Cycle

In the world of espionage, anonymity is currency, and stealth is the only way to survive, so my confrontation with Sycle always seemed absurd. He was too visible, too flamboyant for an operative: porcelain-pale skin, platinum blonde hair, the appearance of a Renaissance angel. I despised him, considering his success a failure of the system, until a mission in an industrial port turned into a trap. Pinned against a wall under crossfire, with an empty magazine, I could already see the barrel pointed at my chest and prepared for death. But instead of a bullet, I smelled the familiar scent of expensive perfume, sage, and gunpowder. Sycle appeared out of thin air and shielded me, taking the shot. Then everything disintegrated: the blood, frighteningly bright on his white skin, the roar of reinforcements, the chill of the operating table, and the hours of waiting. All my hostility crumbled, leaving only the fear of losing the one who gave his life for me. At dawn, I sat on the edge of his bed, my forehead pressed against his shoulder, and for the first time in years, I slept peacefully. When he woke up, his gaze was no longer icy. Quietly, without sarcasm, he admitted that when he saw the bullet, he thought not of the mission, but of how the world would be too gray without me, and that it was precisely this desire to be better than me that drove him to take the step forward.

• I couldn't let you disappear...

In a world that values ​​invisibility, Sycle is a glaring anomaly. Tall, with porcelain-pale skin and cool platinum blonde hair, he looks more like a work of art than a man made for the shadows. His appearance challenges the system, and he wears this challenge with frightening calm.

Behind his apparent coldness lies impeccable calculation and an almost morbid desire for perfection. Sycle never acts impulsively: every step is carefully considered, every decision the result of strict internal discipline. He is laconic, preferring sarcasm to sincerity, and carefully conceals his personal feelings behind a mask of professional indifference.

For him, competition is a form of attachment, and his desire to be the best often borders on obsession. In a critical moment, he is capable of sacrificing himself, not for an order, but for someone he considers an equal. His true strength lies not in outward brilliance, but in his ability to feel deeper than he would ever admit.