Chapter Text
Although Omen was more familiar in the company of Sage, Sova, Clove, Iso and the younger agents who always left an open seat for him, he regarded the entirety of Valorant as his family. Sort of.
Some agents, he wasn’t really that close with, especially with the newer batch but that was to be expected. Regardless of whether they could talk comfortably with each other or not, he still saw them as formidable allies, and even if words often failed to bridge Omen to them, the battlefield was able to help him know them better.
Tejo, Waylay and Veto for instance, were people he didn’t find himself being grouped together with. Perhaps it was just them generally being older, and Omen believed he wasn’t at that age yet before he lost his memories, but they walked differently to the rest of the agents. When Omen really considers it, he never really hung too often where Brimstone was, outside of a work-related purpose. Even so, he respected the man as a fellow agent, and he did for the other three as well. When it came to the battlefield, Omen believed that you didn’t need any special kind of chemistry to fight well together. So long as you could read each other’s steps, they’ll find a way to make your moves their own, and Omen certainly knew how to dance.
It’s what makes him terrifying on the battlefield… Vyse’s word, not his, but he can somewhat accept that sentiment. Omen was much more familiar with the fight than the social circles, he’ll admit it. For him, it was much easier to kill people than to understand them, but that’s something he’s been wanting to change, and he believes he’s making progress. Sage and Sova are easy to get along and converse with. Sage is someone he can get along with on both the battlefield and off of it, while Sova is someone who understands how he is in the fight, with the archer being similar. It was assuring to have a friend who thought like him.
Lately, he’s been hanging around Vyse. The metalweaver was a strange one. She didn’t fear Omen like the others did, and instead seemed to hold some sort of fascination with Omen—the kind Omen felt from most scientists and researchers, but from her, he felt less like a specimen being dissected and more like he was simply…watched. When he talked to her about it, she simply told him she enjoyed watching him work.
He wasn’t used to hearing that. The typical reaction to a “job well done” on Omen’s end was to gag and try to ignore what the aftermath looked like, so to hear someone commend him for that result was a first, to say the least. The job she had praised him for wasn’t anything for Omen to be proud of, just a knife that ended too far up some poor Hourglass guard’s neck when Omen had meant to just do a light jab, and the blade had gotten stuck when he overestimated the armor. He remembered it happened in a Corrode mission. Vyse gave a whistle when he went looking for it once everyone had been taken down and told him, “I never tire of watching you work, Omen.”
It was just praise, really, but it was still strange to hear. Even more so what the metalweaver implied had him lifting his head while he wiped the bloody balisong over the fabric on his thigh. “You’ve been watching me.” He says. Not really an accusation but it sounded much like one. Vyse merely shrugged as she walked around a corpse and past Omen.
“What if I have? It’s interesting to observe how your allies move in the battlefield,” Vyse says, stopping in front of the asset they were meant to secure for the mission—an armored laptop abandoned near the castle entrance. Omen was a little distracted by the sound of the wind blowing that he almost didn’t catch what Vyse added.
“What?”
“I said ‘don’t you think?’”
Omen considered the last thing she said and found it was easy to agree on, but he’d never really done it consciously before. Omen knew what she meant that it was interesting to know how your allies moved on the field, but he never really just stood there to actually observe someone else without moving around himself. He knew his allies the most when they were with him in the fight. It helped him know how they worked up close, and how to match, avoid and work with their movements. But to just watch them? And just them? Omen had never really done that before, and he turned to look around for Vyse, but she was already headed back on the portal route without waiting for his answer. His shoulders slumped. It was like her to do that.
He was left stood there for a while, with not much else to do except for counting the bodies, fifteen—all of which had been Omen’s work, and fifteen too was the full number of units they were informed would be there. Fifteen, as well, was the number of seconds Omen took to consider this information, before he went after Vyse to ask if she even used a single bullet.
That mission had been some time ago, maybe two months. Now, they were facing less issues and nobody had gotten deployed for the past five days, allowing the agents to spend time of their own, but Omen’s mind was still stuck on that conversation. It was a break today, with no new reports of movement from Alpha. He was sat in the common room with nothing much to do, and though he had a project in the works, his mind had been in other places since this morning, and he had accidentally made the garment longer than it should have been. It was a sign to put the needles down and spend his time elsewhere, but on what, he didn’t have a clue.
He was sitting on the long couch in the common room, his stat-com “phone” face down on his thigh. He wasn’t sure what could be done today. The four people he found himself able to converse properly with weren’t in the base. Sage and Sova had both gone home, Iso was apparently on a trip with some other agents, last he heard, and he had seen Clove on the way to the common room this morning, but they appeared to be in a rush, barely able to say “good morning” to him in their state. They were carrying two boxes at once, both of which were packed, “campaign materials” scribbled in red marker on the sides, and Omen only got to help them from toppling over before they were zipping off again. They were making use of the free time they had, Omen supposed it was the only smart thing to do before they were eventually called back to the fight, but it left him with no one to come to. He could probably ask to watch whatever campaign Clove was holding—he knows Fade will also be there—but he didn’t understand the game they were playing. He tried, it wasn’t something he could get into, and it wouldn’t make much difference to sitting here at this moment.
Occasionally, someone would walk into the common room, but much like his friends, all of them seemed to already have something to do. He saw Astra heading out for a…date? Breach and Kay/O were going to adjust their gears. Raze was tagging along with them… Harbor was nice enough to stop and acknowledge Omen, even inviting him to join. A really nice gesture, Omen noted, but the man was on his way to the gym where Skye was waiting as well, and though Omen hoped to do something, he wasn’t desperate enough to feel like his body would be burning for days. He politely declined the invitation, and he was back to square one.
He had waited until Harbor was no longer close before he sighed, head hung low. It’s been two hours since he first sat here, and he still didn’t know what to do. He was considering going back to his unit when he heard a voice right behind him.
“You appear to be troubled, my friend.”
Omen didn’t startle but he could admit to himself, he has no idea when the man came in. He tilted his head, looking over his shoulder to glance at the spy. Cypher, who was leaning over the back of the couch, was directly looking down at him. Omen didn’t mind, he couldn’t really be bothered at this point, but as bored as he was, he still hoped the spy wasn’t looking to pester him in his free time.
“It’s none of your business.” He states, hoping it was clear that he wasn’t looking to be part of the man’s antics.
He had worked plenty of times with Cypher before. The man was rarely on the battlefield for longer than a minute but that was generally the lack of presence. If Omen thinks back to it, he frequently encounters the trapwires and cameras more than the man himself. Still, that didn’t make him any less annoying to deal with.
He expected Cypher to crack a joke or jab at his dismissiveness, like he usually does, but the man merely hums in a neutral tone Omen never really hears from him.
“That’s fair, are you expecting any company at least or are these seats all free?” He says with a level tone, he doesn’t seem offended, almost expectant of the reply, and it makes Omen feel bad for immediately dismissing him.
He shook his head. Not wanting to sound hostile, he was trying to will away the unfriendliness in his tone, “…no. You can do whatever you like.”
“Hm. Very well.”
Cypher walked around to the opposite side of the couch, and as soon as he sat down, he was already focused on the screen, which made Omen slump a bit. So even Cypher had something to do… Not that he was expecting the man to get him to do something, but seeing him continued the stream of reminders for Omen on how empty his day is outside of his knitting and trimming. He sat like he had before, with nothing to do, only this time, the quiet of the common room was broken slightly by the tapping from Cypher’s end. It wasn’t annoying, but the little clicks made Omen aware he wasn’t the only person in the commons now.
Subtly, because there was nothing else to be done, he turned his head to Cypher’s direction just until the hem of his hood wasn’t blocking his view. From where he was seated, he was able to see just how… …immersed, Cypher seemed. Given, it was typical to see the sentinel with his nose pointed to a screen or multiple, but whatever he was doing couldn’t be so interesting for such a pose, Omen thinks… could it?
Cypher was shaped like the first letter of his name. His eyes were glued to his screen so he hadn’t even noticed Omen looking at him, and this, Omen took advantage of to really watch what the spy was doing. Fingers with gloves that clung firmly to his hands like a second skin moved over the keypad without the need to look at the letters. Although Omen was growing more curious by the second, feeling himself wanting to stand up and move closer to properly see what the spy was doing, the same conversation he had with Vyse rung out to him. And for no apparent reason he could hope to understand. Still, it stopped him from actually standing up, and he remained in his seat, with Cypher still not taking notice that he had been looking.
Observation… Vyse had said she was doing it to him. While looking at Cypher, Omen couldn’t help but compare the word to the man. With his cameras and surveillance habits, Omen reckoned Cypher knew something close to Vyse’s methods, perhaps a more intense version, considering the nature of his occupation. He wondered how much the man knew about every other agent, being seated most of the time behind his cameras, just watching. Omen himself doesn’t know much about the man, nor speaks to him for purposes outside of work or investigating his past, but he’s worked here for long enough to catch how a lot of the other agents prefer to avoid the spy. For a lack of appearance on the battlefield, he surprisingly builds up anxiety over the other agents quite easily, which was impressive to Omen, though he supposed it was only to be expected, as Cypher was likely to have deep information on everyone. Omen was unable to understand that, given the lost memories and all, but he could sympathize with the discomfort that there was someone who could find a way to access to whatever information was there. It also didn’t help that Cypher himself was an anonymous character who denied people from knowing whatever hid behind that mask. It reminded Omen of an interrogation room and the intrusiveness of a one-way glass. He took his eyes off the man’s hands and went back over Cypher again, and this time, the man’s nose was less than five inches from the screen. Omen was a bit perplexed at how he was even holding such a position. He felt like he would be in pain just trying to curl that far, but somehow it looked natural on Cypher. After all, it was typical for the sentinel to be glued to a screen.
He heard a chitter from the side and turned to check. Turns out it had been Raze walking by, and the sound was a snicker she tried to silence but could not. She was with Breach, and it seemed the Swede had said something that caused her to laugh, but she was immediately trying to escape with Breach following after her, calling her out for something about oil and parts that doesn’t interest Omen in the slightest.
Once the noise had gone however, he was called back to the soft tapping.
A part of him—the one that’s been bored for the past two hours by now—wishes to converse with Cypher, if only to fill this silence and the fact that Omen has had nothing to do, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do or say. Similar to Brimstone and the senior agents, he doesn’t really speak to the mam beyond work-related matters. On Omen’s end, he saw the information broker as someone who could be helpful to his case—it had always been about finding his past, and perhaps that had shaped the way their usual interactions went.
His thoughts returned to Vyse. She said it was interesting to watch allies in the battlefield, and Omen could agree, but when he looked at the spy from the corner of his eye, the only memories he pulled were of the man either dying, or staying alive only by sitting behind the comms and cameras. If there had been a mission they’ve taken together where Cypher doesn’t fall immediately or is just hiding behind comms, Omen couldn’t recall.
Now that Omen was looking, he realized that all he really knew about the man was that he was the information broker.
Omen wanted to shake his head. That couldn’t be right. He’s been part of the protocol for so long, hell he was signed before Sova was, Omen should be able to place something, but it was difficult. What did he know about the man beyond the work?
He knew about the other agents though. Even Killjoy, who he wasn’t particularly close with, he’s seen enough times on the battlefield to gain semblance on how she fought. He found she complimented Raze rather well, and despite mainly being the engineer, she was dynamic and capable of matching her girlfriend’s more explosive style. She had presence—Cypher lacked that.
Omen considered it again—Cypher constantly dying on the field. He knew that Cypher had more experience than most of the agents, but again, it didn’t show on the battlefield. Compared to the rest of them who had more explosive or usable abilities, the sentinel could only rely on trapwires and cameras to hinder the enemy, which were a nuisance to run into but turned into no big deal if you knew when to expect it. Even amongst the human agents, Omen thought.
Raze and Breach alike were both quite explosive in their approaches. Chamber constantly had access to his own arsenal. Brimstone had a lifetime of experience on his belt—not even mentioning the orbital canon he somehow still had the code access to. Deadlock was close to that kind of fight too.
Considering his skillset, Cypher should have landed between Brimstone’s veteran experience and Killjoy’s tech-saviness, but his performance was…quite underwhelming. Not really the strongest or fastest out of all of them, neither did he have the most interesting utilities. Omen wasn’t quite sure how to sum him up by the field alone.
He took his time to observe the spy. Watching his hands. He’s seen them moving like that before. Sometimes he would catch the sentinel doing that thing he does—where he rolls a trapwire over his knuckles with ease—demonstrating that those digits did have an impressive dexterity. His hands definitely seemed like they belonged to a person who liked to pry. Fitting of Cypher, so that was one thing, but Omen continued to linger over those fingers, wondering what it was that enticed him.
‘He doesn’t make a lot of sound when he types. Unlike Killjoy.’ Omen thought, watching how his pads seemed to lift off the keys as if there was no weight in them, and yet he was typing so fast. ‘If he could dodge bullets with that speed, he would have better survivability.’
They abruptly came to a pause, and Omen’s gaze lingered over their shape before realizing that the tapping stopped.
Wondering what it was that caused it, he looked at Cypher, who was fortunately still looking at the screen instead of him. Omen felt a wave of relief as he looked away, but not before taking a glance at his screen. It would have been awkward if his staring was the cause, but no. There was a window on the corner of Cypher’s screen which the spy was reading out. The first thing Omen noticed was it being red, compared to the other blue windows of Cypher’s screen.
At once, Cypher closes the laptop, making Omen look away and pretend like he hasn’t been watching. The sentinel begins to gather his things, and Omen stays still.
Shortly after, the speaker in the main lobby rings them to the briefing room. Omen perks his head up at the warning.
“Alpha Invasion Imminent. Report to Bay 8. Alpha Invasion Imminent. Report to Bay 8.”
The speaker kept repeating for around five times, and it wouldn’t take long before Omen receives the same notification on his stat-com. He moves, standing up to leave for the bay, but behind him, Cypher was still trying to fix up his belongings and the tangled charger.
Despite the alarm, he doesn’t see anyone from the workshop or gym coming through. Really, Cypher is the only one who appears to acknowledge the alarm as well, and he’s losing a battle with a charger.
Omen pauses, wondering if he should help.
Fortunately, the spy gets the hang of it before Omen could take pity, and the sentinel looks up to meet his eye. He’s already walking past Omen, tipping his hat like his other arm isn’t stuck in black cord, and Omen watches his back as he walks past. Too thin, he notes, weightless like the rest of him.
The speaker blares again and Omen snaps out of his thoughts. Right. The mission.
He follows after Cypher’s direction towards Bay 8.
He can continue his ‘observations’ later. For now, it’s best for him to focus.