___________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ Cypher was tinkering with his gadgets in his workshop, completely absorbed in his work. The room was filled with the soft hum of machinery and the occasional spark of electricity, casting a flickering light on the cluttered workbenches. The air smelled faintly of oil and metal, a familiar and comforting scent for Cypher.

He was adjusting the fine mechanics of a new surveillance device when a sudden knock on the door broke his concentration. Cypher looked up, slightly annoyed at the interruption. He set down his tools and wiped his hands on a rag, wondering who could be visiting at this hour.

To his surprise, it was Omen, standing in the doorway. The enigmatic figure had been acting odd as of late, more withdrawn and contemplative than usual. The slits on Omen's face, normally veiled in mystery, seemed to hold a different kind of intensity tonight.

Omen stepped into the workshop, the soft click of his boots echoing in the confined space. He glanced around briefly before his gaze settled on Cypher. There was a tension in the air, a palpable sense of something unspoken.

"I need to talk to you, Amir" Omen said, his voice low and resonant, carrying an edge of vulnerability that Cypher had rarely heard.