Archive of Our Own

A knock at the door. Cypher, or at least one of his many puppets operating across the space station, doesn’t even bother looking up from the multitudes of holographic screens surrounding him. He opens the doors automatically with a snap of his fingers, only glancing up from what he was typing when a familiar figure appeared in the corner of his eye. He hums, finally averting his attention and standing up while shutting the doors with another sleight of hand. “Oh? If it isn’t Omen.”

He flicks a few of the holographic tabs away, before setting his eyes on one and rotating it so that it faces his guest. “If you’re looking for more info regarding your past, I’m afraid I’ve barely managed to uncover much since your last visit. Ah, well, these past few weeks haven’t been completely fruitless. There’s been a discovery of a phenomenon where people on the verge of being struck with mara—Xianzhou natives, in this case—will find their Cloud Knight armor stuck to their bodies. Well, this is old news. I’m sure you’re falling asleep.”

“But in this case, the armor was the trigger before the point beyond no return. If they didn’t get into that armor, it’s estimated that they would still have at least a few hours to spare.” Promptly, he slides over a holographic diagram alongside an image of the specific Mara-struck soldier. There’s many messy annotations, and in the corner, even a shoddy doodle of a Mara-struck soldier in the Peter Griffin death pose. “After getting into the Cloud Knight armor, it only took approximately 20 seconds before the skin and armor merged, with not even a nanometer to spare. The flesh quickly began to rot away within the armor. An Abomination of The Abundance indeed—it’s disturbing, no?”

Omen doesn’t say anything. Cypher takes this as an invitation to continue speaking, apparently not done with his impromptu rant. “The only example of this I could dig up was for Xianzhou natives in particular. Saw it with my own eyes while trying to get brownie points with the Alchemy Commission. There’s also some vague signs of it online, with slight mentions in heaps of other discoveries. It’s safe to assume that foxians will suffer the same as a Xianzhou native in such situations, but most of them don’t live long enough to be stricken by mara anyways.”

He sighs, crossing his arms in thought. “Maybe if I find a rare one on the verge of being detained by the Ten-Lords Commission, I can get them into Cloud Knight armor just to confirm. I’ll just have to make some negotiations with the Xianzhou officials or get some researcher desperate for recognition to do it for me.”

“That’s… interesting,” Omen finally says after Cypher’s done, unsure of how to process all the sudden information. He tries to think of something to say, but he just ends up standing there awkwardly as Cypher organizes his tabs.

“Anyways,” Cypher breaks the silence, gesturing towards the other man’s chest. “What I’m saying is that you should take off your armor.”

“What.”

“We know you’re stricken with Mara, right?” he asks rhetorically, stepping closer to Omen. “And we also know armor is no good for the Mara-struck, as I just spent the past minute or so explaining. So take off your armor.”

“I’m not taking off my armor here,” Omen huffs, taking a cautious step back. “Is this an assassination attempt?”

“Assassination attempt?” Cypher lets out a laugh at the question, before he composes himself once more. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't resort to asking you to strip in my office. Besides that, you’re immortal. It’s not like I can do anything to you.”

“You sound suspicious,” Omen would narrow his eyes here, but he doesn’t really have any. Just 3 ominous glowy blue slits that are honestly more intimidating than any eyes could ever be. “You can definitely do a number on me. You’re an emanator of Nous—a genius.”

“But it wouldn’t be very genius of me to resort to this tactic, would it?”

“It’s also not very genius of you to think this armor thing applies to me,” Omen refutes. “Cypher, I don’t even have flesh. Not everything you discover about the Mara-struck has to link back to me.”

“Well, yes, but it doesn’t hurt to check,” Cypher says, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice. “Who knows. Maybe your shadow-flesh has merged with it.”

Omen groans. “Cypher.”

“Ok, ok, I’ll stop messing with you,” Cypher finally laments, flicking some holograms away before turning back to face Omen. “Anyways, I’ve told you all I’ve discovered. Not much, but I felt like you’d want to hear it.”

“You only told me that as an excuse to get me shirtless.”

Cypher whistles with mock innocence, not affirming Omen’s statement, but his masked expression said it all. Omen, despite not having any facial features, sends him a disapproving look, but decides to move onto another topic. “I’m not even here to talk about my past. I want to ask something regarding you.”

“Me?” Cypher tilts his head to the side, not having expected the conversation to trun towards him.

“Yes, you,” Omen repeats, before shooting for the question. “Are you… immortal?”

“I wouldn’t have ever expected you to be interested in my age of all things, Omen,” Cypher replies, the emotion in his voice unreadable. “Why do you ask?”

“You know why I’m asking,” Omen says, and Cypher lets out a knowing chortle, affirming the other man’s statement. “Now answer the question, Cypher.”

Cypher sighs, fixing his hat before speaking again. “Well, you’re on the right track.”

“Long-lived species?” Omen asks.

“Neither immortal nor belonging to a long-life species, no,” Cypher shakes his head, answering as vaguely as possible, to Omen’s annoyance. “I can assure you that my original body is of a typical, short-lived human.”

“So is this “original body” of yours dead?” The Stellaron Hunter prods, not satisfied with these avoidant responses. “Is your network of puppets just an AI?”

“Pfft, no,” he chuckles, flicking his wrist to open multiple holographic tabs around him. They contained live cameras from all around the GS Space Station, and the ones he chose to show Omen featured his many puppets speaking to researchers. “The puppet you’re speaking to now is the Cypher. I’m seeing, speaking, and moving through the puppet. The other puppets functioning around the space station are based on an algorithm which is indeed linked to my brain, so the answers these researchers—” he gestures towards the screens “—will get are accurate to what I would say without me having to put in the actual effort of using my precious time in helping them. Auto-answering mode, as I like to call it. Still, I can project myself into one of the puppet bodies whenever I want. Just like now, and every one of our meetings.”

Omen stands there for a solid second, waiting for Cypher to continue, but then speaks after realizing he’s finally done. “…I see. So with all your achievements in mind, if your original body is still alive, but you’re not immortal, then you’ve either never slept a second of your life, or you messed with your mortality.”

“The latter. But messed with makes it sound bad,” Cypher says dismissively, swiping the tabs of the live camera footage away. “I don’t know why this is something you need to ask about, Omen. What genius would I be if impermanence is my greatest enemy?”

“You can’t “Genius Society norm” your way out of my questions, Cypher,” Omen huffs, taking a look at the projected, floating portraits of other Genius Society members on the walls of the office. He then shifts his gaze back to Cypher, gesturing to one of the portraits of an old, bearded man. “Number 56, the man that first invented the Synesthesia Beacon, and many other intergalactic communication inventions, died of old age. His legacy and modern impact are still just as remembered.”

“Ah, the esteemed Elias Salas,” Cypher says, looking over at the portrait Omen was motioning towards. “I’m not trying to insult his or any other late genius's legacies. After all, Mr. Salas’ and his remote detection proved the Imaginary element as unique, disproving Zandar’s Cosmos Tree theory, leading to the widely accepted Imaginary Tree theory. Outside of just Mr. Salas, there are indeed many Geniuses who have passed to old age and are just as smart—most likely even smarter—than myself. But these geniuses also know full well how to extend their lifespans, especially with the guidance of The Erudition. Whether they do or not is ultimately up to them, but the option is always there; in short, cheesing mortality is something most geniuses are capable of. I simply decided to deage myself to continue with my research.”

“Just how long have you lived?” Omen asks with great suspicion after taking a short pause to process.

“100 years, give or take,” Cypher answers, and before Omen can say anything, he interrupts him. “I know what you’re going to say here. “Messing with your mortality is a dangerous thing, Cypher.” I understand your concerns. I have no intentions of immortality, and I know full well the consequences of meddling too far.”

Omen remains silent. Cypher hums. “My being is an insult to your suffering, no?”

“I take no offense,” Omen shakes his head dismissively. “At what point do you plan to die, exactly?”

“Whenever I’m ready to,” he shrugs, not too sure of the exact answer himself. “Preferably before 300 or so years. While I’m not a Xianzhou native, and therefore not susceptible to Mara, I’d rather not push it. Too many piled-up memories will most likely cause insanity after the 500 or 600 mark for a human like me, no matter how much deaging I do. You would know that more than anyone else, considering your existence is a consequence of it.”

Cypher heads back over to his desk, shoving some files into cramped drawers before looking back up at Omen. “Oh, right. As another perhaps unrealistic “option”... When you’re rid of your suffering, I’ll promptly join you in the afterlife. Assuming it exists, of course.”

“…”When” is too hopeful of a word,” Omen says curtly, slightly taken aback, but nothing to show for it.

“Then call me an optimist,” Cypher replies.

“Why do you insist so heavily on helping me?” Omen asks bluntly, more confused than ever before. Well, ever is a strong word for someone like Omen, but the spirit is there. “What do you plan to gain from this, tying your life to mine so recklessly?”

“Recklessly?” He repeats with a chuckle, taking mock offense by Omen’s choice of words. “I’m wounded by your lack of faith in me.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“Mm… I don’t really have a clear answer for it,” Cypher says, earning a demanding stare from Omen. “Can’t a man do something from the good of his heart?”

Omen has some snarky remark to make in regards to Cypher’s question, but trails off and simply lets out a low sigh. “I’ll figure you out sooner or later.”

“And I look forward to that. Anyways, you best be going now, no?” At that, Omen checks his phone for the time, glancing at a notification from one of his fellow Stellaron Hunters before disappearing without a second thought. Cypher’s gaze lingers on the spot where Omen stood moments ago. It takes him a few seconds to avert his eyes back to his desk, and the hologram of a notification right in front of him.