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Things were… quiet, in the V tower. Ever since Vox’s utter failure during the war, the Vees had kept him tied to his chair in his office, bound and helpless and forced to watch himself get to his peak and fall, every. single. time.
The lights, the fight, the laughter and tears, Vox saw it all projected on the multitude of screens lined up at his desk, and the audio was crisp and clear. He could hear the desperation in his voice every time, and he was sure Val and Velvette were laughing at his pathetic state every damn day. He clenched his jaw and looked down. It had been days since he was able to talk to anyone, the last words he heard being from Valentino in a harsh tone.
“You’re going to fucking sit there and wait until both me and Velette let you free, you understand? If you complain, I'm never letting you get that stupid body back.” Then all Vox could hear were insults being thrown his way as Val ranted to Velvette both in English and Spanish. For two days, he talked to himself. He complained quietly, told himself he would “show those two” when he was out of there, but eventually his voice died down to silence. And now he was in the same chair, same lighting, same room, and watching the same clip of himself over and over on the fifth day in solitude. He couldn't bring himself to make any more jokes or jabs or even bribes. A hopelessness washed over him, something he hadn't felt in a very long time, and it made it hard for him to want to do anything. It made him focus on release and release only. Day after day, hour, minute, second—by this day he couldn't think about anything else.
He began to wonder if they were going to let him free at all.
He wanted to do something, anything. He wanted to talk about anything, he wanted to gain some kind of control back, the same control he had before all of this. Just five days ago, people were cheering him on, trusted him, worshiped him like a god. Vox basked in that euphoria, that kind of validation, and believed he did it. He had won. He didn't need anybody else. He was a god. He was Almighty.
Then those rats from the hotel came and ruined his plan, and he was left scrambling for some kind of victory and latched onto Alastor in a pathetic attempt for revenge. He cringed at the thought. He fucking hated that deer. He ruined everything and now Vox could imagine it—Alastor free from two deals, more powerful than him, at the hotel or doing a stupid broadcast.
Making people hate him even more.
He had heard it, seen it, the way everyone turned against him, started booing him instead of their hearty cheers, their hands in the air as they sang with him, praised him endlessly and thought he was their savior. He would give anything to have that feeling back, anything. He was closer to godhood a few days ago than before he died. He was close, so, so utterly close. If he had his body, his claws were sure to have been digging into the chair by now. Everyone moved on from him. With every passing second in this damned chair, more and more authority was slipping from him, his popularity, his respect, the love for him was fading. The Vees were keeping him there until he was gone, just an afterthought, and if he wanted to try to build himself back up, garner up hope and trust and power for himself, he would have to start from the beginning. Without anyone's help.
He closed his eyes and heard Shok.Wav splashing about in the water in her tank. He was grateful for one thing—those two hadn't abandoned Shok.Wav to roam the streets of hell unattended. Though, now that Vox was thinking about it, he wasn't sure how many streets the shark could've actually wandered through. He had decimated so many of them in his final moments of power. Crazed he was to reach the top, the pinnacle of Heaven, the epitome of Almighty, all to crash and burn back in his home of hell, nothing but which he created; the place he deserved to be in. He had physically felt his wings being clipped, every and all opportunity stripped from him like a gazelle’s hope in its last fleeting moments in the lion’s jaw. He was presented bare and bleeding with grief in an empty room with nothing but the sound of his own voice.
For the first time in days, he spoke up. “Alastor,” he mumbled. “Alastor, you fucking bitch.” He tried to bite at his restraints to no avail. He was completely and utterly useless. He felt his phantom body shiver at the thought, nauseated in an instant at the mere possibility of not having power. It'd been decades since he last didn't have some kind of authority, back when he was a lowly weatherman, the bottom of the pyramid, the thing every animal in the food chain wanted to eat. But of course, Vox grew. He grew and grew and grew, saw himself in headlines and TV shows and in the reflections of his follower’s eyes, glazed over, excited, and trusting. He remembered how his heart hammered in his chest right before he died, swelled and beating with life at his pride and rapture.
And then, he died.
In his wake, he found Alastor. The Radio Demon. The strongest sinner in hell who arrived mere years before him. Vox couldn't understand at the time how Alastor was so powerful despite his short time in hell, but more than that he wanted to be close with him. He loved him. He remembered hating himself for it.
The partnership Vox proposed wasn't in any way meant to harm their relationship, it was meant to strengthen it. If Vox knew Alastor was going to react like that, he would have never let the idea be voiced in the first place. It was genuine, it was raw, it was an attempt at letting his guard down, and Alastor all but spit it back in his face. Then he got obsessed with proving himself to him, to prove him wrong. That he wasn't weak, that he didn't need anyone else but himself even though he entirely relied on other people during the whole duration of the war. The war that Vox had to end early all because of his obsession with Alastor. He gritted his teeth and exhaled sharply. This was ridiculous.
“Ugh, still thinking about that stupid deer? Viejo menso.” Val's voice pierced through the silent curtain of the room. Vox jumped at the sudden sound, especially since it was an actual voice that wasn't his and wasn't a recording. “How's the failed God doing today? Shitty I hope, Voxxy.” Vox could smell the intoxicating aroma of Valentino's cigarettes, the red mist purposefully encapsulating his head and making his vents close so as not to inhale it. The moth propped himself on the arm of Vox's chair, making a show of stretching his arms just to piss Vox off that much more. “Bet you wanna stretch your legs, huh, amorcito? Maybe, if you're good, I'll let you get a taste.” Val turned around and blew smoke onto Vox's face, chuckling as he drew a heart with the condensation.
“Val, if you're just here to fuck with me, then I'm not in the mood,” Vox bit out, though he cursed his voice for not having the usual malice it held so effortlessly.
“Oh? But I thought you love it when I fuck you.” Val laughed when he saw the irritated expression on Vox's face. “Ugh, just joking, just joking! For real Vox, you don't know how to take a joke.” Vox sighed, exasperated and desperate to go to sleep in his own bed, if he hadn't destroyed that too. When Val sensed that Vox wasn't in the mood, he stood up. “Look, you've been in this room for, how long is it, five days already? I've been telling Velette that it's time to let you go, but she's such a stubborn brat, that pinche muñeca. I negotiated with her, you're welcome, and you'll only have to deal with this for one more day, and tomorrow we’ll let you free. But if you fuck with us again Vox, I'm never letting you go. You'll spend the rest of your goddamn life strapped to a fucking chair, and not in a good way.”
Vox mulled over these words, chewing them and making an attempt to swallow. He felt a certain excitement at his containment coming to a close, but uncertainty all the same at its conditions. He would be free, yes—but he was always going to be one mistake away from eternal captivity. Always at the edge, walking on a material thinner than glass. Walking on ice. He swallowed thickly at this realization, too—those angels weren't going to just let him get away with all that he's done. They were surely going to punish him in some way, beat him down so that he cannot fathom getting up again. He was pinned down from all directions, splayed and presented like a rat ready to be dissected. He hated being the specimen and not the scientist.
Oh how he wished he was a scientist. In the past, back when he was alive, Vox had quite the interest in marine life. He made a promise to himself in his teen years, that he would one day become a marine biologist. He would specifically specialize in sharks, his favorite animal even to this day. He was fascinated by them, how each species had its distinct qualities, how certain sharks like the bull shark can rewire its neural pathways to breathe in both freshwater and saltwater.
And especially, how powerful they were.
He had decided it, decided that nothing would get in the way of his dream. He was going to study all different kinds of species of animals throughout his life and contribute great discoveries to scientists all over the world. Vox smiled at that. He remembered how much he loved this dream.
But then, one day a few contractors came his way in a bar. It was roughly late, and Vox had been rather intoxicated. They promised him fame and power and stability, that he would climb the tower of popularity and reach the top, all if he joined their company. So, drunk, dazed, and desperate at the time for attention, he signed the contract right in the bar. The single signature that signed his life away from the ocean and in front of a camera. On his first day on the job, he didn't mind the camera. He loved it. Immediately, he told his bosses that he wanted to be in front of it again. The stares from everyone looking his way as he broadcasted the weather, the knowledge that all of his city in Delaware was watching, trusting him to tell the truth, helping people decide how heavy a coat to wear or how light of shorts they should don. He was the center of attention and would not be pushed away, and he got addicted.
By the end of his life, no shark mattered to him in the world. He was the shark. Jagged teeth bared and voice echoing through the country. Famous late night show host, Vincent Whittman. Star guest, Vincent Whittman. Humble network leader, Vincent Whittman. Famous show host Vincent Whittman suspected of possible murder. Famous leader Vincent Whittman taking over the airwaves.
Famous leader and show host, Vincent Whittman, dead at 52.
His reign of swimming in the ocean had come to an end. His teeth sanded down to an herbivore's, pale white skin turned to a charcoal black. When he first arrived in hell, his concern hadn't even been with the TV on his head, but rather his skin color. It was the first thing he noticed. He tried to clean it with water, but gave up once he realized that his skin was changed forever. He asked the angel at the booth held for newly-arrived sinners if they could change his skin back. The angel denied him because the request was motivated by racist intentions. Vincent denied the accusation, but scornfully walked away from the booth in anger. It was at that time that he had discovered Alastor.
“Hey. I'm pretty new here. I'm Vincent, who are you?” Alastor looked back at him with a wild disgust in his eyes. The smile that seemed to be plastered onto his face began to move. “Alastor. Charmed to be meeting you, Vincent.” He had begun to walk away at this point, but Vincent held him back. “Wait-!” Alastor turned. Vincent scrambled for words. “I- I don't really have a place to stay, could you?...” He shook his head, not believing what he was requesting. “Uhm, nevermind. I know I just met you, I'll just-”
“I’d be delighted to have you, dear.” Vincent looked up. “It's been quite a while since I've had visitors, and you rather intrigue me, Vincent.”
So the beginning of a friendship was born. Alastor and Vincent, his preferred name at the time, would often go out to bars and talk about any which thing they desired. Typically it was Vincent who ruled the conversation with Alastor quietly listening and making smug remarks every once in a while. Often the conversations would turn to something about the ocean. Coral reefs, human influence, fish and seahorses, the deepest trenches of the ocean, and finally—sharks. Sharks would always be mentioned, in metaphor or lecture. Vincent loved to talk to Alastor about sharks, especially since he actually listened to him and asked really thoughtful questions.
“Rewire their brain chemistry? How? Shouldn't that be biologically impossible?,” Alastor asked over a sip of whiskey. Vincent lit up at the question. “Yes! It should be impossible, but these creatures just decided that they aren't going to pay attention to that. They rewire their literal neural pathways to be able to breathe in both types of water! As you can tell, they're my favorite type of shark and would 100% be what I would study the most if I did decide to be a marine biologist.” Alastor eyed him down, watching his every move. The way electricity sparked between his antennas, how much he moved his body when he was excited versus when not. Vox really did intrigue him at the time, not in a romantic way, but rather a dissecting way. He wanted to find out everything about this man, and be able to pull whatever he wanted from him with the snap of his fingers.
“Say pal, you always do blabber on and on about these interesting creatures. Why don't you make that dream a reality? It's not like you're short of time.” Vincent had settled back onto his chair by then, sipping his own glass of whiskey. “Y'know, I'd love that. It was always my dream to study these amazing creatures my entire life, but now that I'm in hell, it just feels too late for me, y'know? All my training is in the media, and if I want to build myself up quickly here, shouldn't I just stick with that?” Alastor motioned over for the bartender to bring him another drink. He flicked the coin over to pay and exhaled as he faced Vox. “Vincent, do what would make you the most happy. That is all I can say. I do not doubt your skills in the media. I know you were very influential throughout your life, but that doesn't mean you should abandon every and all dreams. Just know, I do see you as a marine biologist. I think it suits you quite well.”
Vox felt his face burn at the praise. “T-Thank you, Alastor.” He took a long swig of his drink, savoring the sting as it washed down. “I just… I'm comfortable in the media, y'know? I think I'll stick with that and just research as a hobby. If I become too unhappy, then I'll switch to research full time. That way both options get a chance to live, yeah?” Alastor sighed. He stood up like he was about to leave. “Sure. Do what you want, pal. I cannot stop you.” Then Alastor left and Vox was left with a nagging feeling of regret.
Vox smiled despite himself against the unnecessary restraints holding his head in place on the chair. Maybe he would research one last time before facing the storm he created outside the tower. He closed his eyes, uncertainty and something akin to fear crawling all over him and his disconnected body.
Yeah. It was time to research again.
The next day came rather quickly. Vox had barely registered what was happening until he was seated at the edge of a bathtub waiting for it to fill up. His body had sustained quite the multitude of injuries, and more than that, quite the caked-on layer of dirt and debris. He was surprised Val and Velvette hadn't cleaned his body for him, but he guessed this is what he deserved for crossing them one too many times. He lowered his body into the hot water, hissing at the unpleasant burn that radiated throughout his protesting skin. Alastor ripped out so many of his wires, they were all draped over the edge of the tub to avoid electrocution. Vox clenched his jaw as he scrubbed himself off with a sponge that felt like sandpaper. “Fuck…,” he muttered. “This body is going to need so many repairs.” A few minutes later, he dried himself off and donned a loose T-shirt and an old pair of sweatpants. He was going to put on one of his signature suits in an attempt to try to make himself look put together, but his skin lit aflame with searing pain and Vox just had to settle for the depressed teenager look.
His body ached in stiffness and exhaustion as he made his way down to Shok.Wav’s room. The familiar noises of splashing water and mechanics echoed in Vox's ears as he entered. “There's my precious girl,” he said, putting a brave face on for the electric shark. She just stared at him, camera lens eyes narrowing to fix on her owner. Vox's smile faltered as he walked over to the desk near the tank. “Y'know, I'm sure you think I'm an absolute idiot right now. I was so close, Shok.Wav, so, so fucking close. I feel fucking miserable right now.” The shark just continued to swim around in her tank lazily. “You don't really care, do you? Have the others fed you? Are you hungry?” Vox grabbed some food for Shok.Wav and chuckled at the increased fervor inside the tank. “I'll take that as a yes,” he said with fondness. He threw the slab of whatever meat he grabbed into Shok.Wav’s tank, stunned at the velocity at which she inhaled the food. “Someone's greedy. Here, just because you haven't seen me in a while, have another bite.”
After he threw the last piece of meat to Shok.Wav, Vox sat down at the desk, lazily messing with a piece of paper which held some of his notes on it. He read the entry: Bull Shark neural pathway research no. 45, the chemical compounds that make up their psyche. The page was never completed, only the title was inscribed. He put down the paper. He had studied bull sharks for far too long. They were his favorite, yes, but maybe with failure came new beginnings. It was time for a different kind of research.
Nurse sharks!
They were caring, interesting, and typically docile. What provokes them to attack? Vox didn't know. Maybe it was time to find out. A cutting-edge headline worth all the papers in the world! Yes sir, he was going to be number one in all nurse shark research. He looked around the empty room, hyper aware of the electricity buzzing through the hallways of his tower. He knew the servers were down. He was aware of all the repairs that had to be done. Almost all the pentagram was probably without electricity or internet-
Shit. The Internet was down. People were going to be mad at him for that. The power was gone, only the Vee Tower and that stupid hotel probably had power. Everyone was going to hate him for that too. He himself was powerless. He didn't have an influence anymore. Hypnotizing people wasn't an option anymore, he was lost, he was useless, he was-
Vox stood up sharply and braced himself against the desk. It was research time. This was a new beginning. It didn't matter that his “new” research was still on sharks, it was a different type of shark! He was a new person, he was bigger, better, brighter! Better than he'd ever been! It didn't matter, it didn't matter, it didn't matter. Tears began to prick at his eyes and he willed them to go away. He was fine, he wasn't going to make this a big deal, everything was okay! He would make everything up to everyone soon, he was fine! Don't you think he was fine?
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-,” Vox muttered nervously over and over. “I'm fine, it's fine! Just get your shit together, it's okay!” He began to pace around the room, up and down the expanse of Shok.Wav’s tank. He hardly registered her following him as he gripped the sides of his screen with a force that threatened to make it crack more. He hit the side of his head, hard. “Fucking stupid, fucking-” Then again. “I'm such a fucking-” Again. “Why the hell did I do that-” Again. “Alastor was fucking right-”
He ran to his desk and reached for the trash can with the threat of vomiting. His stomach hurt. He felt sick, he felt weak, he was just a failure. Over and over the word ringed in his ears. Failure, failure, nothing, useless. He tried to convince himself that wasn't true. His screen glitched badly. He didn't realize when Val and Velvette walked into the room and started talking to him. He bounced his leg erratically and felt his screen begin to fracture as his claws pierced the smooth glass. He was fine, he was fine, he was fine!
“Vox, what the fuck is wrong with you? We're asking you a fucking question, helloo?” Val put his hands on Vox's shoulders. He shook him violently. He saw Velvette scrolling on her phone with a disturbed expression on her face. “Do you know what I'm going to invest in next, guys? Nurse sharks! Docile, caring, and interesting! One of the best species in the ocean besides bull sharks! It'll be great for the views, and then everyone can love nurse sharks! It'll be a takeover! Did you know they don't need to swim constantly to be able to breathe? How cool is that-”
“Vox!,” Velvette exclaimed. “Take your fucking claws off your screen and pay attention to what the fuck were telling you! Have you gone mad, V? You're fucking losing yourself in here!” Vox pulled his hands away shakily and looked at the both of them with a wild expression. He felt his body trembling with anxiety and heard the electricity running rampant all across his body. It took a moment for him to register the tears streaming down his face pathetically. His gaze lowered. He had been scratching at his clothes and tearing his sweat pants to shreds. He saw blood stained on them and felt the familiar sting of a laceration on his thigh.
When… When did that happen?
“For fucks sake, V, you were in here tearing your damn clothes to shreds, breaking your own damn screen, and muttering some kind of fucking bullshit to yourself over and over. Then we walk over to help you with your little meltdown and you start running your mouth about sharks? What is up with you, Vox? You've never been like this! Not this bad. Did five days strapped to a chair really impact ya' that badly?” Velvette wore a hateful tone, but her voice was filled with concern. She was massaging Vox's shoulders to coax him into relaxing, something she always did when he was stressed. “It's not like we were gonna leave ya’ there forever, V. We just… You needed to learn a lesson. You don't abandon your team members except when you need a favor from them and expect nothing to come of it.” Vox exhaled shakily. Why the fuck was he shaking so badly? When did his breakdown even come on? How long was he stuck like that? He buried his face in his hands and fought against the urge to cry again. He cursed how much of a mess he was right now. He hated how he was proving Alastor right.
Velvette sighed. She wasn't going to get through to him. She kept trying to soothe Vox's shoulders. She knew his body was probably spent at this moment. “Val, you fucker, get over here.” Val kneeled down in front of Vox. He held his trembling hands and tried to stay serious despite knowing how ridiculous all of this was.
“Tell me about nurse sharks, Vox. What are they like? Why do you like em’?” Velvette paused her massage and walked around to be next to Val. They watched as Vox tried to formulate a response, but his circuits were fried. Vox clamped his eyes shut in disbelief. He couldn't even talk. He was the Media Overlord and he couldn't talk. His breathing began to quicken again, but Velvette put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, then at Val.
They both looked exhausted. What exactly happened in the time he was gone?
“You can sign it, y’know.” Valentino spoke up. His voice held an unfamiliar softness to it. The other two looked at him. “What? Or don't, I don't know! Do whatever the fuck you want.” Vox brought his hands up. “They're kind,” he signed to them. The two waited in silence for Vox to continue. His arms ached, but he began again. “They're kind. One of the most docile creatures in the ocean. They're usually 7-9 feet in length, and they're called nurse sharks because of their powerful suction feeding, which creates a ‘nursing’ sound as they draw prey from the seafloor.” He put his hands down slowly, like the curtain was closing upon the end of an act.
“Okay, so they like make nursin’ sounds or whatever. I suppose they live deeper down or something, because you said they draw prey from the floor?,” Velvette replied. Vox looked at her quizzically. What was she trying to achieve by doing this? Was she really interested in hearing about sharks at three in the afternoon? “Why…,” Vox began. “Because I wanna hear about it. Now go.”
Then soon the three found a rhythm in their unusual conversation. Vox adding facts, Velvette asking questions to get Vox to continue, Valentino somehow making a sex joke every once in a while. Over time, Vox felt calm enough to speak. The conversation shifted between topics—sharks, marine life, fashion, sex, souls they owned, and some of their pasts too. It was only at 5:00 pm when Velvette rose from her chair she had propped up across from Vox’s and planned a departure. “Mmh!,” she groaned as she stretched. “Alright, I think that's enough boredom for now. Ya’ feeling better, V?” Vox was in the middle of a sentence about another type of marine animal when he stopped. “I…” He looked between Valentino and Velvette. He felt something like a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Val rose quickly. “Finally! Geez, you're such high maintenance, Vox! Always such a fucking crybaby! I've never heard someone talk about sharks for that fucking long. I'm out of here. I have a 6 o'clock shoot with Angel in an hour. I'll see you whores later.”
Velvette and Vox watched as Val walked out of the room. “Let the door kick your ass on the way out!,” Vel exclaimed. The two faced each other again. “Geez. A lot of jokin’ for someone who wasn't having a good time. Whatever, it's Val. He's always a fucking pain in the ass.” Vox fidgeted with his notes again. He looked at the drawing Valentino made of him in a ridiculous slutty outfit during their conversation. “Ya’ alright, V?” Velvette asked. Vox shook his head to reorient himself. He was getting tired.
“I'm fine, Velvette. I just don't understand…” He trailed off. He swallowed thickly and turned his gaze away from her. “I just don't understand how you can be so nice to me after all the shit I gave you and Valentino.” Velvette laughed and stood up. She walked around to massage Vox's shoulders again, not really to relax him but because it relaxed her. “Yeah, I really should've given ya’ more shit for that, huh? I wasn't gonna help you right now, but… It felt wrong to just leave you here alone when you were having an active meltdown.”
“It was not a meltdown.”
“Sure, V. It was a super manly emotion-explosion. You were just asserting your dominance, shut the fuck up!” She exhaled and tried not to laugh. Fuck, Vox looked so fucking stupid right now she could bawl. “Anyways, just because you treat me like shit doesn't mean I gotta treat you like shit too. Unfortunately I've been with ya’ too damn long to take you seriously anymore. I knew that God shit was gonna come crashing down like a stack of mannequins on show day. Now, come here, V.”
Velvette pulled Vox into an embrace. She chuckled as she felt the tension leave his body with the motion. He closed his eyes and exhaled. “So, do you like nurse sharks now?” Velvette pretended to think for a second. “Nah. I like my designs more. You can have all your shark shit and I'll have my dresses. Say, why aren't you like a marine biologist or something? Ya’ have the interest in the animals, but you're stuck being some media overlord. I think a biologist overlord would've been cooler. That fuckass deer already ruled the airwaves for too long before you.”
Ah, that's right. Alastor. He was roaming around the pentagram somewhere, teasing, reaching new peaks of power Vox had obtained mere days ago. He leaned back in his chair and spread his legs. “Yeah, but that fucker could never beat me! Radio has been out, it's all about video now!” Vox put on his signature grin, shit-eating and prideful. “Oh-ho, okay Mr. Radio-owner. You always look so fucking old when you put on that goddamn radio every morning to listen to your shitty music!” Vox gasped, a fake hurt. “Shitty music? Okay runway-walk playlist.”
“Better than 1950’s synthwave. You're so modernized in everything besides your damn music.”
Vox rolled his eyes. “Bye. I'm done talking to you.” Velvette hit him on the head with her phone before she began to leave. “Bye, jackass. I'm doing a photoshoot with the girls, see ya’ later, ya’ mothball! And you're cooking tonight, by the way.” Velvette laughed at Vox's expression of disbelief as she shut the door behind her. Every and all other sounds were left as echoes in the now empty room in which Vox resided. Vox stood up, thinking about what to do next.
He knew.
He heard it.
“You can come out, jackass.” Alastor emerged from the shadows with his typical shit-eating grin plastered on his face which Vox had been so close to ripping away forever. He ticked his jaw as he saw how put together Alastor was and how pathetic and lazy his own outfit appeared.
“My, someone's skin is sensitive today. Was it from the scratches of the building I pinned you against? Or from the wires still left at the scene of our fight?” Vox fought against the urge to pin Alastor to the ground and show him how he felt with punches rather than words, but Vox could tell that Alastor hadn't come alone. He chuckled. “Well, obviously you're still wary of me considering you had to bring your little lapdogs with you.” He extended a wire from his body and pulled Husk out from his cover in the shadows. "Fucking prick," Vox heard him mumble as he tightened his binds. “So what is it, Alastor? What more do you have to gain by visiting me today? Pride? Satisfaction? A joke?” Alastor simply looked back at Vox and made no reply. His grin widened significantly. Vox's heart began to beat erratically in anger. “Spit it out, fucker!,” he yelled. “ I don't have time for you, nor do I have the fucking patience.”
“Oh? But here I thought you had all the time in the world now. Your viewership is tarnished, your relationship with your precious Vee’s might be stable for now, but you know they'll come back looking for an apology and no less than an honest explanation. So here I am, Vox, asking you a question.”
“Will you be honest with me?”
Vox's body tensed up in an instant. He saw Niffty come out from the shadows too and perch herself atop of Alastor. He saw Alastor eye him down like prey, like something weak barely worth recognizing. “Was it worth it?,” he asked. Vox already knew the answer.
“No,” he replied.
“Then chase your true dreams for me, pal.”
Then the three of them were gone, and Vox truly, for the first time in his life, was left alone.
That night had been slow and jarring. Alastor's words flickered in Vox's mind like an annoying gnat in someone's ear while they were walking. Media was his passion, his reason he achieved such great heights, but was it truly making him happy?
Did it ever make him happy?
Vox, the Media Overlord. Vincent Whittman, the leader of a very influential cult throughout his life, ruler of the airwaves, Lord of the Screens. His monopoly ruled over hell. Almost every sinner used VoxTek for something in their afterlives.
And now, here he was, in his wake, wondering if it ever meant something.
Dinner was quiet, for Vox at least. Valentino was complaining on and on about Angel never getting his lines right. “Yeah, so I smacked the bitch and he had the gall to tear up!” Velvette told them how her photoshoot went, how glamorous the models looked in her dresses and how she was planning a hell-wide fashion show for the summer. “Ugh, the girls? Stunning! Absolutely gorgeous! That's what happens when you let me run this shit. Val, I think I see a collab coming on?” Vox was hyperaware of every look Velvette gave him, but made no effort to speak up.
Vox decided to go to sleep early, not really to fall asleep, but to be able to be left alone. He asked Val to stay in his own room for the night instead of his. The moth agreed reluctantly, but Vox still wasn't sure he was going to listen. He splayed himself out on his bed, relishing the soothing sensation of a soft mattress underneath his beaten and battered body. He pressed himself deeper into the mattress. He never wanted to let this body go again.
He pondered it all. Everything. His entire life and every decision made that led him to this fate. He wondered if he should've pursued his dreams like Alastor told him, if he should've signed that contract that skewed his life to fame and away from humility.
And most importantly, he wondered if he was going to be punished.
He already knew the answer.
So, sore and exhausted, Vox let himself close his eyes for rest and tried to ignore the growing sound of trumpets making their way towards him.