Chapter Text
Vox was positively, definitely NOT obsessed with the Radio Demon. So what if he, maybe, sort of short-circuited Pentagram City’s entire power grid? That outdated fucker had simply taken him by surprise, that’s all.
The demon had vanished for a whole SEVEN years. Vox absolutely, definitely did NOT spend the entirety of those several years attempting to forget about Alastor. He didn’t give a shit. He was merely surprised, that’s right. Just a bit taken aback. A perfectly normal response, the kind anyone might have to someone who completely rejected and abandoned them, breaking his hear—ugh…Yes, Vox was just in shock—simply stunned even! The demon had disappeared all those years prior and Vox's reaction was nothing but typical.
And so what if at some point during the broadcast, Vox just so happened to pop a hate boner? Entirely normal. He was angry—furious even! His blood was simmering, rushing and surging through his veins like a bull that saw red. Honestly, it was a completely normal reaction; who wouldn’t have done the same? Alastor and his infuriatingly, dumb frequencies and his shitty smooth, velvety voice, had the audacity not just to hijack the airwaves during Vox's emergency TV broadcast but also to steal his viewers and derail his meticulously unplanned slander campaign against said deer, leaving him embarrassingly outplayed and humiliated in the process.
Vox sat in the confines of his home office, rotating between sulking and seething, the burn of public embarrassment fresh in his mind. The deer-like demon had made a spectacle of him on live television, and the humiliation was relentless. Every cringe-worthy second of the broadcast replayed across thousands of Vtube videos, news segments, mentioned in articles, blogs, and trending on social media feeds, a constant reminder of the live shit-show that occurred.
Vox, in a desperate attempt to regain control, had resorted to manually setting up a system to monitor and delete posts. He thoroughly programmed filters and algorithms to scour the internet, seeking out and eradicating any mention of the disastrous broadcast. Each deleted post was a small victory, a small erasure of the shame that had been displayed to Hell. But deep down, he knows that the internet never truly forgets, and the echoes of the incident would haunt him, a ghost in the machine that no amount of digital scrubbing could exorcise.
It had been just over a week since the public debacle and he still couldn’t live down the absurd levels of shame he’d been enduring. Alastor had left him in such a discomposed state—both mentally and physically, Vox could barely think let alone work. His pride was wounded, his work efficiency weakened, and his composure fucked. He refused to leave the sanctuary of his office.
The once revered media demon, the CEO and founder of Voxtech, the man who nearly single-handedly brought Hell into a new age of technological innovation—known for his power and command over the digital domain…was now reduced to living off the remnants of V-Surge energy drinks and week-old Chinese takeout from his kitchen fridge.
To make matters worse—as if the hit to his public image wasn’t enough, there was also the constant chagrined remarks and incessant mockery from his fellow co-associate and resident overlords. His supposed ‘friends’ seemed to make it their mission to taunt Vox relentlessly over the whole ordeal, adding salt to his already stinging wounds.
He exhaled deeply in frustration. Vox's grip on his empire was not just about power—it was about pride, about the image he projected. Since Alastor had left, things had changed; Vox was in charge now the deer’s defiance was a direct challenge to that image. The fact that Alastor did it so publicly, with such a brazen disregard for Vox's authority, only made it worse.
It was time to make his next move, a plan—something that would put him back on top, restore his image, and perhaps even turn the tables on the Radio Demon. In the game of Hell's politics, it was not enough to simply match your opponent; you had to outdo them, to be more cunning, more spectacular, more feared.
Which led to Vox to his current position, where he was intently observing his monitors, attempting to track Alastor's movements via his live feed.
Well… observing as best as he could given all the strange symbols and static Alastor’s interference caused to his cameras.
The deer was, as usual, leisurely strolling through the streets of Pentagram City, terrifying random sinners and perusing through various storefronts. His stroll paused outside a quaint, local clock shop specializing in antique pieces. Peering through the glass, his attention was captured by the display of vintage brass pocket watches, their surfaces reflecting the crimson hue of the sun. He took pause and with a devious smile, Alastor abruptly snapped his neck up in an unsettling manner towards the surveillance camera perched above the window—glaring directly into the lens with an unnervingly wicked grin.
Alastor, with a mischievous glint in his eye, moved forward, walking a few steps closer as he wiggled each of his fingers up at the device—waving his hand in a delicate, almost theatrical gesture.
Vox’s computer speakers came to life and filled the room with none other than the radio host’s voice.
Alastor mocked with condescension lacing his tone. “Still enjoying the show, old pal? I see you’re still stalking about since that last awe-inspiring performance of yours, last week. How utterly captivating it was...”
Lights above his office lightly flicker, sputtering erratically as Vox shot back into his chair, his hand clutching at his chest, nearly blue screening at the sudden attention and statement directed towards him.
“Fucking old-fashioned, red asshole” Vox grumbled just barely above his breath, still reeling from the scare. “With his stupid button nose, those fucking long lean sexy legs, those adorable little dumb fluffy ears—“
"Vox, are you planning to write a wildlife documentary about Alastor's daily routine or his deer anatomy?” came Velvette’s voice from just over his shoulder.
This time Vox falls completely out of his chair in surprise.
“…At this point, I really can’t tell. You have been rotting away for literally an eternity ogling at that surveillance feed of him like a desperate lovesick puppy.”
Shit. Had he not locked the door after grabbing that last can of V-Surge from his fridge? With a hand on his chest, he quickly stood up. Attempting to regain his composure, Vox turned in the direction of his shorter friend, glaring at her with wide, bewildered eyes.
Hearing the commotion, Valentino's head poked into the doorframe, his curiosity piqued. With a fluid grace, he slid into the room before sauntering over smoothly, across the floor to Vox. Slipping behind the tech-headed demon, Valentino wrapped his arms around Vox, a low, resonant purr emanating from him as he pulled him closer, enveloping Vox in his presence.
“Ooo…A movie about the Radio Demon? Now that, I would pay to see…or produce depending on the amount of dick involved.” Val voiced, bringing his hand to his chin in a contemplative stance.
Vox and Velvette simultaneously groan in distaste, at the direction of the conversation.
“I can see it now: ‘Bucks gone Wild: A Deer Watcher's Odyssey’, Observed by Vox.” Val says dreamily waving an arm across himself while Velvette—who had seemingly succumbed to the madness, turned away snickering, shaking her head in a feeble attempt to hide her laughter. Vox’s screen glitched, flashing sporadically, as he dragged Val’s arms off him in disdain.
He glanced back and forth between the two, exhaling a deep sigh of exasperation.
“I think not. You two are exhausting. Listen, I know it may seem like I'm a bit obsessed, but I assure you, I'm just studying Alastor for research purposes. It's all part of my plan to identify his weaknesses and ensure he’s not in cahoots with the Morningstar family. Vox explained, voice smooth. “Who knows what resources he could have gained from them? What they could be potentially plotting against us!”
Velvette snorts once more. "Sure, Vox. Research. That's what they all say, Yet, here we are, finding you practically glued to your screens, staring at Alastor day and night, practically this entire week. That's not exactly what I'd call 'scientific observation.'"
"Yeah querido, and does this ‘research’ require collecting samples with tissues and lube? I don't think that's in any wildlife research or business manual, Voxy." the moth drawled with a sardonic tilt of his head, gesturing flamboyantly towards his desk.
Vox turns his head towards the table perplexed. Several boxes of tissues were emptied, clearly used, and scattered amongst the table with empty V-Surge cans. His screen flashes red and his systems nearly crash, overheating at the realization of Val’s salacious and insinuating statement.
Huh …he thought he cleaned those up yesterday. Oh well. Vox raised his hands in defeat.
"Okay, okay, I may have gotten a little carried away. But I promise, my intentions are purely business. I'm documenting his behavior, his movements, his interactions with the environment…” Vox continued, “It's all for the sake of understanding the deer better, I swear. The more we know the more we can use against him." Velvette and Valentino exchange dubious glances, faces encapsulated with skepticism.
"Alright, Vox.” Velvette waved her hand dismissively. “We'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now—but if I swear to Satan if we catch you doing any more questionable radio demon-related things we are staging an intervention on your behalf." She finished, poking a finger threateningly into his chest.
"Yeah, and don't forget to bring your ‘research notes’ to our next hookup. We can use them during our next playdate together.” Valentino voiced, suggestively to him. “A little bit of fun perhaps?—It’s been a while since I brought out the Alastor cosplay and you know I look banging as a redhead, baby."
Vox and Velvette rolled their eyes simultaneously, a synchronized display of their mildly shared annoyance.
“Ohh, and by the way Voxy, since you are still keeping tabs on that princesa perra and her little pet project, make sure to send updates on that fucking traitorous whore of mine. He isn’t responding to any of my texts about his upcoming shoots in the studio and it’s just been driving me fuckin….”
Vox briefly mutes the microphones on his set. He simply does not have the mental or emotional capacity for another tantrum rant session involving Angel Dust. He glances at Velvette who is already checked out of the conversation herself, scrolling on her phone. Another minute or so passes by as he watches Val’s animated gestures and violent expressions about the pornstar not answering his phone. These were complaints he had heard many times before. He sat back in his chair leaning back, silently contemplating the amusing yet irksome dynamics of his friend's relationship with his star employee, and how the conversation never failed to annoy him. Vox unmutes his mic as Val appears to settle down.
“—so just keep an eye on him okay? Just make sure he’s not doing any shady shit to get out of his contract. He doesn’t get to get out of work just because he’s playing pretend with the princess.” Val says crossing his arms. Velvette remained as she was, still blissfully—or purposefully ignorant, typing away on her phone.
“Of course Val…and Velvette your concerns are duly noted. They have been thoroughly heard with the utmost consideration. Thanks, guys. I appreciate your trust and understanding, really….”
With a composed demeanor, he stretched upwards briefly, his smile, bright and pacifying. Vox, ever the orchestrator, extended his arms with a practiced grace, his hands finding their places on the shoulders of the two demons beside him. There was a smoothness to his movements, a suaveness that was nearly imperceptible, as he gently steered his friends toward the exit of his office.
“…And don't worry, no indecent exposure involving a certain deer sinner and Angel Dust will be watched like a hawk. Okay? Great. Fantastic. See you both later." His voice placating, tinged ever so slightly with annoyance.
And with a classic showmanship flourish, he clapped his hands together towards them both, before slamming the door in their faces, effectively removing the two overlords from the space. He makes sure to turn the lock, double checking, before turning around, leaning against the door, and breathing deeply.
The tension in the air was tangible as he mulled over his thoughts, a slow-burning fuse of wounded pride and resentment towards the deer sinner. This was more than just a petty rivalry; it was about retribution. He was determined to reclaim his lost glory, to definitively prove to Alastor that he was at the top of the game.
Vox stood up straight, stretching his back and arms again. He extended his hands forward cracking his knuckles. Back to focusing on what truly matters. The only thing that matters to him.
Alastor.
Getting his revenge. Getting back at him for stealing the attention of his viewers. For stealing Vox’s affection. For embarrassing him now publicly and all those years ago after he rejected Vox—all of it would be avenged. With a scheme brewing in his mind, he could almost taste the sweet victory that awaited. This was not just about settling scores; it was about sending a message that he was not one to be overshadowed or dismissed.
‘That old-timey bastard is going to pay if it’s the last thing I do. Seven fucking years of waiting..no dreaming of a way to put this plan into action. You want my attention Al? Well, you’re going to get it, up close and…personal.’
Time to get down to business and put his research to good use.