and Sova doesn’t really mind—they’d be back on the VLT/R soon enough anyway.
“It’s fine. While you were away—” (He holds up his drone, the eyes of the owl alight with fresh life.) “—I repaired my drone! We should be able to safely make contact with the others when they arrive now.”
Cypher lights up, walking over and settling down next to him to inspect it. When the broker reaches for the drone, Sova lets him take it, watching as his eyes pour over every detail and every fix, checking for imperfections or missed damages.
“You know, sometimes, you still surprise me with how good you are at this,” Cypher says.
“I learned from the best,” Sova smiles, and he accepts the drone when it is handed back to him. With that, he stands, attaching it to his arm such that it can reconnect to his drone. “I’ll be doing some reconnaissance now if you don’t mind. Just to make sure the other two won’t be an issue.”
Cypher nods, standing with him. “That’s fine. I’d rather not have to fight them again anyway.”
Sova nods, and thus: he deploys the drone, directing it through one of the broken windows to look back at the building they resided within.
The interior damage had already implied something serious had occurred to the outer wall, but seeing it from a distance really demonstrated the extent of it all. (This had to be a ridiculously old building, and Raze’s rocket must’ve broken something—or some things—vital to its supports for so much to have crumbled and flowed into the city square.) Part of him is glad that Alpha was always so diligent about evacuating before VALORANTs were set to collide, but a grimmer part of him understands that this was still something to recover from, and the damage hadn’t even done much for Omega in exchange.
Beyond that, however, Sova doesn’t see much—there are a few dead bodies, but none appeared to be of Alpha’s forces. (That meant it wasn’t entirely impossible for them to have to face a squad by themselves.) We would be fine, he knows. We can survive anything together.
It is as the drone begins its recall, however, that it catches sight of blond tresses, the head attached turned away, speaking to someone else.
“I’ve spotted one of the Alpha agents,” Sova says, and Cypher audibly perks up at the announcement. “Their Sova, though I think he’s speaking with someone else.”
“Nearby or over comms?”
“Hard to tell.”
“I see.” Sova’s drone snaps to his arm as the other man seems to enter a state of contemplation—unsurprising, but perhaps not the best path for now. (With their numbers so thin and injured, seeking reparations was risky and unnecessary.)
Sova doesn’t try to stop him, however.
“Perhaps before we go,” Cypher continues thoughtfully, “we could try and sneak a quick stab at them?”
He smiles, lightly, already knowing it was pointless to hide his amusement from the broker. (It was exactly as Sova predicted, having known the other for so long, and though it was undoubtedly unwise, he would follow Cypher through anything.)
He could’ve sworn Cypher worked quicker than this.
But Sova knows he’s being prickly; he trusts his instincts and he trusts that everything is alright, but every time he deigns to relax, he thinks about the sights and sounds of the collapse, and that nauseous feeling settles back in.
You are a professional, Sova. Act like it. (He casts another glance at Cypher.)
He can’t really tell how completed the task seems to be, but considering that everything was still unscrewed, it wasn’t already done at least. He would be patient and wait for Cypher to finish, and then they would return to the VLT/R with ideally very little issue. (He evens his breathing, calms his thoughts, and thus: he waits.)
But only until he hears a singular footstep—not his or Cypher’s, though the weight is familiar enough to be a human’s; Cypher looks up as well, quickly collecting his equipment and stashing them away in his various pouches. Sova’s already standing, reaching for his bow, facing the vaguest direction of the noise:
And then he sees the other Cypher, and his mind runs wild.
(He found us.)
Ah. (Of course his double was here.)
And given that Sova hadn’t killed him yet, they’d either made some impossible agreement, or he had also been cut off from the rest of his team. He can’t read his expression behind opposing lenses, but he knows his Sova decently well (he thinks); it had to be the latter.
An unfortunate reality made more unfortunate by the fact that, while he and his copy had taken a moment to take in the impossibility, Sova did not even consider it. Cypher blinks, and suddenly—he’s on the ground, back to the uneven rock and rubble, Sova’s weight keeping him trapped in place.
“Sova,” he hisses, the sudden violence snapping him back to survival. “I swear if you don’t get off me, we’re both going to die here–”
“Silence,” Sova replies, and it seems he’s changed his mind on his choice of weapon given that he was already reaching for what was probably his sheriff. Not good either way. (They don’t have time for this.) Any moment now, Omega’s Sova would round the corner and see them, and in the two versus, it was presently highly in Omega’s favor.
“You–” (Through a rather clever maneuver, he’s able to free one hand from Sova’s grip, reaching for his cages and activating one around them; Sova pauses and raises a brow.) “Listen before you shoot me, hm? I swear, you can’t possibly be this brainless!”
Sova opens his mouth to say something, but then the other Cypher calls his name—and when Sova answers, ‘Yes?’ the reply comes with an echo.
That’s the first crack in Sova’s behavior.
The next comes as the other Cypher continues. “They’ve contained themselves inside the cage—it’s truly fascinating how much they seem to hate each other.”
“Hm. Is that so?” the other Sova replies. The remark is accompanied with the click of a safety. “Fascinating how they’ve gotten on so long like this—good job fixing your communicator by the way.”
“It’s what I do best!”
“Do you believe me now?” Cypher hisses, and his Sova gets up.
For good measure, he tosses another cage, and he doesn’t really give Sova a choice but to be dragged through from one to the next—there is no snap of foreign traces passing through, and it is only then that Cypher is able to recognize the hunter’s complete compliance.
The other Sova follows, grabbing hold of Sova’s cape and dragging it backwards; Cypher responds by spinning his ghost around and crashing it into the top of the other Sova’s skull. He isn’t really certain how effective he should’ve anticipated the maneuver to be, but it seems to be enough for his Sova to yank himself free, and he finds the other hunter kicked in the gut and himself hoisted into the air before Omega’s Sova can do anything about it. Cypher thinks he hears his copy react to the situation, but he’s also a bit too distracted to really make out any words.
They’re long out of the building by the time the second cage falls, and Sova is still running, Cypher just holding on despite the fact that they should probably be swapped right now—or, well, Cypher should at least be using his own legs given Sova still looked like a mess from earlier. He isn’t really certain if now was the right time to comment on it, but what was Cypher but a broker who commented on things he really shouldn’t be commenting on?
…He doesn’t really feel compelled to do so right now, however. (Hanging around that other Sova must’ve messed with his head.)
Another minute or so passes before Sova steers them into an alleyway, dropping Cypher to the ground and collapsing against one of the buildings. He takes in a few deep breaths before reaching for his communicator, and Cypher swipes the device before he can use it.
Sova glares in response. “Take a break,” Cypher interrupts before the hunter could even dare to refuse. “I’ll handle this, okay?” Jokingly: “We all know I love the sound of my own voice.”
The communicator clicks on.
“Sova,” resounds KAY/O’s voice. “Report your circumstances.”
“We’re currently in one of the side streets near the bomb site,” Cypher replies curtly. “We got into two distinct engagements with Omega’s Cypher and Sova, but we managed to escape both of them and will be returning to the VLT/R as soon as we are able.”
“I see,” KAY/O replies, and Cypher likes to think that if a robot could sound confused, perhaps this was it—he was technically off-radar after all. “Any severe injuries?”
“The Sovas got into a bit of a catfight, so there are some cuts and bruises, but otherwise, we’re both in good condition.”
“That’s good to hear. ETA?” (Cypher peeks out into the street, judging their location relative to the jet.)
“I’d say to give us five, and I’ll update you if anything else happens.”
“Roger. See you in five.”
“See you in five.”
The communicator clicks off, and thus, it becomes just the two of them once more, Sova quietly staring daggers—before directing his glare somewhere else. Cypher puts his hands on his hips.
“Done moping?”
“I’m not moping.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Thinking.”
Cypher raises a brow, though he knows this Sova wouldn’t be able to read that. “Wow. Remarkable. I’m completely convinced.”
“They didn’t follow us.”
Not where he was expecting the conversation to go, but technically speaking—Sova was right. Cypher had noticed it, literally watching their flank as Sova guided them away from that broken building; their Omega counterparts had lingered while the two of them got away, and while that made sense to Cypher, perhaps to Sova–
“Do you know why?” (An oddly earnest question, asking Cypher without the usual distaste for his methods of finding out. Sova looks back at him in a way that is familiar, and he doesn’t know what to make of that.)
He laughs awkwardly instead. “Hell if I know. I’m not in their heads.”
“But you spent time with them,” Sova continues, and his face contorts in further thought. “They have our names and faces and histories, but they– They’re not us.”
“No. They aren’t.”
And it’s the strangest revelation being confronted with their ‘copies’ and finding their relationship hadn’t been brought with them; where the two of them might’ve focused more on leaving no survivors, their counterparts had prioritized each other.
Definitely strange.
It’s a heavy silence that hangs over them then, unsure and uneven, weighed down by misunderstanding and the heavier weight of actually knowing—and then Sova stands upright.
“I’m ready to go.” Cypher nods.
And he would’ve left it at that, but he feels some strange need to tell Sova the truth—probably because he did know. (Or, no, not because he knew; but because– well, perhaps Sova ought to know what he’d found out too.)
“He was nice to me.” (Sova stops, looking back for a moment as Cypher continues:) “I think that’s the difference.” He doesn’t hate me like you do.
“I…” (He looks away again, but Cypher can see the traces of hesitation on his face.) “…see.”
And so he departs for the VLT/R, and Cypher follows in reserved silence.