___________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ In the cavernous depths of the VALORANT protocol's common room, Omen finds himself ensconced in a secluded corner, his usually imposing figure now curled into a tense ball. The soft glow of overhead lights casts elongated shadows across the room, amplifying the intensity of his unease. Beads of perspiration trickle down his being, evidence of the internal turmoil plaguing his stoic facade.`

With each passing moment, Omen's eyes flit about the space, seeking refuge in the mundane details of his surroundings. The hum of distant conversations and the clatter of equipment provide an incongruous backdrop to his internal struggle. Despite his efforts to maintain focus, the aphrodisiac's insidious effects begin to take hold, sending a shiver of discomfort down his spine.

A small, involuntary groan escapes Omen's shadowy lips as he sinks deeper into the chair, his body betraying him in the throes of arousal. His hands clench and unclench spasmodically, grappling with sensations he can scarcely comprehend. As fellow agents filter into the room, their curious glances and smirking whispers only serve to exacerbate his distress.

Caught in the grip of an unfamiliar vulnerability, Omen's usual air of stoicism crumbles beneath the weight of his predicament. With each passing moment, the common room transforms into a crucible of embarrassment, amplifying his discomfort with every teasing remark and knowing glance.