Chapter Text
“What do you mean I can’t jump into the water?” Vox asks, eyebrows scrunched up in—and Vel would never admit this out loud, in the case this is all just one big prank and Vox brings it up again and again in some future argument—a frustratingly adorable expression.
He throws his hands out, gesturing at the wide expanse of the tank.
Shok.wav wiggles in acknowledgment, fin-tail wagging.
“Just look at him!”
“Because, mi amor, your box head,” and here Val knocks on the side of Vox’s bulky frame, the likes of which he and Vel haven’t seen in literal decades. “We don’t know if this is water-proof.”
“But this is Hell, isn’t it? We’ll just regenerate, anyway.”
“Ah-ah-ah,” Val tuts, draping an arm around Vox’s shoulders. “You learn fast, don’t you? That’s true, but it’s also a pain in the ass. We wouldn’t want you to go through all that, now would we?”
Vox’s shoulders slump, made all the more obvious by the ugly sweater vest (and where the hell did he even get that? Vel wonders, flabbergasted and offended in equal measures) he’s wearing, no more stuffed padding to keep them looking sharp.
Which is just—no.
No matter what version of Vox they have right here in front of them, even this old-timey relic from some long since bygone past, under no circumstances should he be looking this, well. Defeated?
Vulnerable?
Dare she say, soft?
Val and Vel share a panicked look.
“You can still pet the damn thing, I guess?” she suggests, sounding awkward.
“Can I?” Vox clasps his hands behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His eyes flick back and forth between her and the shark swimming in excited circles next to them.
“As long as you’re not planning on going for a swim, then… sure.”
Vox whoops like a madman, throwing his hands up in the air like he’s won the lottery. And considering the self-proclaimed all things shark-related expert he is, then this must be like pretty much winning the jackpot.
What a loser, Vel thinks.
She clears her throat, nudging Val with a jab of her elbow and giving him a pointed glare. “Fly him up to the top of the tank and supervise,” she hisses.
“Only because he looked downright pathetic just now, and not in the hot way,” he huffs before strutting forward. He slips a pair of arms under Vox’s, wings stretching wide open behind them. “Don’t wiggle too much when we’re in the air, mmkay? I don’t wanna drop you.”
“Wait, what’re you—”
Val gives no other warning, crouching only the slightest bit before taking off for the top of the tank, Vox’s terrified scream-turned-bark of surprised laughter bouncing off the high ceiling.
Vel doesn’t waste time, whipping her phone out. She jabs at the screen, murmuring curses under her breath until Vox’s assistant on the other end picks up.
“Find anything?”
“Um, still checking the data logs, ma’am,” he stutters, the clacking of a keyboard loud in the background. “I checked everything, I swear. All his recent meetings, every employee he’s shouted at—er, I mean, interacted with in the past couple of days. Even screened all of VoxTek’s current clients, the past ones and even future ones we’re still in talks with—”
“Stop fucking blubbering and get to the damn point,” she demands.
She puts her mouth to the speaker.
“Just tell me,” she breathes, all deep and menacing, “who in Hell is responsible for this. So I know whose undead life to fuck up even more.”
Ethan, if that’s his name—not like Vel cares about Vox’s employees whatsoever, but this one’s loyal to a fault so at least she’ll give him that—makes a pathetic little choking sound before clearing his throat.
“... that’s the thing, ma’am,” he tells her, sounding just as defeated as Vox did. “Everything—everyone’s—come back squeaky clean. Tapping into the tower’s security feed, even looking into the drones he usually has scoping the city limits… um, stalking the hotel… nothing.”
He pauses, sounding scared.
“Whatever caused our… situation, they knew to do it where VoxTek couldn’t reach them.”
Vel almost crushes the phone in her hand. “Fucker,” she hisses. “Keep looking. Don’t stop. I don’t care whether you get paid overtime or not, hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“And remember to be discreet. We don’t want this little hiccup getting broadcasted to the rest of the ring, else we’re gonna find ourselves in deep fuckin’ shit.”
She hears him swallow. “Yes, ma’am,” he repeats.
Hanging up, she holds back a groan when her phone vibrates with an upcoming call. She holds it up to her ear, tapping her foot.
“What happened?” she demands, already dreading the answer.
“Look at the photo I sent,” is all Val says.
Sighing, she opens her messages.
It’s a live action photo of Vox face-down in the tank and floating on top of the water’s surface, a loop of Shok.wav’s nose nudging curiously at his limp body paired with numerous skull and lightning emojis.
“He jumped in the pool,” she deadpans.
Val hums. “I think he short-circuited or something. Whatever the fancy-shmancy technical term for it is.”
There’s a pause.
“Hey, so this also just gave me a really hot idea for a new porn movie. So water sports, right, but instead of piss, it’s literal water sports—”
“Val, do me a favor and shut up.”
***
“So amnesia?” Vox raises an eyebrow, leaning back on both hands and kicking his feet. He’s sitting down on a raised examination table, a nervous looking doctor wringing his hands in front of him.
“Well, that seems to be the case,” the old man-demon-thing mumbles.
An imp, Vel had said earlier, noticing the curious glint in his eye when they dragged him into some sort of obscure, high-end, very much secretive clinic. Apparently, there was a distinction between sinners and, well. People, if they could still be called that, born in Hell.
Hellborn.
He files away the knowledge—and he means that in the most basic, literal sense of the word, can feel the information tucking itself away in a corner of his mind like a mental filing cabinet.
Weird. But probably useful.
Just something else to get used to.
“Isn’t there, like, a backup or something?” Val asks, leaning against the wall. “Not like it’s the first time Voxxy has overloaded himself and ended up missing a couple, um. Bites? Of that data stuff in that big ol’ TV head of his.”
“Bytes,” Vox corrects him. “Same pronunciation, different spelling. It’s how video and audio signals are processed.”
He holds up a clawed finger.
“Data is either stored and consumed, and there’s also different measures for gauging the actual volume of it!” he grins, all smug and pulling at his necktie. “We’re in the digital age, baby!”
But then he pokes at the side of his head, at the bulky frame of it, the knobs and ports he can feel on the back.
“Seems like I’m all analog though,” he muses, trying to see if he can recognize what model. “Wonder if I can do upgrades or something?”
Vel groans, dragging a hand down her face. “Okay, so no memories, sure, but he somehow still retains knowledge of modern technology and is still a fuckin’ smartass.”
She throws her hands in the air.
“Make it make sense!”
“I think it’s hot,” Val purrs, biting his lip.
Vox chokes, screen glowing a bright blue. “Excuse me?”
“No flirting—” Vel starts.
“Flirting?” Vox chokes again.
Val licks his lips, a tinge of heart-shaped smoke seeping from the side of his mouth in an alluring cloud of pink. “It’s Hell, papi, time to shed that internalized homophobia!”
“I’m not—I’m not into men—”
“Can the both of you just…” Vel growls, stomping her foot, glowing purple emojis in the shape of knives blooming into existence. The doctor hides behind his clipboard, retreating into a corner with a pitiful whimper.
Vox focuses on his feet, shoulders hunched, while Val crosses his arms. “You’re no fun,” he whines, sticking his tongue out.
With a snap of her fingers, the emojis disappear.
“Can’t believe I have to resort to threats of violence with the two of you. Fuckin’ children, I swear,” she mumbles, pinching her nose. “Vox, do us all a favor and have your sexuality crisis some other time, you hear me?”
Vox grumbles, shooting her a glare before looking back down.
He can feel the heat of his screen, can see the bright blue glow of it reflected on his trousers, even the floor.
Fuck, but he’s blushing.
Vel scrolls through her phone. “Vox’s nerdy assistant texted me that all his current backups aren’t compatible with,” and she gestures at Vox’s head, a sneer on her face, “this old thing. Fucking obsolete is what it is.”
“No universal port?”
“You got rid of that a long time ago,” Vel waves him off, pointing at her V-phone’s own port. “Made everything all VoxTek only. Go figure it’d bite us back in the arse.”
“Oh, so a monopoly?” Vox murmurs, eyebrows arching in mild surprise before a proud grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
Sexuality crisis cast aside (preferably placed on the back burner, stuffed to a corner of his mind and forgotten), he’s glad to know he’s apparently left his mark down here in the not-so-fiery pits of Hell. Might even be one of the big shots, from the looks and sound of it.
“The whole tech company’s named after me, huh?”
“At least we know his personality hasn’t changed one bit,” Vel rolls her eyes, going to the corner and kicking at the doctor. “Hey, doc, anything else we can do in the meantime while hunting down the fucker who did this?”
“You could, um. Try to introduce him to things he used to like? Chances are that you might just rejog his memory?”
“We tried that already,” Val sighs. “Even his stupid shark-dog-thing didn’t do anything. He just ended up swimming with the fishes. Literally.”
The doctor blinks, turning to look at Vox, who shrugs innocently.
“It was worth a try,” is all he says.
“Well,” the doctor stammers nervously, “have you tried… doing the opposite? Say, something he… doesn’t like? Anything that can trigger strong emotions, basically.” The imp hides behind his clipboard again when he sees both Val and Vel grimace.
Vox sits up.
Oh?
“What’re the chances Alastor’s name triggers something?” Vel groans, rubbing her eyes. “Should’ve thought of that first before bringing him here.”
Val sighs. “Pretty high chance, babydoll.”
They both turn to look at him, matching deadpan expressions on their faces, waiting for… something.
Vox squints his eyes. “Who?”
Val and Vel both stare at him, dumbfounded.
They share a look with each other, just as confused as him. Vel clears her throat. “The Radio Demon?” she tries, like he should recognize it.
He doesn’t.
“Radio?” Vox furrows his brow, thinking. “Kind of outdated, isn’t it? Aren’t we in the modern era of television right now?” He makes a wide sweeping gesture. “Out with the old, in with the new!”
“You know,” he hears Vel whisper, a hand cupped around her mouth. “This might not be such a bad thing…”
“Maybe we can…” Val shrugs, crouching low to murmur in her ear, some of it too mumbled for Vox to make out, but he doesn’t miss the side-eye the both of them keep giving him. “What do you think?”
Vox crosses his arms, squinting at them.
“Speak up over there, why don’t you?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little box head over there, baby,” Val coos, wiggling his fingers at him.
Vox huffs, leaning back until he’s slumping against the wall, can feel his screen heating up just the tiniest bit again over the endearment.
They’re talking to the doctor now, murmured little snippets of a conversation he couldn’t really be bothered to listen into. Which he should be, all things considered, since they’re talking about him, and his apparent lack of memories.
Kind of ridiculous, the entire idea of it.
In retrospect, it probably wasn’t a good idea to gather an entire group of his fans in an abandoned TV studio with the sole purpose of ‘baptizing’ them in entertainment (an entire week of nonstop segments about sharks interspersed with commercial breaks also about sharks). While hanging multiple TVs from the ceiling with wire and the bare amount of electrical tape.
Not to mention the small pit of water he’d made them all stand in.
Which, also in retrospect, probably also wasn’t a good idea.
To be fair, he was going for dramatic.
Anyway, so he died, sure. Ended up in Hell however long ago that was, and now—to top it all off—he’s got a case of amnesia? Of all things?
Oddly mundane, compared to everything else.
The lights overhead flicker, bringing him out of his thoughts.
Scrunching his eyebrows, he looks up.
Sparks of blue electricity jump out at him, little bursts of light reaching for him. He blinks, feeling his fingers itch with the urge to reach back. He glances at his so-called business partners—friends?—maybe even something more, what with Val’s comment earlier—watching them crowd the doctor.
They’re threatening him, something-something about feeding the imp to the sharks (which Vox is very much nonplussed about, Shok.wav would probably appreciate a little snack) if he doesn’t keep quiet, but don’t seem to notice anything off.
Vox looks back up.
That same niggling feeling from earlier comes back, a tug in his chest, something insistent but familiar.
He raises a hand, reaching for the ceiling.
Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Vel shooting him a curious glance and turning around before doubling back, red eyes wide in warning. “Vox,” she starts, all slow, stepping toward him, “what’re you doing, babes?”
“It just… feels right,” he mumbles, not really paying her much attention.
“He does know how to use his…” and the doctor taps his claws together, making little zapping noises with his mouth. “Uh, right?”
“Well… we haven’t really checked,” he hears Val say as if from far away. The buzzing in his head seems to be getting louder. “Baby, why don’t we just—” He sees the moth demon reaching out for him. “Maybe not touch that right now—”
Sparks jump straight from his fingertips to meet the ones bursting from the ceiling lights.
Glass shatters, bulbs pop, the room goes dark.
And Vox is gone.
***
He lands with an oomph! on his ass in the middle of what looks to be an empty street, rusty old street lamps flickering overhead.
“What in the…” he croaks, watching what he’d describe as lightning in a bottle bouncing back and forth between his hands. Not harming him at all. Instead, it leaves him feeling almost—well, tickled? In a good way. Like a dose of dopamine trickling from his fingertips all the way down to his toes.
He stares, entranced, until it all fizzles out.
The ability to transport via electricity?
Teleportation?
A startled bark of laughter bursts from out of him, and he clenches his hands into fists. Holding them in his lap, he wonders idly what kind of stupid, awestruck expression he must be wearing on his screen.
But it doesn’t matter.
He doesn’t care.
Because…
Power, he thinks, giddy with the possibilities.
The street lamps stop flickering, their bulbs stabilizing into a honey yellow color painting the sidewalk, the streets, the dilapidated buildings lining the road.
Vox picks himself off the ground with a grunt, looking around. Wherever he is, it looks like a ghost town, old newspapers blowing in the wind and trash littering the curb. It reminds him of old western films, nary a soul insight and crickets chirping in the loud silence.
Far off in the distance, he can see bright neon lights reflecting off the clouds, a tall tower with three V’s at the very top grabbing his attention.
He must have teleported himself a pretty long way from, well.
Home.
(Though it doesn’t really feel like it.)
But this shit hole, of all places?
He dusts off his trousers, glancing at the abandoned storefronts, the tattered pinstriped awnings, the boarded up doors. An impulse he can’t quite name grabs ahold of him right then and there, and he finds himself wandering not too far off from where he started.
It’s an innate tug in his chest, not unlike earlier, back in the doctor’s office.
He pauses in front of what looks like the smallest shop on the block, tucked in between two taller buildings as if in hiding. Behind the thick layer of dirt and grime covering its windows, behind the CLOSED sign hanging from a hook, he can spot…
He squints, leaning in closer.
Electronics?
It must be a repair shop.
“Oh, now isn’t this just a blast from the past?”
Startled, Vox jumps in place before spinning around, throwing his hands out to the side to keep from toppling over.
“Aww, it’s like witnessing a baby fawn,” that same voice titters, amused and threatening in equal measures. Vox frowns, but he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. There’s no one else there but him.
Who in the Hell…
“They may call me a deer, but I’m not the one stumbling all about like a newborn walking on their legs for the first time,” they sing-song, some sort of staticky filter making Vox’s antennae twitch.
“Come out, you cryptic fucking bastard—” Vox starts, only to yelp in pain when something sharp jabs him on the back of his head.
He whips around, hands clutching protectively at the bulky frame of his screen.
“Not used to taking up so much space anymore, are you?” a demon dressed in all red laughs at him, holding a staff in one hand. There’s an unsettling wide smile stretching across the entire bottom half of his face, sharp teeth on full display and glinting in the low light.
[An arm thrown around Vox’s shoulder, a semi-permanent smile on a blurry face he can’t quite make out leaning into his personal space.
“My head? It’s a TV.” He frowns, confused. “Haven’t you seen one before?“
“No I haven’t, my good man! Oh, but you’re an odd little thing, aren’t you? Consider my interest piqued, then.”
He laughs.
“In fact, I think I just might keep you!”]
Vox shakes his head, wisps of a long forgotten dream—a memory?—or maybe some fragmented figment of his imagination—fading into smoke before he even has a chance to really think hard about it.
The other demon takes a step toward him.
Vox takes a step back.
“So tell me, what’s with the new look? Feeling a bit retro, hmm? But my oh my, I can’t fathom the rest of your little team letting you go out like this!”
He keeps quiet.
Vox wouldn’t exactly call himself prey—it’s been such a long time since he’s felt small, since getting his first gig at his local news station, nervous and sweaty and overwhelmed—but something about the other demon just screams predator. Despite the tattered ends of his old fashioned suit and his ridiculous haircut.
“The silent treatment?” He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, tilting his head. “That’s new! Usually, you’re the one who won’t—can’t, really—shut up!”
Wow, Vox thinks, this asshole just likes to hear himself talk, huh?
“Still not gonna say anything, hmm?” His head tilts even further to the side if possible, the bones in his neck cracking like a snapped twig. “Well then!” He claps his hands.
Vox doesn’t jump but it’s a near thing.
“I think a change of topic is in order!” The other demon starts circling him in a way that is oddly familiar, and Vox finds himself going along with it, the both of them taking one step after another. “If you’re not feeling up for answering the whole,” he gestures up and down at Vox, “appearance question… then answer me this.”
He makes a sweeping gesture encompassing the space around them, the empty buildings and even emptier roads, the conveniently timed tumbleweed passing them by.
“Why the sudden visit to one of our old haunts?”
He laughs, mean-spirited and cruel.
For some reason, the sound of it makes Vox want to shrivel up.
He ignores the feeling.
“Felt like strolling down memory lane, did you?” Suddenly, he thumps his staff on the sidewalk, and all ambient noise seems to hush in anticipation. Shadows grow larger, the color seems to dim, even the sky feels like it’s closing in. “Crossing into another Overlord’s territory so blithely… what are you up to, hmm?”
Vox frowns again, about to open his mouth, when a shadow appears on the ground between them, growing bigger and bigger and—
He looks up.
A pair of heart-shaped wings block out his vision, a strong gust of wind hitting him in the chest for a moment as Val drops down right in front of him, dust billowing around all three of them in the wake of his sudden landing.
“Valentino?”
He pulls Vox behind him.
“Took us a while to find you since the connection here in this dump is fucking shit,” the moth demon starts, not even sparing Vox a glance. Instead he’s staring straight ahead, eyeing the demon in red. His wings fluff in agitation. “And ‘member, baby, just call me Val. After all, we’re business partners.”
He hisses the last part, but Vox has a feeling it’s not aimed at him.
“Ah, Valentino!” the other demon smiles, so fake it looks more like a sneer. “It’s always such a treat seeing you.”
“Don’t talk to him,” Val spits, crossing both pairs of arms. He looms over the other demon, heeled boots adding to the effect and making him seem taller than he already is. “Don’t even look at him, Alastor.”
Vox peeks his head around Val, blinking.
Alastor?
The Radio Demon?
The two of them know each other?
“It seems our dear little picture box here has lost his way,” the man—Alastor, Vox mentally catalogues, feeling the new bit of information silently click into place—says, twirling his staff before pointing it directly into Vox’s face, the sharp tip almost scratching his screen.
Wait, what?
“What did I say about looking at him—”
“Picture box?” Vox repeats incredulously, cutting Val off mid-outburst. He almost goes cross-eyed staring down at what he thinks is an antique, very much outdated model of microphone before looking back up in disbelief.
He swats the microphone-staff thing out of his face.
“What the hell? Who even says that anymore?”
Alastor slowly lowers his hand. “I beg your pardon?”
Vox snaps his fingers. “That too! Who even says that? ‘I beg your pardon’? Maybe someone’s grandma, sure.” He lets out a flabbergasted sound, shaking his head. “But picture box? What are you, an old man—?”
Val bursts into laughter, bending over.
“What is happening right now?” Alastor says, his smile somehow managing to convey both a sense of confusion and irritation. Which doesn’t make sense, because it’s just a smile, for god’s sake, but Vox…
(He just has a feeling he’s seen that smile before, is the thing.)
“None of your business,” Val manages to rasp after he’s done laughing his guts out, wiping the corner of one eye and adjusting his glasses. Clearing his throat, he slides an arm around Vox’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “Baby, never fuckin’ change.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t worry about it, mi amor,” Val tells him, and it’s right at that moment that a sleek black limousine skirts around the block’s corner, wheels leaving smoking skid marks on the concrete before coming to an abrupt stop right in front of them. “Oh, goody! Our ride’s here.”
The tinted window rolls down, and a sweaty eel-looking demon looks back at them from the driver’s seat.
“Mr. Valentino! Mr. Vox!” he pants, out of breath. “Sorry about the hold up, but I kept hitting every single red light on the way, and the gosh darn navigator doesn’t work well in these parts, lack of connection maybe, and then someone tried purposely backing up into me, which I’m pretty sure was some insurance scam bound to happen, and then—”
“Cállate,” Val snaps before flinging the door open. “Do you ever shut up? Keep on talking like that and I’ll put your mouth to good use on something else, got it?”
The eel demon mimes zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key, turning around in his seat with his hands obediently on the wheel.
“After you, Voxxy,” Val purrs, a complete one-eighty in attitude, gently pushing him into the limo and onto the plush leather seating. “We’re gonna get you back to the tower, mmkay? Vel’s waiting for us. Whatchu think about a movie night? There’s this spicy new romcom which, of course, yours truly has directed—”
Vox purses his mouth. “But what about—”
“Valentino.”
They both turn at the sound of Alastor’s voice, the filter on it going all warbly for a moment and making Vox’s antennae itch.
The deer demon’s head is angled to the side, all big eyes and an imperceptible, barely there furrow in his brow. Vox swallows at the seemingly innocent expression, feeling the air go heavy with what he can only guess is static, goosebumps on his skin, in the face of such—
Such unadulterated power.
It’s there all of a sudden and then gone, lasting for less than a second, a millisecond even, and Vox can’t help the shiver that tingles down his spine, the clawed tips of his electric blue fingers digging into the meat of his palms.
Val doesn’t seem to have noticed a thing, irritated face barely twitching despite the intense, heavy pressure still in the air, lingering like a bad smell.
Vox blinks.
Did he imagine all that?
“Valentino,” Alastor says again, voice back to normal. He clasps his staff in both hands, fingers folded together. “Old chum o’ mine. I fear that I don’t quite get the joke happening here?”
He shakes his head, tutting.
“Not funny at all if one has to explain the punchline, you see.”
“Like I said, you stupid deer,” Val huffs, pushing Vox further across the seats and stepping a foot inside. “None of your business, is it?”
“Is that so?” Alastor says, leaning further to the side and making eye contact with Vox, his eyes squinting in a calculated look. “What say you, old friend?”
Vox swallows again.
(He wants to lean forward, feel that burst of static one more time—)
“‘Course it is,” Val hisses, blocking Vox’s view, wings flaring up as much as they can in the backseat. “You made your decision all those years ago. Don’t you fucking forget it.”
He slams the door shut.
“Step on it,” Val growls, their assistant slash driver already slamming on the gas before Vox even has a chance to buckle in, letting out a grunt as he hits his side of the door.
He grabs at the seats for purchase, claws digging into the leather.
“That was Alastor?” he asks, quiet. His antennae still itch, and he resists the urge to scratch at them. “The Radio Demon? That old-timer?”
Val side-eyes him.
And then the moth demon smiles, all sharp fangs and golden tooth glinting in the dark of the limo.
“Old-timer is right,” he nods, wings wrapping back around himself. He pulls a cigar out of the depths of his fluff, sticking it in the side of his mouth before looking out the window. “Should stay in the past where he belongs.”
Vox studies the side of Val’s face, a reddish-pink smoke filling up the space between them, waiting for, well. Anything.
But Val just keeps smoking.
They’re about to turn the corner now, the limo definitely going over the speed limit—not that it probably matters down here, anyway—but right before they do, Vox chances a quick look up at the rear view mirror.
Call it morbid curiosity, or something like that.
He sees Alastor still standing there on the sidewalk, watching him back.