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As a child, Sova was horribly afraid of the dark. Even as he learned his trade, he could never overcome his fear enough in order to effectively hunt at night. After his accident, though, this fear went away.
When Sova lost his eye, he did not think it a tragedy, but an opportunity. If he had a cybernetic eye that could improve his vision—zoom, identify targets, see in the dark—his skill would only grow.
Sova’s childhood fears were finally lifted.
Except for right now. Because his robotic eye still needed to be charged. And the generator just died.
He didn’t want it to be true, but the unanimous death of every light, alongside the slowly fading buzz and whirr of nearby utilities, was plenty of evidence to deduce what had happened. He’d waited a few desperate minutes, looking around aimlessly in the dark to see if it might just power back on. No such luck. He felt around his desk, pushing aside wayward arrows and tools until he found the familiar sphere of his eye, plugged into the wall outlet. He could not stop the full-body groan that left him when it did not light up at the touch. It was neither charged, nor charging. He just plugged the damn thing in.
“Fuck,” he spoke into the nothing, lowering his forehead to press against the desk. Right now he and his party were stationed on Haven, specifically in a run-down old building that Valorant was using temporarily while defending the area. The place was old, nothing like their base near Split that was outfitted with only the most high-tech security and communications systems. It was old, powered by a single radianite generator, and now, it was dark. Barely any light filtered through the window of Sova’s makeshift quarters to comfort him—of course it had to be a new moon tonight, and cloudy to boot.
Finally, he lifted his head, confronting the shadows surrounding him. A nostalgic feeling washed over him, that naïve fear of monsters creeping at the edge of his vision, seeing him clearly, when he could not see them at all. Maybe now, one was creeping behind him, lifting its claws, ready to strike—-
Sova spun in his chair faster than he could even think, holding out an arrow he didn’t know he’d grabbed. His fist shook and his heart stuttered in his chest but… Nothing was there. Obviously, he couldn’t see, but he knew. Sova has tracked down even the quietest of targets via sound alone—he would have heard something. All was silent, except for his uneven breathing and the chair creaking under his weight. He lowered his head again, resting his chin on the back of his chair in exasperation.
“Keep it together, Sova. You are not a child anymore.” He said it to himself, but hoped that the noise may scare off any… potential attackers, while he was at it. He shook the thought out of his head. It was time to do something. He had work to do, and he could not just sit paranoid in his room all night. Might as well try to go restart the generator.
Sova stood with a stretch, ignoring the shiver that ran up his back when he felt his own hair tickle against his neck. Making it to the door was easy enough, considering the room’s small size, but stepping out into the (somehow even darker?) hallway took a bit more strength. Sova ignored it, and turned left. He knew the generator was… somewhere, to the left. His augmented eye, alongside its other features, could provide Sova with a simple map of buildings and areas he was currently in. In the Haven base, with its cramped hallways and maze of rooms that sat offset from one another in the strangest ways, this map had been a crutch. Obviously he could navigate without it when the lights were on, but complete darkness? He took slow step after slow step, hand pressed firmly against the wall to his left. This would take awhile.
Quickly, Sova encountered his first obstacle. The wall he clung to ended in a corner, turning sharply to the left. He felt around with his right hand, hoping to find purchase on some kind of identifying feature, another wall, a chair, something… but, no. To Sova’s left was a wall, and everywhere else, it was void. The issue was that he could not just keep following the wall. The generator was downstairs, and the stairs were somewhere ahead of him.
Cautiously, Sova moved forward. He reached a point where he could no longer feel the wall and stood in the dark, shuddering. If he fell down the stairs in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Or worse, he could hit his head and be done then and there. He must look ridiculous now, shuffling his feet along the floor, arms outstretched in an attempt to feel something, anything. As he continued forward, still feeling absolutely nothing, he grew nervous. Surely he was close to the stairs? Why hadn’t he—
“AH!” Sova squealed as his fingertips brushed against something cold. He reeled back, entire body shaking, knees threatening to buckle. Blood thundered in his ears, almost too loud to hear if something was there, something ready to attack, but, but…
Sova reached forward again, holding his breath. Again, he felt the cold. Cold, and hard, and… He pressed his palm against the wall.
God fucking damnit. A wall scared him. A wall. But he had no time to be angry at himself, as confusion quickly set in. Why is a wall here? With newfound courage and another crutch to cling to, Sova began frantically feeling his way down the length of the wall. His hands found a closed door, which he passed, and then another door and… Oh, no. He missed a turn. There were no stairs here. Where the fuck am I?
Defeated, Sova slid down the wall until his ass met the planks of the floor. Why was this so hard? Was he really so scared of nothing that he was forgetting himself? And then Sova froze, but for good reason. He heard a footstep.
Now, Sova knows that he is not the only one staying in this base. There were four other agents here with him, and he was under the assumption that the rest of them were asleep, resting up for their mission tomorrow. It was not outside the realm of possibility that one of them woke up in the darkness and was taking the same journey that he just had. But there was a chance it wouldn’t be that. No, what if they were being infiltrated? Sova’s heart seemed to jump and sink at the same time as he heard yet another creak of a footstep, somewhere across the room. What if the generator didn’t die? What if it had been purposefully cut off, to catch them off guard? What if their enemies arrived earlier than they’d thought? Sova could not breath as he sat, pinned to the ground with fear. Another footstep. And another. Sova silently felt at his hip, but knew he didn’t bring anything to defend himself with. Why didn’t he bring anything?!
“Sova.”
He gasped, clapping his hands over his mouth. Wait, what?
“What are you doing out here?” It was phrased as a question, but the voice that said it was deadpan. A low, rumbling growl of a voice.
“...Omen? Is that you?” Sova barely found the strength to speak, but he managed, although hoarsely. But he would recognize the specter’s voice anywhere, with its distinct low pitch.
“Yes. Can you not see me?” His voice came again, piercing through the thick blackness. Sova was not friends with Omen by any means, and he was somewhat intimidated by him, but he was just happy to hear any teammate at all right now. Staggering to his feet, he laughed at himself a little.
“No, I… My eye, it’s out of battery. I was charging it when the power died,” Sova confesses, squinting in the darkness. The distinctive glowing lines that usually obscure Omen’s face aren’t anywhere to be found in the shadows. Could it be a mask that he’d removed for the night? “I was trying to make my way to the generator, but… ah, I cannot see a thing.”
Omen grunts in response, and Sova registers that he is closer than he was before. Sova can feel his next footstep as it shifts the boards under their feet; he must be only a couple yards away now. The ghost has always intimidated Sova somewhat, and he shivers a bit as his next words reach Sova in the form of another growl. “Fear radiates from you like heat from a flame.”
Sova feels himself flush, and though he cannot see his teammate, he turns away from where he perceives he is standing. He laughs again to hide his utter embarrassment, but he knows that won’t work. Not on Omen. “I… have a fear of the dark. Since I was a child. It is usually not a problem.”
The air stills after Sova’s confession. His cheeks burn hot, maybe even hotter now that he admitted his fear of the dark to his teammate who literally possesses the power of darkness. Luckily, it is only a moment before Omen responds.
“I see. We should find the generator, then.” He rumbles, and Sova straightens up in a weak attempt to look more capable.
“Yes!” Sova exclaims, maybe a little too eager, before clearing his throat and changing his tone. “Yes, um. I know where it is, but you will have to be my eyes.”
“Fine.” The wraith responds. There’s a beat, and then, “...I suppose you’ll need to hold on to something. Here.”
Despite feeling much safer now that a teammate is with him, Sova can’t help but jump just a little when he feels fingers wrap around his wrist. Omen is suddenly much closer than he was moments earlier. His eyes widen although there is nothing to see, as he realizes that he’s never actually touched the ghost before. It feels like Omen’s hand is gloved, but a chill radiates from beneath the fabric, as well as something faintly thrumming, like the beat of hummingbird wings. Mesmerized by the brief contact, he barely notices that Omen has lifted Sova’s hand so his fingertips brush against fabric--probably his shirt, or whatever he’s wearing. Sova blinks and takes hold of it, gently, not wanting to tug too hard. Awkwardly, he laughs a little, and wants to kick himself because he keeps doing that.
“Good idea, thank you,” Sova exhales (he didn’t realize he was holding his breath), before giving his head a little shake to remember what he was doing. Generator. Right. “Ah, it’s downstairs. I’m not sure where the stairs are from here.”
“I am.” Sova hears fabric shift as Omen moves. He feels the specter begin in a direction and he keeps his grip on his shirt, following carefully behind. Omen moves quietly, and his pace is quick, but measured, not too slow that Sova runs into him but not too fast as to leave him behind. He doesn’t know if it’s purposeful, but he appreciates it. They walk in silence for a little bit, before Sova feels awkward and needs to fill the space.
“What were you up to?” He chimes, wincing at the sound of his own voice. “Before you found me trembling on the floor, anyway.”
Omen slows as he turns a corner, and Sova follows, feeling the wall with his free hand. A soft rumble emerges from him, which was typical before he began speaking. “Just walking. Sleep is not a necessity of mine.”
Sova figured as much, but it was still fascinating. No one besides Viper really knew what Omen was, as he never spoke about it, and most of them were too afraid to ask. Well, save for Killjoy, who had asked “for science.” She didn’t get much of an answer.
“Ah, I see. I’m lucky you wandered across me--and thankful for your help, Omen.” Sova smiles, though Omen probably can’t see it right now. The floor continues to creak, and Sova spots the faintest gleam of starlight from a window somewhere across the room, but it wasn’t nearly enough to illuminate the space in any meaningful way.
“Do not mistake this for kindness.” Omen grunts, a sharpness in his tone. Sova’s grin falters. Right, this is why everyone avoids him. Always pushing others away. “You have skills that I do not. If I knew I could fix it myself, I would have left you in the dark.”
Sova really hopes Omen isn’t looking at him now, because a different kind of smile splits over his face. He is not buying that. His fellow agent may be intimidating, and for good reason, but this feels… cheeky. To approach him, gingerly take his hand, and guide him through the darkness like he’s helping a frightened child? Maybe Omen doesn’t know it, but Sova can tell there’s kindness deep down inside of him. He’ll let him play his little game for now, though.
“Regardless, I am thankful.” Sova says through his smile. He receives no response, as expected, until Omen warns him that they’re approaching stairs. Both of them slow down, and Sova feels for the railing. Once he finds it, he lets Omen’s shirt slip from his fingers, and follows once he hears the wraith has descended halfway down. Stairs are easy, he can do stairs. He even knows exactly how many stairs this staircase ha-
No he doesn’t. He thought he did, but he was off. And stairs don’t have a very wide margin of error. He doesn’t even realize that he’s tripping and falling until there’s something broad and cold against his cheek, and something icy and hand-like on his back, and a very quiet hum in his ear, and--oh. Oh. Oh fuck.
He nearly falls again as he bolts backwards and away from Omen, who has yet to say a word. Sova knows he let out an awful sound as he tripped, and he knows that he fell onto Omen and not only made a fool of himself, but probably pissed off their resident demon by wasting his time and barreling into him like an idiot. He braces himself against the wall to regain his balance.
“I--I’m so sorry. Oh my god.” He curses in Russian to himself, unable to see Omen but too embarrassed to even glance in his direction. Blood burns in his cheeks, and he wonders, painfully, if Omen can see his flush in the dark.
“Nerves will be your downfall, Sova.” Omen says in that same, even tone he always speaks in. Does he even care? He probably thinks Sova’s some newborn deer, unable to walk. Christ. “Let’s keep moving.”
Not wanting to make more of a scene than he already has, Sova calms himself down with a shake of his head. He reaches blindly for Omen’s shirt, but instead his hand finds the chill of Omen’s arm. He tenses a little, reluctant to piss him off further, but the ghost does not move to pull away or reposition him. Instead, he just.. Waits. Sova silently holds on to Omen’s elbow, feeling a little more secure with the extra balance. He begins to mutter and ask him if this is alright, but before he can get it out, Omen’s already moving. All right, then. Guess we’re doing this now.
“Oh--I nearly forgot. It’s in the garage.” Sova hates breaking the silence especially after all that, but the specter does need to know where they’re going. There’s no response from Omen, he just continues walking, and Sova’s face begins to warm again. God, he’s such an idiot. Replaying the scene in his mind, over and over, Sova suddenly realizes something. He didn’t just fall onto Omen. No, that was his chest, not his back. Omen had grabbed him--caught him, even. Did he really stand at the bottom and watch him come down the stairs? There’s no way he would’ve had the time to turn around and catch him, had he not been watching him descend. Sova’s heart thrums a little off-beat and he’s suddenly far too aware of his hand wrapped around Omen’s arm. He swallows thickly and decides that was just Omen’s kindness coming through again. Nothing more. They continue to walk in silence.
“We’re here.” Omen announces a short time later, and the sudden noise startles Sova out of his racing thoughts. He hears Omen open an old squeaky door, and the two of them shuffle into the (still entirely pitch-black) garage. Sova feels the floor change to concrete under his feet, confirming their location. Omen continues to lead him forward and Sova keeps his hand out, waiting, until his palm finds the cold metal of the generator, silent in the corner of the room. He--somewhat reluctantly--slips his hand out of the crook of Omen’s arm and settles both hands on the machine with a sigh.
“Finally.” Not wanting to waste time, and eager for a distraction from whatever the fuck was going on in his head, Sova drops to his knees and begins to feel around for the control panel. He feels Omen looming close behind, and glances briefly in his direction. “Don’t leave quite yet, please. I may need more of your help.”
Fabric rubs against fabric and Sova hears Omen crouch down somewhere next to him. His fingers finally locate the touch screen of the control panel and he breathes a little ah-ha, skimming the edge of the screen to find the power button. He presses it, and… Nothing happens. He tries pressing and holding it. Again, nothing. He looks towards Omen.
“...This is the power button, right?” He takes his finger off the button so Omen can see. The wraith leans in to look.
“It would appear so.”
“Fuck.” Sova runs an exasperated hand through his hair. “All right, it’s a mechanical issue then. Can you see if it’s been unplugged?”
He hears Omen stand and step around to look. It must have been plugged in, because he hears what he’s pretty sure is the sound of Omen unplugging it, before plugging it back in. Sova shrugs and tries the power again. No dice. Wait.
“Wait!” He nearly shouts, and resists clapping a hand to his head after the realization. “Is there a flashlight in here? There must be, surely.”
There was, in fact, a flashlight in the garage. Omen hands it to him and when Sova clicks it on and sees that beam of light, he sighs in near ecstasy. He shines it around the room, eager to see again, though it was only with half of his vision. No matter. He resists the urge to shine the light directly into Omen’s face, instead opting to center it briefly on his chest just to take note of where he was. “Krasivaya. Thank you, Omen. Let’s find the problem.”
With the aid of his returned sight, Sova easily locates the panel that opens up to the inner workings of the generator. Toolbox at his side, he cracks it open with the help of a screwdriver, but grimaces at the sight he finds instead. Cursing to himself, he sets the flashlight down and shoves the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows.
“It’s bad?” Omen inquires, taking note of Sova’s expression.
“Yes. The radianite crystal that was powering it burst. I need to clear out the fragments, get these wires back into place and insert a new crystal.” Sova talks as he begins work, starting by unplugging the machine once again so he doesn’t get a nasty shock, or worse. He finds some thick gloves to put on as well--the crystal destroyed the glass container it was housed in, and he was going to need to clean out all that glass, as if touching radianite with bare hands wasn’t bad enough. “Omen, could you look for a replacement crystal? They should be stowed nearby.”
Omen silently agreed before doing as Sova asked. He smiled to himself just a little, as he watched him look around, amused by his strange obedience. If Omen was really so bad, he probably would’ve left by now. Sova grabs a bag to stow the waste in before settling back down at the generator. It’s as he’s clearing out the shards that he hears a small tink beside him, and looks to see Omen placing a radianite crystal encased in glass on the ground next to Sova. Sova grins.
“Perfect, thank you, friend.” He begins to turn, but quickly realizes something, facing Omen again. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, could you hold the flashlight for me? This will be faster with two hands.”
“...Only because it’s faster.” Omen rumbles. His words were reluctant but his tone was not, and Sova smiles again to himself. Maybe even ghosts get lonely, and that’s why he’s staying? Omen silently takes the flashlight in a clawed hand and stands behind Sova, shining it into the generator. Sova thanks him once again before continuing.
With the trash removed, Sova now has room to fix the wiring. Thankfully, it looks like none of them were actually severed, they just came loose and got a bit tangled. Sova removes his gloves and leans in, but the light is a bit dim.
“Could you come closer, actually? This part is a bit more precise.” Sova shuffles a bit to try to make more room for Omen. The position of the generator is a little awkward--there’s plenty of room around the entire machine, save for where it’s pressed against the wall (the same wall Sova is now pressed against), but the maintenance panel is located on the side rather than the top, and it opens in such a way that Omen would need to be in very close proximity to Sova if he wants to illuminate it properly.
All this to say, Sova is a little more than shocked when Omen, with little argument, kneels down behind Sova and positions the flashlight to shine over Sova’s shoulder and into the belly of the generator. His breath catches just a little because he can feel Omen behind him, although he is not directly touching him in any way, but that now-familiar chill is radiating off of the specter and sending a shiver down Sova’s spine. If he listens close enough, he can hear Omen’s body hum with energy--the same hum he heard when his ear was pressed against his chest. His mind begins to cloud so he shakes his head yet again, frustrated that he would get caught up by something so miniscule. He centers himself and briefly thanks Omen before sticking both hands into the machine.
Despite his efforts, the fact that Omen is so close to him, peering over his shoulder and watching his every move, is making him nervous. The repair is going smoothly for the most part, but minor hiccups send his heart racing--he doesn’t want Omen to think he doesn’t know what he’s doing, or worse, catch on to the fact that he’s all flustered for no god damn reason. What is the deal with that, anyway?! Sova mentally kicks himself. He’s barely ever talked to Omen before tonight--he tried to, often, but Omen was never receptive. And, sure, okay, he did always think Omen was attractive in his strange and mysterious way, but he never thought he’d get this bothered by it. It was absolutely pathetic. In the midst of his internal argument with himself, Sova drops a screw. He huffs and reaches for it without looking.
“Wait.” Omen’s voice is loud in his ear, but what’s somehow louder (without making any noise at all) is the hand that shot out and grabbed Sova’s wrist before he could retrieve the screw. Frozen, Sova processes the situation. Omen has grabbed his arm with his free hand. Okay. Why?
“W-What is it?” Sova kicks himself again. Don’t stutter. But it’s hard, because he’s now registering that Omen had to lean forward to grab him, and that icy cold chest is pressed into his back.
“Look.” Without letting go of Sova’s hand, Omen moves the flashlight a bit closer, illuminating a stray shard of radianite at the bottom of the generator, next to the screw Sova dropped. He missed a piece. And Omen grabbed him right before he touched it with his bare hand--jesus, that could have been bad. Radianite poisoning is fatal if not treated properly, and that shard was in the perfect position to slice open Sova’s hand and infect him. He shivers as Omen pulls back Sova’s arm, his hand still lingering on him.
“Oh,” Sova breathes, hoarse.
“What did I say, Sova?” Without the panic and confusion, Sova can fully register the sound of Omen’s cold, low voice in his ear. In fact, he thinks he can feel his breath tickle his jaw. Sova’s entire body stiffens as Omen completes his statement. “Nerves will be your downfall.”
He’s sweating. More than he would like to be. He runs a shaking hand across his forehead before grabbing one of the gloves he had strewn to the side minutes before, and putting it back on. He reaches back into the generator and fishes out the final piece of radianite, and hopes that Omen can’t see the sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. As he’s disposing of the last piece, he manages to say, “Thank you. That would have been very bad, had you not been here.”
“You’re sure it wouldn’t have gone better, had I not been here?” Omen is no longer pressed against him, and his hand has long since released Sova’s wrist, but the cold still lingers there. He removes the glove once again and absently cracks his knuckles in a failed attempt to seem nonchalant. The thing is, the ghost was likely right, though he probably thought Sova was intimidated rather than… Flustered. If he was alone, or if Omen were anyone else, he definitely wouldn’t be fucking up this much. Idiot, idiot.
“Nonsense. You’ve been a wonderful help,” Sova says, quickly recovering his usual pep. It was true--even if the presence of Omen had this effect on him, he had still been surprisingly helpful. Omen simply grumbles behind him, and Sova gets back to work, hoping to finish this quickly and painlessly.
And, it does. Sova finally manages to grow used to Omen’s proximity--at least, he manages to ignore it well enough to finish the repair without a hitch. All that’s left is to insert the replacement crystal, and Omen can back off for that, so he does. Sova plugs in the crystal with ease. He closes the panel, plugs the machine back in, and takes a deep breath before pushing the power button.
After a horrifying pause, the screen of the control panel flickers to life with the KNG logo, and the generator begins to whir to life. Sova nearly celebrates, but before he gets ahead of himself, he rushes over to the garage door and flips the lightswitch. After some flickering, the lights overhead power on. They start out dim, but quickly grow in brightness. Light!
“Yes! Thank god! Omen, we did it!” Sova’s hands shoot into the air with absolute elation. He laughs and spins around, arms outstretched, as though he were playing in rain or enjoying the sunshine. Omen is still positioned by the generator; he's simply watching Sova, arms crossed as he leans back against the wall. Sova has to hold back a giggle--such a classic “bad boy” pose--and just continues to smile at him. “What, is there something on my face?”
“You’re overjoyed by something so simple.” Omen responds. Sova takes a moment with his newly returned sight to observe his outfit--it’s not often that he sees the wraith out of his tactical clothes. Instead of his usual withered scarves, Omen wears a dark hooded jacket, simple athletic pants, and some black sneakers. Omen’s purple hood is such an odd piece of fashion, so seeing him in something so casual and human is, honestly, cute. Unsurprisingly, any semblance of a face is obscured by the shadow under his hood. What he can see, though, with Omen’s sleeves rolled up, is that he still sports his arm wraps and gloves, with that strange blue energy peeking through. Sova assumes he can’t take those off.
“No shame in enjoying the simple victories.” Sova says with a shrug as he takes in the sight. He finally averts his eyes, scanning the garage one final time, and sighs. After all the excitement, it’s dawned on Sova how horribly late it is, and the exhaustion has set in. So much for finishing the tweaks on his bow. “Well, I suppose our work is done. I don’t know about you, but I’m heading back to my room.”
Sova returns his gaze to the specter. He’s genuinely curious about what he will do. Omen is no longer obligated to spend time with Sova. He wouldn’t be surprised if he just vanished into thin air right here and now, but his form stays surprisingly solid. He uncrosses his arms and steps away from the wall.
“I’m going the same direction.” He says, and Sova has to physically restrain from grinning. So much for lone wolf, right? Even though he doesn’t need the light, Sova waits until Omen has left the room to flip the lightswitch back off. There is some ambient lighting throughout the base now, glowing from stray bulbs that weren’t turned off before everyone went to bed. In areas that are still dark, Sova opts to use the flashlight (that he’s keeping, just in case this happens again). The two of them retrace their steps through the building.
“Well, I’m going straight to bed.” Sova attempts small talk, followed by a yawn. He glances at Omen--who is staying on his left where he can see him, and Sova wonders if it’s on purpose--and continues to see nothing but darkness under that hood. “Will you keep walking, Omen?”
“I may.” The wraith says, strangely quiet. He then speaks up, tone harsher. “I do not know why it concerns you.”
Alright, that’s it. Sova can’t help but laugh, just a little. They’re right outside the door to Sova’s quarters now, and he turns to Omen, looking where he assumes his eyes would be. He must have assumed correctly, because he feels something staring back. He decides he’ll just be honest.
“Omen. I know you don’t care for friendship, but I am truly grateful for your help tonight. It means a lot that you went out of your way to aid me, even if you say it was only for your benefit. I hope we talk more in the future, yes?” Sova says, and he means every word of it, offering his teammate a kind smile. Omen is silent. In fact, he’s almost frozen. Any idle movement that would occur from breathing or anything else has ceased. Even the energy crackling between the bandages on his arms seems to have stilled. Sova doesn’t break eye contact--shockingly, it’s Omen who does, turning his head away after a long, unbroken pause.
“You grow too comfortable.” It comes out in a hiss. Omen is cold, colder than he has been all night. Sova’s smile falters a bit. Omen faces him again, and Sova is surprised to see those familiar blue markings have returned beneath his hood. His next words sting. “You are not my friend, hunter. You never will be.”
Sova was right in assuming that he would vanish, he was just wrong about when. Without another word, smoke surrounds Omen, and then he’s gone. Sova sighs and slumps back against his door, staring at the spot where his form was moments ago. So, it’s like that. Maybe it’s desperate or naive, but Sova hopes that he didn’t go too terribly far away as he sighs under his breath, “Goodnight, Omen.”
As he finally lays to sleep, he decides he’ll just have to make Omen eat those words. Eventually.