Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At the breakfast table, Vox's plate in front of him was still full. He was absentmindedly twirling his fork, allowing the eggs to cool. The focus in his eyes had faded, his face pale and expressionless. Valentino, with his long, elegant legs crossed, watched him with a deep sigh. "Eat those," his voice weary. "Then take your medication. You know you can't pull yourself together without it."

Velvette, sitting at the table, was focused on something on her phone, but she looked up at Valentino's harsh tone. "Leave the guy alone, Val. Don't force him. He must have seen today's news."

Valentino's brows furrowed. "What news?" he asked, with a slightly mocking air. Instead of answering, Velvette slid her phone across the screen and held it up to Valentino's eyes. On the bright display, amid a crowd in front of the Hazbin Hotel, there was a single name in a red coat with that unforgettable grin: Alastor.

Valentino's face changed instantly. His confident, sensual aura deflated in a moment; his eyes darkened. "Ah,"

Velvette pulled her phone back, glancing at Vox before turning to Valentino with an almost childlike hope. "If he's back, will Vox get better?"

"He's back, yes," Valentino said slowly, "But not to him. He's returned to the hotel. Besides," he continued, gesturing toward Vox, "can't you see? He's in such a dependent state? Who knows how he'll act toward Alastor? He'll probably whimper like a baby, cry. He'll become useless."

Vox said nothing. He just rose slowly from his chair and walked toward his room.

When he entered his room, he gently closed the door. He headed straight to his nightstand. He opened the drawer and looked at the neatly arranged bottles of pills inside. He reached out, picked up one bottle, and weighed it in his palm for a moment. Then, with a determined motion, he gathered all the bottles and put them back in the drawer, pushing it shut. "I'm not taking them today," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling but resolute. "I'll be fine. I don't need him."

Meanwhile, at the Hazbin Hotel, a festive atmosphere reigned supreme. Alastor's return, though stirring complex emotions, was a cause for celebration for the hotel. Alastor, microphone in hand, greeted those around him with his usual wide grin but his eyes, unknowingly, drifted toward the distance, toward the VoxTech tower. He wondered why Vox still hadn't made a move. He was unaware of Vox's condition. All he knew was that VoxTech's live broadcast signals were still active.

Toward evening, Vox's determination gave way to intense physical and mental agony. In his room, in the dark, he sat on the edge of his bed. His head was throbbing. His mind began to fill with dark and ruthless thoughts. He's back but I'm still here, condemned to these pills. Every passing minute made it worse.

Just then, the door opened. Valentino saw Vox's wretched state. "What do you want?" his voice both harsh and exasperated. "You're doing nothing but torturing yourself."

Vox lifted his head. His gaze was blurred. "I quit," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm not taking them anymore."

Valentino stepped forward into the room. "You're going to quit something you've been using for seven years in a single day?" his voice rising. "Don't be so stupid. Take it."

Vox saw that familiar threatening expression in Valentino's eyes. He slowly stood up, headed to the drawer, took out the bottle, and poured a pill into his palm. He stared at the pill for a moment, then swallowed it. As tears streamed from his eyes, Valentino's expression softened slightly, but only for a moment.

"Come on," Valentino said, changing his tone. "Let's go grocery shopping. Getting out will do you good."

The market was one of Hell's most crowded, noisiest places. Lights flashed, screens constantly broadcast ads but for Vox, everything turned into torture. His heart raced with every corner he turned. He flinched at the sight of a shadow, freezing at the glimpse of a red jacket or silhouette. There. He's watching. In the shadows. He sees me. Paranoia had taken him captive. His breathing quickened, his palms sweated. In one frozen moment, Valentino jabbed him sharply with his elbow. "Hey. Snap out of it. He's not here."

Even though Valentino said that, Vox thought he saw that sly grin among the shelves for a moment. He squinted, but there were only reflections. His hands began to tremble.

"Vox! Come here, look at these." Valentino's voice was irritated and commanding. Vox shuffled over to him. Valentino was waving a bottle of whiskey in his hand. "Should we get this? Maybe we'll drink it tonight." Vox stared blankly at the bottle, but his mind was elsewhere. "He's here, Val," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Watching me. From the shadows. I know it."

Valentino rolled his deep eyes. "He's hanging out at his hotel; he doesn't have time to mess with you." But he couldn't calm Vox. As they walked through the market's wide aisles, Vox suddenly veered quickly around a corner, only to feel more fear upon seeing nothing maybe he's coming from behind.

Finally, Valentino couldn't take it anymore and grabbed his arm. "Enough! We're going home." He began dragging him toward the market's exit. Vox didn't resist, but he kept looking around constantly. When the automatic doors opened, the dark street outside chilled him even more. The long shadows cast by the street lamps each resembled his silhouette. Valentino hurried him toward the VoxTech tower, wanting to get him inside as soon as possible.

Just as they were about to enter the tower, Vox suddenly froze in place. In the entrance of a dark alley, he saw a long, thin shadow. Was it him? Wasn't it? A trick of the light? But that grin... That unforgettable grin that haunted his nightmares was there. "There he is!" he shouted, his voice filled with fear.

Valentino turned around angrily. "Where? Show me!" But the street was empty. Just trash cans and the flickering light of a faulty lamp.

"I saw him, Val! I swear I saw him!" Vox insisted, now on the verge of tears. He pointed with a trembling finger at that dark spot.

Valentino hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t sure if Vox’s state was because he had taken his medication too late or if he had really seen something but in the end his anger won out. "No, you didn't! These are just things in your head! Come on, get inside." He shoved Vox into the lobby.

As soon as they stepped into the bright, sterile lobby with security, some of the tension on Vox seemed to ease but that fear had seeped deep into his eyes. They boarded the elevator. Valentino watched Vox's miserable state, his expression mixed: A bit of anger, a bit of disgust and perhaps just a little a trace of worry. As the elevator's digital display counted the floors, Vox murmured, "He's watching me."

Valentino gripped his wrist in a sudden reflex, squeezing it painfully. "Get these nonsense out of your head." The elevator stopped, the doors opened. Valentino pushed him along the hallway. They entered Vox's room. Valentino shoved Vox toward the bed. "Lie down. Sleep. You'll be better tomorrow." His voice was still harsh.

Vox collapsed onto the bed. He stared at the ceiling. Valentino closed the door and left. The sounds from outside ceased. Vox was alone. In the darkness, he felt the room's walls closing in on him. Just then, the screen of his personal tablet on the desk lit up with a news notification. The news was about Alastor's 'victory' at the hotel and how 'powerful' a being he was. Vox reached for the tablet and began reading the article. As he read, the fear inside him slowly gave way to a darker, sharper feeling: Pure, unadulterated rage.

Toward midnight, there was activity on the upper floors of the tower. Angel had arrived at Valentino's summons, his face bearing his usual alluring and somewhat weary expression. It was Velvette who greeted him. With Angel's entrance, an artificial cheer spread through the room, but Velvette's anxious glances were enough to dispel the mood. In the background, Valentino stirred his whiskey in a glass, watching everything with a satisfied expression.

Velvette approached Valentino. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Now? At this hour?"

Valentino shrugged lightly, taking a sip from his whiskey that crackled the ice. "We're going to have a little fun, darling. What's the problem?"

Velvette nodded toward Angel. "You're taking him to your bedroom? Seriously? Vox is right there, at the end of the hallway in his room."

Valentino leaned toward Velvette, lowering his voice even more. Between his warm breath and the scent of whiskey, he whispered: "What do you want me to do? Have sex with Vox in this state? I have needs."

Velvette sighed deeply. She was used to Valentino's callous attitude but it still stung. "At least don't let him know," with weary resignation. "Don't do this to him."

A smile appeared on Valentino's lips. He understood that Velvette's objection had ended. "Don't worry," he stood up. "He's busy with his own nightmares." Then he turned and walked toward Angel, grabbing his arm and directing him toward the bedroom. The door closed slowly.

About half an hour later, Vox got up in his room because he couldn't sleep. His throat was dry, his head still aching. He walked toward the kitchen for water. Some decorative wall lights were on. When he entered the kitchen, he saw Velvette at the counter, twirling an empty glass in her hand. Her shoulders were tense, her gaze fixed on a point. There was a strange silence in the air.

"Are you okay?" Vox asked, his voice still sleepy and tired.

Velvette startled, nearly dropping the glass. She quickly composed herself and looked at Vox. "I'm fine," the answer came too quickly. "You? Why are you up?"

"Water," Vox murmured, heading to the fridge. As he took out a cold water bottle and poured it into a glass, he noticed Velvette's unusual tension. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no. Nothing. Just... today's news, everything. I'm a bit bored," she did her best to change the subject. "How are VoxTech's new projects coming along? Have you checked them at all?" She was trying to steer the conversation to a neutral, safe area, while keeping her ears attuned to any sound from the hallway, especially from Valentino's room.

Vox sipped his water and thought for a moment. Velvette's sudden interest and tense demeanor struck him as odd but with his own mind still foggy, he didn't press it. "No," he said finally, with a sigh-like tone. "Today... I couldn't look today. Maybe tomorrow."

They both fell silent for a while. Velvette continued playing with her glass, her eyes occasionally drifting toward the hallway. Vox had finished his water and now wanted to return to his room. This tense and meaningless conversation was tiring him even more. "Okay," he said finally, setting the glass on the counter. "I'm heading back to my room. Good night, Velvette."

Velvette let out an almost relieved breath. "Good night, Vox," her voice a bit softer. "I hope you sleep well."

As Vox walked down the hallway, he didn't even notice the light seeping from under Valentino's bedroom door. He entered his own room, closed the door, and sank into the darkness. Outside, Velvette could only relax her tense shoulders a little after his door closed.

Vox headed toward his bed. His head was pounding, and his stomach churned. He tried to resist taking the pills. He wanted to be the old Vox again strong, in control but right now, he was nothing more than fragile and afraid.

He lay down and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. The tablet’s screen still glowed beside him, lit up with the news about Alastor. His fear was beginning to turn into anger. Why had he come back? Why couldn’t he just leave him alone? Why was he still poisoning every moment of his life?

For a moment, he thought about reaching for the tablet and checking the live surveillance feeds. Maybe he could watch Alastor, see what he was doing but that would be like celebrating his victory. Watching Alastor through VoxTech’s drones... the thought now made him sick.

With trembling hands, he shoved the tablet aside. He tried to suppress the dark, sharp feeling stirring inside him. Anger wasn’t good. Anger meant losing control. Anger would drag him down to Alastor’s level.

He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. He needed to sleep. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe tomorrow he wouldn’t need the pills. Maybe tomorrow... he could forget Alastor.

But when sleep finally took him, nightmares were waiting. Dark alleys, fading faces, and that red silhouette leaping out from every corner. In the dream he was running, breathless, wanting to scream but no sound came out. Behind him, laughter echoed mocking, merciless...

“Vox!”

The voice jolted him. It was Valentino’s, harsh and commanding. His eyes snapped open. The door stood open.

“What is it?” he muttered, his voice still groggy and laced with fear.

Valentino stood in the doorway, holding a glass of water and a pill. “You forgot this,” he said, his tone less angry now, but still tired. “Your nightly dose. Without it, you won’t be yourself in the morning.”

Vox pushed himself upright in bed. His head was spinning. He stared at the pill in Valentino’s hand.

“Val, I...” he began, his voice trembling.

“Take it, Vox,” Valentino cut him off. “Don’t make this harder.”

Vox reached out for the glass and pill, his fingers shaking. He met Valentino’s eyes. In those deep, violet eyes, the same threat always lingered. He submitted. He popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it with the water.

Valentino nodded with satisfaction. “Good boy. Now sleep. Tomorrow’s an important day. You have VoxTech’s presentations to oversee.”

Vox collapsed back onto his pillow. The drug’s effect spread quickly, smothering his mind in haze. Valentino shut the door, and his footsteps faded down the corridor.

Vox closed his eyes again. This time, no nightmares came only an empty, heavy darkness.

And far away, at the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor stood by the window, watching the city lights. His gaze lingered on the distant VoxTech tower. Inside him stirred a strange feeling an absence, a hollow space. “What games are you planning, old friend?” his voice laced with static and amusement. “I can’t wait to see you.”

But when dawn broke and the dust from the Hazbin Hotel’s celebrations was just beginning to settle, triumph was nowhere to be found. Instead, a simmering rage gnawed at him and though he loathed to admit it, a heavy disappointment weighed just as deeply.

"Wonderful, even my enemy doesn't care about me," he muttered to himself. "Have I fallen so weak in my absence? Or is he just that indifferent?" This thought struck at his most sensitive spot his pride. Vox not challenging him, ignoring him, made Alastor's planned dramatic return meaningless. It was an insult.

Finally, unable to bear it, he stood up. He had to see him. Maybe he was sick or injured. Maybe he was just scared. He pondered how to approach. Knocking on the door or a formal visit... those weren't his style. Plus, it could be a trap. VoxTech was his technological surveillance domain and though Alastor was accustomed to slipping through shadows, he knew every camera and sensor there would be focused on him. A more... physical approach was needed.

He made his way toward the spot overlooking Vox's bedroom. The tower's exterior was extremely slick and steep. Alastor grumbled as he began climbing, using small ledges on the windows for grip. This was an image utterly unfit for his sleek and controlled persona. His coat fluttered in the wind, and sometimes his feet slipped. "Why am I doing this ridiculous thing?" curiosity and anger wouldn't let him stop.

Finally, he reached the right window. The sill he clung to was cold. He tried pushing the window open but it wouldn't budge. It was locked. He pressed his nose against the glass, trying to peer inside. The scene indoors surprised him. There was no chaos or mess in the room. Everything seemed in its place. He could see a motionless figure lying on the bed. 

Alastor's brows furrowed. "He's alive," there was a hint of disappointment and disdain in his voice. "So he just doesn't care. Interesting. Maybe he's become utterly ordinary after I left." This thought angered him even more. He pushed the window harder, more irritably this time. With this forceful shove, perhaps straining the lock, the window suddenly creaked open.

Alastor stared at the window in surprise for a moment, then slipped inside. He approached Vox's bed silently, stopping at the edge. "Vox?" His voice was unusually low. No response. He repeated it louder. Still nothing. Vox was sunk into a heavy sleep from the drugs and exhaustion.

Alastor's temper flared completely. This was disrespect! Even his presence wasn't enough to wake him. He looked around, glanced at the papers on the desk, checked the screens, then turned to the drawers. When he opened the first drawer, he was met with neatly arranged pill bottles.

His hand reached for one of them. He took it in his palm, turning it over. There was no label on it. Valentino had removed them all so Vox wouldn't read them and get worse. Alastor's brows furrowed. His eyes shifted from the bottle to the bed, then back to the bottle. A thought formed in his mind. "Did he try to kill himself?" His voice was serious for the first time, devoid of mockery, and even a bit shocked. He brought his hand close to Vox's nose. He felt a steady, warm breath. He was alive.

He seemed relieved, but immediately after, a curious expression appeared on his face. He took the bottle again. He pulled out a few pills from inside, examining them in his palm. He couldn't figure out what they were. Then, with a sudden decision, he quietly slipped those few pills into his coat's inner pocket. "I need to investigate these," he whispered to himself. Maybe these held the key to Vox's strange state, this indifference.

He was done. He glanced one last time at the bed, at his sleeping enemy. Before vanishing into the shadows, he left behind only an open window.

Vox opened his eyes slowly. His head was throbbing, there was a bad taste in his mouth, and his whole body felt weak. The effects of the drugs must have worn off. A deep, painful sense of loneliness welled up inside him. He just needed someone anyone to tell him he was okay, that he meant something.

He got out of bed with difficulty. His feet dragged on the carpet as he headed toward Valentino's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. He entered quietly. Valentino was in a deep sleep on one side of the bed but next to him, with his back to Vox, lay another tall figure. Angel Dust. His eyes were open, and his presence in the room was noticeably tense but he wasn't moving, pretending to sleep.

Vox froze in place. Then, with an instinctive motion, he reached out a trembling hand and poked Valentino's shoulder. "Val?"

Valentino grumbled irritably from his sleep, cracking his eyes open. When he saw Vox, his face immediately soured. "Vox, please," his voice was groggy and utterly intolerant.

"Can we talk?" Vox murmured, almost pleadingly.

Valentino sat up, ignoring Angel on the other side of the bed. "What? Now?" he growled. "Go talk to Velvette."

Vox bowed his head. "She... she left early," he replied. "She has something scheduled with fashion."

This pushed Valentino's last nerve. He suddenly leaped out of bed and started shoving Vox toward the door. "God, I'm sick of you!" his voice trembled with anger. "Take your meds, get yourself together, and stop bothering me with this nonsense!"

Vox retreated, scolded like a child. Valentino slammed the door in his face.

That same morning, when Angel Dust returned to the Hazbin Hotel to recount what happened, he immediately headed to his favorite gossip corner. He found Charlie and the others, starting to tell the story with dramatic flair.

"So, ask me about it," he said, waving his cocktail. "The guy sees me in bed with his boyfriend and doesn't even care! No reaction at all. He just said 'Can we talk?' or something. I think something's happened to him. Val even called him schizophrenic, yelling 'take your meds' over and over. It was really pathetic, but also... kinda weird."

As Angel continued, Alastor was sitting in a more secluded corner of the lobby, apparently with a cup of tea but his ears had caught what Angel was saying. An indefinable unease filled him.

Finally, he couldn't stand it. He made his way to the bar corner, toward Husk. Husk saw him while drying a glass and raised his eyebrows.

Alastor leaned lightly against the bar counter, lowering his voice as he spoke. "Husk," he said. "Did you hear what they said about... Vox? About his condition. That Valentino has him... dependent on meds?" Though he didn't want to admit it, there was a small hint of worry in his voice, and maybe even a touch of guilt. Perhaps this situation had something to do with his own seven-year absence. Maybe losing his rival completely, in this way, wasn't what he wanted.

Husk set his glass down and looked at Alastor, his face carrying the same indifferent expression as always. “I wouldn’t know, boss,” he muttered. “But what surprises you? Anyone who falls into Valentino’s hands is doomed sooner or later. Vox was never going to be an exception.”

Alastor bit back the words that rose to his tongue in response to Husk’s apathy. He retreated straight to his room. He placed the pill on the table, lifting and spinning it lightly with his static energy. He was trying to understand what it was. Odorless, tasteless, ordinary-looking. Yet this was the thing that had turned Vox into that state a puppet in Valentino’s hands.

Angel Dust’s words came back to him, along with Husk’s confirming silence. Vox’s lack of reaction when he saw him, his failure to say anything even when Angel was in his bed… That wasn’t Vox. Not his Vox. His Vox was loud, furious, always seeking attention with flashy technological tricks. This… this was nothing but a ghost.

A strange wave of unease swelled inside him. This wasn’t what he had planned. For his rival to collapse in his absence, to fall under someone else’s control… That couldn’t be his victory. That wasn’t a fair fight. This… was revolting.

For a moment, he considered more direct ways of “investigating” who had supplied those drugs, who had turned Vox into this. Shaking the shadows in Valentino’s club, perhaps even “rearranging” the vocal cords of a few of his henchmen but that would be too simple, too human a revenge. Besides, what would freeing Vox from this state even gain him? A weak and dependent enemy was better than no enemy at all.

Wasn’t it?

Alastor’s wide grin loosened ever so slightly. Within him stirred a rare inner conflict, torn between pure curiosity wanting to learn what those drugs really did and a personal fury that Vox was someone else’s plaything instead of his own.

At last, he slipped the pill back into his pocket. His grin returned, though this time, a little more forced.

“Well then, dear Vox,” he murmured into the darkness of his room. “It seems I’ll have to do a bit of cleaning before I get to play with you. I’ll have to clean up your… problems.”

"And don’t worry,” he added, the static in his voice intensifying. “Now that I’m here, you won’t need anyone else. I’ll be all the drugs you’ll ever need.” He carefully wrapped the pill in a handkerchief and slipped it into his pocket. He needed the right person to analyze it. The right, unreliable, and most certainly pressurable kind of person.

He vanished into the shadows and, in an instant, found himself in the back room of a pharmacy tucked away in the less noticeable parts of the city the kind of place where no one asked questions. Across from him, cowering behind a desk cluttered with test tubes and strange concoctions, stood a bespectacled demon: Baxter, trembling and sweating.

“Why, hello, my dear friend!” Alastor greeted him with forced cheer. “It’s been far too long!”

Baxter swallowed hard, the sound audible. “I-I’ve been busy. In the middle of a very important experiment…”

“Oh, I’m sure you have!” Alastor stepped forward, leaning over the desk. “And I’ve come to request the aid of your marvelous talents. A little… analysis job.” He drew the handkerchief from his pocket, carefully unwrapping it to reveal the white pill. “What is this? Precisely. Down to the very last ingredient.”

Baxter glanced nervously at the pill, then at Alastor’s grin. He knew there was no use refusing. With trembling hands, he picked up the pill, placed it under a lens, then dropped it into a small mixture and heated it. The room quickly filled with strange odors.

“A-A particular psychoactive blend,” he muttered after a while, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Very strong. It suppresses emotions, slows reactions, makes the subject… docile, and highly addictive. At this dosage… whoever’s using it probably can’t function without it.”

Alastor’s eyes lit up. He tilted his head with interest. “Can’t function? Or ensures someone does function?”

Baxter flinched. “M-Maybe both. These things are usually for… control. A chemical leash.”

There was a moment of silence. Alastor retrieved the pill, rewrapped it in the handkerchief. His grin widened. “Perfect,” he whispered. “Simply perfect.” He turned to Baxter. “I trust you’ll keep this little conversation between us, won’t you? Or else you might get to experience the results yourself… vividly.”

Baxter nodded frantically. “Of course! Absolutely! Not a word to Mr. Vox!”

“Good boy,” Alastor purred before melting back into the shadows.

Now he had the truth. The proof. This was what had reduced Vox to his current state and it ruined everything. How could he enjoy himself with a weak, drugged-out rival? It was… boring.

But more importantly, it was his right. Driving Vox insane, enraging him, making him seethe with jealousy that belonged to Alastor. No one, especially not some common filth like Valentino, had the privilege of stealing that from him.

As he returned to the Hazbin Hotel, his mind whirred with a new plan. He went to find Husk.

Husk ignored his approach, polishing a glass tumbler.

"Husk," Alastor said, his usual mocking tone a bit strained. "I need a little... disguise job."

Husk just rolled his eyes and continued polishing. "No."

"Ah, but you haven't even listened!" Alastor whined, leaning on the counter. "Just an ordinary, unremarkable delivery guy look. No red coat, no smile, nothing. Make me unrecognizable."

"God," Husk grumbled, finally setting the glass down. "What are you gonna do? Deliver a package to his door? Is that it?"

"Maybe," Alastor replied, his eyes narrowing. "I'll just observe. Please, Husk? For old times sake?" His voice had that sweetness that grated on Husk's nerves.

With a sigh, Husk gave in. He led Alastor to the back room. When they emerged a while later, Alastor was completely transformed. He was wearing a plain brown delivery uniform, his hair tucked under a cap, and most importantly, that famous, static-filled smile was gone. His face was neutral and ordinary, almost repulsively plain. Only his eyes still held that sharp gleam, but he tried to hide them by keeping his head down.

"Satisfied?" Husk grumbled.

"Perfect," Alastor whispered in an unaccustomed tone. Then, he set off toward the Voxtech tower.

As he walked down the corridor to Vox's private floor, his curiosity and a touch of guilt grew. When he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment, then knocked decisively. There was a rustle from inside, followed by a delayed and weak voice: "Who is it?"

"Delivery," Alastor replied, trying to keep his voice as inconsistent and dull as possible. "Need a signature."

The lock turned, and the door slowly cracked open. Vox appeared in the doorway. His appearance shocked Alastor. It wasn't like what he'd seen that morning. His face was paler, with dark circles under his eyes, and his pajamas were wrinkled and messy. He had an exhausted and disheveled air about him.

"Delivery?" Vox muttered, looking suspicious. "I didn't order anything."

Alastor bowed his head further, avoiding eye contact. "Just need your signature to confirm receipt, sir." He pretended to search his pocket. "Oh, I don't have a pen. Excuse me, could you get one?"

Vox hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay. Wait."

Vox turned back inside and headed toward his room, probably to find a pen. 

Just then, Vox returned with a pen in hand. Alastor immediately shifted his attention to the small kitchen counter in the living room. "It's really hot," he said with sudden inspiration. "Could I get a glass of water while I'm here?"

Vox's expression tightened. "Water? Uh, yeah. Sure." He hurried to the kitchen and did something that caught Alastor's attention: He quickly grabbed a few pill bottles from the counter and shoved them into a drawer. He's trying to make sure I don't see them, Alastor thought, his insides filling with a strange unease.

Vox grabbed a glass from the cabinet and started filling it with water. Meanwhile, Alastor noticed an open notebook on a nearby side table. He glanced at a page out of the corner of his eye. The page was almost empty, with just a sentence scribbled in the middle: "I'm not writing anything today. There's no point."

Succumbing to his curiosity, he carefully flipped to the previous page. It was fuller, the handwriting irregular and tense: "The window was open. Maybe it was a chance to die but I didn't jump. Why?"

Alastor's breath caught. He'd left that window open, departing with shadows. He'd never imagined Vox's mind wandering in such dark labyrinths. His heart tightened with a heavy emotion he couldn't define.

Vox approached, extending the glass of water. "Here."

Alastor took the glass and sipped. There was no point in continuing the charade anymore. He needed to ask the real question. "Those pills..." he began, carefully watching Vox's reaction. "Why do you take them?"

Vox busied himself washing the glasses. "Depression."

"Do they help?" Alastor asked, his voice unintentionally softening.

Vox looked at him, a momentary deep pain flashing in his eyes. He still hadn't recognized Alastor, but the question had touched his vulnerable side. "You tell me," he replied, his voice bitter and mocking. "Do I look like they're helping?"

This honesty caught Alastor off guard. He didn't want to stand there watching Vox's breakdown, sharing some kind of intimacy with him. That wasn't part of the plan. He set the glass on the counter. "I have to go," he muttered, backing away. Then, as if nothing had happened, he quickly walked away.

The next morning, Vox sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly as usual. The breakfast plate in front of him was untouched, again. Valentino stormed over, his high-heeled slippers clacking against the floor. "I see yesterday’s little outing didn’t do much good," he began. "You’re going back to therapy. This isn’t working."

Vox’s eyes slowly drifted toward Val. Even through the heavy fog of his medication, the suggestion sparked a sharp, immediate resistance within him. He shook his head, his voice weak. "No. There’s no need. I’m fine."

Valentino’s lips tightened. "You’re not fine, darling. Last night at the store, you nearly broke down crying to a shadow."

"They don’t understand me," Vox mumbled, his fingers tracing the edge of an empty glass. "No one does. Words… they’re not enough. I can’t explain." He sighed, as if those few sentences had drained all his energy. "Just… leave me alone. Please."

A brief flash of anger crossed Val’s eyes before it gave way to his usual calculating expression. He shrugged. "We’ll talk about this later." There was a faint threat behind his words. As he turned to leave, he added from the doorway, "And don’t forget to take your meds."

Left alone, Vox slumped forward, resting his forehead on the cold table. He knew the real reason behind Valentino’s "therapy" suggestion: to make him more controllable, more compliant. Never again.

That night, sleep eluded him once more. He tossed and turned in bed, his mind flooded with Alastor’s ever-present grin and the muffled sounds drifting from Valentino’s room. Finally, he sat up, running his hands over his face in frustration.

A sudden knock on the door startled him. Before he could answer, the door creaked open and Velvette slipped inside, dressed in her pajamas, holding a glass of water. Her face carried a rare trace of exhaustion.

"Can’t sleep again, huh?" she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

Vox rubbed his temples. "It’s nothing," he muttered. "Just… noise."

Velvette set her glass on the desk and leaned against it. "I heard Val offered you therapy," she said bluntly. There was a softness in her tone. "And you turned it down."

"Yeah," Vox admitted without looking at her. "I don’t want it again."

"Maybe… maybe you’re right," Velvette continued carefully. "No therapist around here is equipped to understand someone like you but… maybe there’s someone else you could talk to?" Her implication was clear. She meant Alastor.

Vox’s expression betrayed everything: a fleeting spark in his eyes, followed by deep fear, and finally, a painful sorrow. "Him?" he whispered, almost to himself. "What am I supposed to say? ‘You’re making me sick, please stop’? He wouldn’t care. He’s watching me, I know it but the only reason he does is to amuse himself with my pathetic state."

Velvette’s voice softened further as she stepped closer. "I think you’ve never really understood him. Maybe the only reason he’s watching you is because you’re watching him."

But Vox wasn’t listening anymore. "No," he shook his head, his voice growing weaker. "He sees me. He sees my weakness and he enjoys it. Just like everyone else."

Velvette lingered a moment longer, fists clenched at her sides, before quietly leaving him to the darkness.

Vox remained in place for a long time after the door to his room closed.

He stood up. He wandered aimlessly around the room. His hands were still trembling slightly. Val's "therapy" threat lingered insidiously in a corner of his mind. He would never return to those dark, claustrophobic rooms, the questions, the judging stares. He had to pull himself together. He had to take control. In the only way he knew: work.

Finally, he headed to his desk and turned on his brightest screen. A blue light illuminated the room, making the tired shadows on his face even more pronounced. He logged into VoxTech's main interface. Notifications, reports, rating statistics filled the screen. All of them were waiting.

An advertising campaign. Yes. That could be a good start. Maybe the launch of a new device. Or repackaging an existing service. His mind deliberately tried to occupy itself with familiar marketing strategies and analyses. "Target audience... engagement rate... brand awareness..." He forced the words to spin in his mind.

He opened a presentation file. The whiteness of the blank page hurt his eyes. He placed his fingers on the keyboard, but couldn't press the keys. He couldn't concentrate.

Sigh. He let out a breath. He rubbed his hands over his face. "Focus, Vox. Focus," he murmured to himself. "You're Vox. You're..."

He couldn't finish the sentence.

His eyes drifted to the phone sitting on the desk. To dispel the emptiness inside him, he picked up his phone. His goal was just to occupy his mind for a few minutes, even if only briefly. He opened the social media app and started browsing the trends. The first few news items were ordinary: Hell's latest chaos, a few uprisings, newly opened sin venues... Then, one headline froze him in place.

"Is the Radio Demon on Social Media? #Alastor"

Below it, there was a tag pointing to the account and countless comments:

atlasandrew_: I thought he hated technology! Isn't that ironic?
Voxshark: @atlasandrew_ Maybe they've made peace with the Media Overlord? hahaha
Cborlelove: Is this account real? The posts are just like him.

Vox's fingers trembled as he touched that account, that name. The profile opened. It was extremely new, but undeniably his. The follower count was still low.

Then, he reached the most shocking part. Number of accounts followed: 1 and that account... was him.

Vox watched in horror. Alastor was following him. He had added him to his follow list. What did this mean? His hand went to his mouth. A strange, complex wave of emotions surged inside him. Fear, shock and... a tiny spark, even though he knew it was impossible.

He scrolled through the posts. They had all been uploaded in the last few hours and were perfectly curated: A shot of an old-fashioned radio, a sunset view from a radio tower, a portion of his microphone creeping into the frame... Each one deliberately, subtly and mockingly reflected "Alastor."

If Valentino saw this… he would mock him, make fun of his weakness, maybe even condemn him to more medication. With trembling hands, he moved his finger over the ‘Block’ button to stop the account.

But he couldn’t press it.

That red silhouette, that unforgettable grin, had been etched into his mind. He saw it. He really saw it. The screams that had been bouncing off the walls for years had finally found an echo. He sat there completely stunned, his finger touching the profile picture on the screen.

Alastor was examining his phone with an unusual seriousness in a chair in the lobby at midnight. He approached Husk, a slight tension playing on his face.

"Husk," he began, "Do you think... my profile turned out too bad?"

Husk was drying a glass at the bar. He gave Alastor a dead-eyed look. "What?"

"My profile," Alastor insisted, shoving the phone right under Husk's nose. "Do you think... Vox has seen it? My profile. Is it too bad? Are the photos impressive enough? The one with the microphone seems a bit off." Alastor straightened his hair with his free hand, in a worried manner. "Maybe I should add something more provocative. Maybe a small, personal touch..."

Husk sighed. "Boss. He won't see you. The guy's got millions of followers. Notifications must be flooding in like a river. It'd take hours, maybe days, for him to notice your ridiculous profile."

Alastor's ears suddenly laid back and flattened. He didn't like Husk's logical explanation at all. "He will see," his voice turning into a threatening hiss. "He always sees me."

Early in the morning. Vox leaned against the door of his room, listening to the sounds outside. His heart was racing, irregular.

Valentino’s anger echoed through the corridor. “What is this, huh? Tell me, Peppermint! What the hell is this?”

Vox could hear Peppermint’s calm, professional, yet nervous voice. “Mr. Valentino, please remain calm. It’s just a social media account.”

“Calm? Am I supposed to be calm?” Valentino was shouting. There was aggression and disdain in his voice. “That radio-voiced little bastard opened a damn account just to mess with his mind, to play with him! This is another way of saying, ‘Look, I’m here. I’m watching you. I’m still in your every move!’ And you’re telling me to stay calm?”

“It’s within platform rules,” Peppermint replied, trembling slightly but firm. “We can manage Vox’s notifications, block-”

“YOU CAN’T BLOCK IT!” Valentino’s voice faltered for a moment. “That would be the exact victory he wants! ‘Ah, he can’t even ignore me, he blocked me.’ That bastard feeds off this! This is a mind game, Peppermint! A psychological war you can’t even begin to understand! He’s inside Vox’s head, and you’re talking to me about platform rules!”

Vox pressed his forehead against the cold door. Mind game. Psychological war. Inside his head. These were all his fears. Even Val could see it.

Valentino’s rage intensified. “And you! Useless assistant! How did you not see this coming? How did you not stop it? That’s your job! To protect him! To keep him… away from anything that could corrupt him!”

Peppermint’s voice grew firmer. “Mr. Vox insists on managing his own accounts. He did not authorize me to intervene.”

A dull sound of something breaking echoed maybe Valentino had thrown something against the wall. “AUTHORIZE? I’M GIVING YOU AUTHORITY! The last thing Vox needs is for that lunatic to contact him again! The meds won’t help! All our progress will collapse! Now go and shut that account down at all costs! Hack it, buy it, flood it with reports destroy it somehow!”

Heavy footsteps and rapidly retreating heels echoed in the corridor. The argument was over. Vox staggered toward his bed. His hands were trembling. He was inside Vox’s head.

He reached for his phone. His fingertips were numb. He unlocked it and opened the app. He went straight to Alastor’s profile. It was still there but something… was different. His eyes landed on the words Following. The number had changed. 0."

Alastor had unfollowed him.

His heart pounded painfully in his chest and nearly stopped. He blinked, looked again. No, he wasn’t mistaken. He wasn’t following.

That tiny, impossible spark extinguished in an instant. This was just a game. Alastor had followed him the night before, observed Vox’s reaction maybe panic, fear, or anger and now, either bored or dissatisfied with the effect, he had unfollowed before making his next move.

Vox placed the phone on the bed. He had no strength left to look. He just lay down.

A few hours later, Vox slowly dragged himself from between the cold sheets of the bed. His head was throbbing, his stomach churning.

The kitchen looked cold and uninviting this morning. He opened the fridge with a vague idea of what might be inside. His eyes scanned the shelves, finally spotting a few slices of bread, some lettuce, and a package of sliced salami. A simple sandwich. The only thing he could manage.

He took out the bread slices, his hand trembling slightly. He grabbed a fragile glass plate and set it on the counter. When he picked up the knife, its coldness caused a shiver at his fingertips. He tried to open the salami package, but the tight plastic resisted his clumsy, shaky movements. Finally, he tore it open, but with such force that half the salami spilled onto the counter. A deep weariness washed over him.

He sighed, trying to pull himself together. He gathered the salami slices and placed them on the bread. He reached for the lettuce, trying to tear off a leaf, but it slipped from his fingers. He tried again, this time with a firmer grip, but in an uncontrolled motion, the knife slid into his hand.

The knife easily sliced through the soft flesh of his left palm. He flinched with a sharp pain. The knife clattered to the counter. Blood immediately began to seep from the deep cut, trickling down his palm to his wrist in warm, red streams, staining the white countertop.

For a moment, he just stared in stunned amazement at the flowing blood. The pain had cleared the fog in his mind for an instant, confronting him with the tragic reality of being trapped in this helpless, clumsy body. Then, slowly, he pressed his other hand over the wound. Blood oozed between his fingers.

"God," he whispered into the void, "I can't even make a sandwich by myself."

He stood there for a few minutes, waiting for the bleeding to stop, feeling the pain and shame within him. Then, hastily and inefficiently, he rinsed the wound under running water, watching the blood mix with the water and flow down the sink. He found a bandage from the first aid drawer and clumsily wrapped the cut. A small red stain began to appear on the bandage.

His appetite was long gone, but he was determined to see it through to some point. Without cleaning the bloody counter, he assembled the half-finished sandwich. He skipped the lettuce, just putting the bread and salami together. He placed it on a plate and collapsed onto the stool. Swallowing each bite required effort. But he finished it.

Now it was time for the medication. The effect of the pill given by Valentino last night had worn off, and the headache and nausea were returning. He didn't want to take the medicine, but he knew the consequences of refusing. Sighing, he walked to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and took out the unlabeled bottle. He poured a pill into his palm.

He got a glass of water, watching the air bubbles rise. He took a deep breath. "You can do it," he murmured to himself. "Just do it."

He popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it with a sip of water. As the pill slid down his throat, his stomach immediately rebelled. Nausea surged in waves. He clamped his hand over his mouth. The sandwich and pill were forcing their way back up his throat. He staggered to the sink, dropped to his knees, and vomited. Everything in his stomach came out, along with the bitterness and failure.

When the retching subsided, he was drenched in sweat, trembling, and his eyes were watering. He leaned against the cold ceramic floor, panting from exhaustion. He couldn't even keep the medicine down.

At that moment, someone was watching him from the slightly ajar door. Valentino, in the dark hallway, silently observed Vox's pitiful state. The expression on his face was more deep exasperation than anger. "Ah, darling," he murmured, touching Vox's back. Vox flinched at the unexpected contact. "I see your body wants to rest. It can't even tolerate the medicine."

Vox looked up, his eyes filled with fear and guilt. "Val, I... I'll try again-"

"No, no," Valentino interrupted, shaking his head. His hand was still on Vox's shoulder. "You don't need to do this to yourself. Trust me." He gently cupped Vox's chin. "You need some real rest. All this... technology, screens, workload... It's all making you sick."

Vox couldn't make eye contact. He tried to explain. "What? No, work... Work keeps me going, Val. All I need is-"

"What you need is silence," Valentino cut in, his voice sharpening a bit. "And I'll provide that. So for a while, I'll take away all these devices, screens from you."

Vox's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. These devices were his lifelines, his sense of control, his connection to the outside world. Without them, he would be completely isolated, at Valentino's mercy. "No!" his voice rising in panic. "You can't! The business... VoxTech... everything will fall apart! You said 'business never sleeps'! This would be a disaster!"

A thin, cruel smile appeared on Valentino's lips. "Ah, my dear, don't worry. Peppermint and the team can handle everything. Things will run perfectly fine without you." His words were in a sweet tone. "Your only job right now is to get better. Trust me."

Vox watched as Valentino began gathering his personal belongings. In desperation, he made one last objection. "But... but I am resting! I'm in bed! Just... give me a little time."

"This isn't rest, Vox. This is a breakdown." 

Vox's resistance melted away in the face of his body's weakness and Valentino's unyielding will. His head drooped, accepting defeat. Valentino straightened up with a satisfied smile. "That's it. Now come, lie down in bed. I'll make the necessary arrangements for you."

The door to Vox's room closed, leaving him alone with that heavy silence. The cold blue light of the screens, the mechanical clatter of keyboards, the false signs of life from constantly vibrating notifications... All of it had vanished. The walls felt like they were physically closing in on him.

Hours passed meaninglessly. Vox lay curled up in his bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. His thoughts swirled like an uncontrollable vortex, always leading back to the same dark point. Valentino's voice echoed in his head: "Things will run perfectly fine without you." Those words voiced his greatest fear about the meaninglessness of his own existence. Replaceable... A disposable object once he became useless.

This thought caused a pain that pierced even beyond the numbness of the drugs. He sat up in bed. This silence was unbearable. This emptiness, this nothingness would crush him before he could do something. He stood up. As his feet moved heavily across the carpet, he had only one purpose: to go to Valentino. To tell him he needed him, that he wouldn't give back control, that he'd be fine. Maybe just to hear a voice.

When he reached the door to Valentino's bedroom, he wasn't entirely sure what to say. His breath was irregular, his palms sweaty. He pushed the door open without knocking.

Valentino was leaning against the luxurious mattress of the room, his long legs crossed, holding a drink while flipping through a fashion catalog. He looked up at Vox's entrance. There was a slight surprise on his face. "Vox?" His voice came out with a weariness from the drink and his diminishing patience. "Did something happen? Did you take your meds?"

Vox staggered in the doorway. Words knotted in his throat, the logical explanations and weak claims he'd planned turning into meaningless heaps of syllables. He just stood there, trembling, not knowing what to do.

Valentino eyed him for a moment and sighed. In his eyes, something flickered for an instant maybe contempt, maybe irritation at the predictability, or perhaps in the most hidden corner, a tiny shred of worry that sparked and faded. He slowly set his glass on the side table. "I see," he said, "Being cut off from technology hasn't made you feel better. Quite the opposite, hasn't it?"

Vox bowed his head, like a child waiting to be scolded.

"Alright, darling," He extended Vox's phone. "By my side," with a smile on his lips. "As long as I allow it and only while I'm watching. Deal, sweetie?"

Vox couldn't believe what he heard for a moment. That sharp, always threatening tone now sounded almost... permissive. Something inside him, a small spark of hope, ignited. The phone? Really? His eyes shifted to Valentino's extended hand, to his own phone. "Really?"

A smile appeared on Valentino's lips. Vox's desperate joy at such a simple favor was undeniable proof of his power over him. He lightly nodded toward the empty space on the other side of the bed. "Of course, sweetie. Come here. Relax."

Vox approached the bed excitedly. He sat on the edge of the bed, clumsy and awkward as if afraid to soil the luxurious upholstery. Then, he stretched out right next to where Valentino was lying, toward him. The bed creaked softly as it took his weight. There were only a few inches between them; the heavy scent of Valentino's expensive perfume enveloped Vox's nose, dizzying him.

He turned on the phone with trembling hands. The bright light of the screen illuminated his face, making the dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced. At first, he just checked notifications and emails. Every read message, every valid statistic, gave him back a bit of that sense of control, temporarily filling the terrifying void gnawing at him. He had reconnected with the world, with what defined him.

Valentino set his catalog aside for a moment. As he watched Vox in this state, this joy at the simple favor, a dangerous mischief gleamed in his eyes. Slowly, almost tenderly, he reached out and began stroking Vox's hair. Vox flinched slightly at the unexpected physical contact, but then relaxed, even leaning into the caress with a near-sigh. Touch. Approval. That's what he needed.

But Valentino's intent wasn't tenderness. With his other hand, he silently and skillfully grabbed his own phone. He opened the camera app, switched to the front camera. Vox was so absorbed in staring at the screen and the comfort of Valentino's caress that he noticed nothing.

Valentino framed the shot: His own face with a mocking, satisfied smile in the foreground, and in the background, Vox's profile lost in the phone, vulnerable, almost dazed. It was a perfect photo. A story in one frame: Control and submission.

His finger pressed the shutter. No sound, just a momentary flash on the screen.

Vox jolted at the flash of light, turning his head to look at Valentino in confusion. "Val? What-"

"Shhh, sweetie," Valentino whispered, continuing the caress. "Just a memento. You looked so cute." He pulled the phone back, his fingers quickly editing the photo and creating a post. In a few seconds, the photo was uploaded to a public profile. 'Rest time. 😉💋'

Before Vox could fully grasp what had happened, Valentino placed the phone back on the nightstand. "Time's up, love,"

Vox lay back on the bed gently, still stunned and confused. His eyes turned to the ceiling again, but his mind was even more tangled now. When Valentino lay beside him, turning his back but throwing an arm over Vox's shoulder to pull him close, Vox nestled into this false warmth, his drug-fogged mind trying to perceive both the comfort and the trap at once.

Alastor's fingers were lightly tapping on the screen. "Do you see it, Husk?" he called out, his voice unusually high-pitched, laced with a static hum. "Look! Look at this! What audacity? He's displaying him like a pet and on his own platform, no less!"

Husk didn't even lift his eyes. "I see it, boss. All of Hell sees it. The likes aren't bad either."

Alastor's teeth gritted, his wide grin straining for a moment. "Likes? Trivial things! It's not about the numbers, it's the message! Valentino is showing off his leashes on him to everyone. My... my enemy." He hissed the last word, unable to hide the possessive rage within.

He zoomed in on the photo with his finger, focusing on Vox's blurry profile. He could see the emptiness in his eyes, the drugged daze on his face. Something indefinable and unsettling stirred inside him. "Read the comments," he insisted, almost forcefully. "What are they saying?"

Husk finally set down his glass and let out a deep, weary sigh. "God, Boss. Are you serious? Are we going to follow their gossip now?"

"I'm gathering information, that's all," Alastor snapped, the static in his voice intensifying. "Assessing the enemy's morale, the public's perception it's a strategic move. Now read!"

Husk rolled his eyes and took the phone. Under Alastor's prickly anticipation, he began reading a few comments in a monotone voice. "'Vox looks so cute.' 'Valentino is taking good care of him.' 'The pair suits each other well.' 'I hope he's resting; he's been really sick lately.' 'Val manages him with such affection.'"

Each word amplified that strange, gnawing feeling inside Alastor. Affection? Manage? Taking good care?

"Stop! What did that one say?" he jumped in, pointing at a comment on the screen with his finger. "That one! The one that says 'Maybe the Radio Demon's return brought him to this state'! Read it!"

Husk raised his eyebrows. "'Maybe the source of all this stress and paranoia is Alastor's return. At least Valentino is trying to calm him down.'"

There was a moment of silence. Alastor's wide smile froze, the red light in his eyes gleaming dangerously. Then, a low, menacing laugh echoed. "They're... blaming me? It's not me who was there for seven years making him this... this weak, this pathetic, this disgusting shell! It's not me who allowed that immoral moth to turn him into a drug zombie! They're blaming me?"

Husk pushed the phone back onto the counter. "It's a logical inference. At least he was functional before you came back."

Alastor suddenly grew larger, his shadow falling over Husk. Then he took a deep breath. For a moment, he was panting, his chest rising and falling. Then, his voice suddenly dropped to a dangerous softness. "They... the public... are pairing him with him." His eyes turned back to the phone, staring at the photo. Valentino's smug smile made his stomach churn. "This is unacceptable."

Husk grabbed a bottle and started pouring into another glass. "What are you gonna do? Write a comment? Something like 'Actually, I drive him even crazier?'"

Alastor ignored him. He considered pressing the 'like' button or even sending a heart emoji. A mocking approval but no. That would be too simple.

Instead, with a smile still on his lips, he silently closed the screen. "No, dear Husk," he whispered, his voice regaining its mocking tone, "I won't comment. I'll just... watch. A little longer. Because I know that," he added as he slipped the phone into his pocket, "what Valentino thinks is his victory will actually be the beginning of his end. He doesn't understand the rules of the game."

Husk slid the glass of drink in front of him. "Drink," he muttered. "You look like you need it."

But Alastor ignored the drink. "He's mine," he murmured, in a voice barely audible even to himself. "The victory will be mine too. No one, especially not that disgusting bastard, can steal him from me." Then he slowly picked up the bottle. He gripped the glass and downed it in one go.

As the alcohol burned down his throat like fire, his smile stretched even wider but when he set the glass down on the table, some of it dribbled from the corner of his lips down his chin. He silently wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The motion was hasty, almost uncontrolled.

Husk raised his eyebrows slightly. "Well, that's something I'm not used to seeing," he grumbled.

Chapter Text

Michael, a therapist by name, was at Vox's door the next afternoon. It had been arranged at Valentino's insistence and with his money. The man was middle-aged, ordinary-looking, wearing a suit that didn't sit too crisply and holding an old leather briefcase. His face held a professional calm, but behind his eyes lurked a nervous curiosity about working with such a high-profile "client." When Vox opened the door, he invited him in, his face expressionless. He was reluctant.

They entered the living room. Michael glanced around, noticing that the place looked more like an office than a home. Everything was too orderly, too clean, lacking any signs of lived-in warmth. He settled into the wide armchair in the living room, while Vox took the smaller chair directly opposite him. Between them stretched a view through the glass of the VoxTech tower overshadowing the other buildings.

Michael pulled a notepad and pen from his briefcase, flipping to a new page. He sat in silence for a while, simply observing Vox. Vox pretended to gaze out the window, but his eyes were lost in emptiness. His hands lay motionless in his lap.

"Vox," Michael began, his voice in a professional tone. "Mr. Valentino mentioned some concerns. How have you been feeling lately?"

Vox glanced at Michael for a moment, then turned back to the window. "I'm fine," he muttered. The response was short, signaling he was closed off to conversation.

Michael smiled faintly and took a note. "Being 'fine' is a broad concept. Can you elaborate a bit? How's your energy? Your sleep pattern? Your appetite?"

"Normal," Vox replied, shrugging slightly. "Everything's normal. Maybe I don't sleep much. Work's busy."

"Mr. Valentino said you needed to stay away from technological devices for a while. How has that affected you?" Michael asked, holding his pen poised.

Vox's expression changed for the first time, a flicker of tension appearing. "It was necessary," he replied, his voice a bit tighter. "I needed to rest. I'm resting." His sentences were short and defensive.

Michael continued taking notes. The silence stretched. Vox fidgeted with his fingers slightly, brushing away an imaginary speck of dust from his lap.

"Tell me about yourself, Vox?" Michael started again. "What do you enjoy doing outside of work? What are your hobbies?"

Vox stared blankly. The question caught him off guard. Hobbies? Was there anything that belonged to him, unrelated to work, screens, or power? "Working," he answered finally. "I love my job."

Michael tilted his head slightly. "I see. And when you're not working? Do you ever read books? Listen to music? Maybe try cooking?"

"I don't have time," Vox countered, averting his gaze from Michael. "There's so much work. Always something to watch, something to manage."

"And what about now?" Michael pressed, lowering his voice a notch. "Right here, without devices. When you're alone with yourself. What's going on? What's running through your mind?"

Vox's breathing quickened for a moment. His eyes wandered aimlessly around the room, as if searching for the answer among the walls. "Nothing," he whispered, his voice almost inaudible. "Empty. Silence." The admission seemed to disturb him, as he clamped his lips shut tightly.

Michael took a note, writing something longer this time. "Emptiness and silence... Does this feeling bother you, Vox? Does it scare you?"

Vox didn't respond. He bowed his head, his hair shadowing part of his face. His hands were now clenched into fists in his lap. "Sometimes," he muttered finally, his voice so low that Michael had to lean forward to hear. "Sometimes... voices come. Images." He couldn't say more, as if the words were knotting in his throat.

Michael maintained his professional expression, but his attention sharpened. "What kind of voices? What kind of images? What do they tell you?"

Vox suddenly lifted his head, his eyes showing a raw expression for the first time: Pure panic. "Nothing," he replied quickly, as if regretting having said too much and wanting to take it back. "Insignificant things. Just... noise."

Michael didn't give up. Every time Vox tried to escape, he rephrased the question to pull him back. "Noise can often be a sign of something, Vox. Maybe things worth listening to. Maybe your mind is trying to tell you something."

Vox looked at Michael for a moment, seeing not pity or judgment in the therapist's eyes, but just a calm effort to understand. This lowered his guard for an instant. "They tell me... I'm weak," he whispered. "Worthless. Useless. Everyone... everyone's watching me. Mocking me." As soon as he said it, he regretted it, averting his eyes immediately, his face flushing.

Michael stopped taking notes and set his notepad in his lap. He gave Vox his full attention. "Who's watching, Vox? Who do you think is mocking you?"

Vox's breath caught. He wanted to stand up, to escape this room, these questions, these gazes, but his legs wouldn't obey. "I don't know," he muttered, his voice trembling. "Everyone. No one. Especially... him."

Michael remained silent for a while, absorbing Vox's words. "By 'him,' do you mean Alastor?" he asked directly.

The mention of the name made Vox jump as if startled. "Don't talk about him!" his voice rose, filled with emotion for the first time; that emotion was pure fear. "Please. Don't bring him into this room."

"What about Valentino?" Michael continued, observing Vox's reaction. "Is he watching you? Mocking you?"

Vox was unprepared for this question. His eyes widened in surprise. "Val? No, he... he cares about me. He looks after me. He wants me to get better." The sentences sounded rehearsed, as if read from somewhere.

Michael took one last note. Then he set down his pen. Pushing further wouldn't help. "Vox," he said. "That's enough for today. You've faced some tough questions. Give yourself time."

Vox didn't respond. He just bowed his head. Michael stood up, gathered his briefcase, and quietly left the room, leaving Vox alone with his inner reckoning.

When Michael left Vox's room, he felt a slight relief. Clutching his leather briefcase tightly, he began walking down the hallway. He was shaken inside. Vox's condition was far beyond Valentino's description of "mild burnout." There was deep destruction, a detachment, and a horrific state of dependency. He was thinking about what to write, how to structure a report.

Just as he reached for the elevator button, a door nearby opened quietly, and Valentino stepped into the hallway with an elegant motion. He wore a long, well-fitted robe. His face was calm, even indifferent, but his eyes sought Michael. "Michael," his voice soft, almost a purr. "Would you speak with me for a minute? Please."

This wasn't a request; it was an order. Michael couldn't help but sigh inwardly. "Of course, Mr. Valentino."

Valentino led him to his study, just a few steps from Vox's door. The room was luxurious and impersonal. There was a large desk, leather chairs, and shelves with expensive-looking but untouched objects. Valentino closed the door, followed Michael to the center of the room, then slowly turned to face him. The calm, indifferent expression was gone, replaced by an intense curiosity.

"Well," he began, crossing his arms over his chest. "Tell me. What did he say? What's the source of all that nonsense?"

Michael hesitated. Client confidentiality was the cornerstone of professional ethics, but he doubted the man before him cared about that rule. Moreover, this man had hired him and could probably fire him.

"Mr. Valentino," he began carefully. "Mr. Vox... is quite closed off. It's hard to communicate. There's deep withdrawal and a kind of... emotional numbness."

Valentino rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me in terms, Michael. Tell me the results. Is he crazy? Tell me he's crazy."

"No," Michael replied quickly. "It's not madness, but... severe clinical depression, perhaps drug-induced apathy, intense anxiety, and signs of paranoia. His ties to reality are weak. The drugs... the drugs he's using might have brought him to this state. Without them, he becomes dysfunctional."

A cold smile appeared on Valentino's lips. "The drugs are what keep him upright, Michael. Without them, he turns into a messy, uncontrollable hysteric. He was afraid of shadows in the market." Valentino took a step closer. Michael stepped back slightly. "Now, tell me the important part. Did he mention that radio maniac? Did he say he saw him? Did he admit he's in this state because of him?"

Michael hesitated. He remembered Vox's panic at the mention of Alastor's name. "Yes," he whispered. "When I said the name... he reacted badly. He implied he's afraid of seeing him, of being watched by him, but he didn't say more. He shut down the topic immediately."

Valentino's eyes gleamed. This was what he wanted to hear. "Great. Perfect. So he admitted it. He's wrecked because of him. This is good. This is very good."

Michael was shocked. Valentino seemed to take pleasure in Vox's pain and fear. "Mr. Valentino, this isn't a good thing. It's an unbearable source of stress for him. This fear will destroy him."

Valentino waved his hand, dismissing Michael's words like an insignificant annoyance. "Well, anything else? Did he mention me? Did he say anything about me?"

Michael was even less prepared for this question. He swallowed. "Y... you, he said positive things," he stammered. "That you look after him, care for him."

Valentino's smile widened further, satisfied. "Of course he did. Because it's true." Then he suddenly grew serious, his smile vanishing. He took another step. "Now listen to me carefully, Michael. Your job is to reinforce that radio maniac idea in his mind. You'll tell him that all his fears, paranoias, his breakdown—it's all because of Alastor. Not me. I'm protecting him. I'm keeping him upright. Understood?"

Michael's face had gone pale. "But... but that's not ethical. I can't lie to my client. I can't direct him. My job is to help him find the truth, not impose another lie on him."

Valentino barely restrained himself from grabbing Michael's collar. Instead, he spoke in a low, threatening voice. "Listen, your 'ethics' don't interest me. I hired you for money, and you'll do what I want. You'll fill Vox's head with Alastor and make him more dependent on me. If you don't..." Valentino leaned forward slightly, "...you won't just lose your job. Your reputation here will be shattered. No one will ever hire you again. Deal?"

Michael nodded slowly, lowering his gaze. "Understood," his voice barely audible.

Valentino's face returned to that cold, satisfied expression. He turned his back, walking to his desk. "Perfect. Then you'll arrange the next session. You can leave now."

Michael, clutching his briefcase tightly, left the room without a word. As he walked down the hallway, Valentino's last words came from behind,

"And remember, Michael... This little chat stays between us. Right?"

Some time later, Velvette approached Vox's door. Her face held that light, tense curiosity of someone coming to visit. Maybe they'd go out, maybe she'd find something to occupy him. She pushed the door open gently and entered.

Vox was sitting on the edge of the couch, almost motionless. His hands were in his lap, his head slightly bowed. When Velvette entered, he lifted his head, but the movement was slow and in slow motion. His eyes tried to focus on Velvette, but his gaze was hazy.

Velvette started to ask, "How did it go? Did that guy tire you out a lo..." but she couldn't finish the sentence.

Seeing the expression on Vox's face, her words trailed off. It wasn't the Vox she knew looking at her. Instead of those sharp, always calculating eyes that held a spark even in the worst moments, she saw someone empty, dull, only physically present. Her heart ached as she took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. "You've taken your medication," her voice filled with sadness and a bit of anger. It was a statement, not an accusation.

Just then, Valentino emerged from his study door. He had been watching. Hearing Velvette's words, he entered. "Of course he did," his voice steady. "He needs to. He always needs to."

Velvette turned to him, her face now showing unconcealed unease. "Val, he should stop these meds now. Look at him. This isn't recovery. This is... numbness. Nothingness. How many years has it been? No improvement, just getting worse."

Valentino looked at Velvette like a parent whose patience is tested by a child. He shook his head. "He can't stop, Velvette. He has to. Because I know what he does without the meds, how many times he's tried to harm himself. I can't even keep count. These drugs are what hold him together. They prevent him from falling apart."

Velvette looked into Valentino's eyes. There, beyond the usual bullying, was a rare glimpse of truth. He wasn't lying. This painful reality filled Velvette with worry again. Helplessness settled on her shoulders. "What if... what if we change the meds, at least?" her voice shrinking. "Maybe reduce the dosage. Val, when I look at him... it's too heavy. It's completely destroying him."

Valentino rejected the idea instantly. "No. It has to be heavy. His condition is heavy. Something light won't carry him." Then he turned to Vox. Vox, as if unaware of this heavy decision being made about him, stared into emptiness. His hands trembled slightly.

Valentino approached Vox and sat close to him on the couch. With a soft, almost affectionate motion, he placed his hand on Vox's back. Vox flinched at the touch, then slowly turned his head toward Valentino.

"You're fine," Valentino whispered, his voice unusually calm. "Everything's okay. Just rest now. Maybe tonight we'll look at a few documents together. Light stuff. Okay?"

A fleeting recognition, an approval, appeared in Vox's eyes. He nodded slowly and heavily.

Valentino looked at Velvette. His gaze said, 'See? This is what he needs.' Velvette looked at Vox's empty, surrendered state, then at Valentino's satisfied expression. She sighed. She left the room, closing the door gently.

When evening came, Valentino returned with a few files, as promised. These were indeed "light" tasks: daily operation reports, draft texts for a small-scale ad campaign, viewership statistics. He guided Vox from the couch to the desk. Vox, his movements still heavy and numb, sat obediently.

Valentino spread the papers across the desk. "Let's take a look," his voice carried the usual business hustle. "Check out these ad texts. They'll go live on Monday. A final review would be good."

Vox tried to fix his eyes on the papers. The words appeared blurry at first, then clear, then blurry again. His mind struggled to grasp the words after the medication. He'd start reading a sentence, lose its meaning midway, and have to start over. He traced a line with his finger. "Wait," his voice very faint. He cleared his throat. "There... that word. Is the usage... correct? It seems wrong."

Valentino leaned toward what Vox pointed at. He squinted. The word Vox indicated was completely correct. Valentino realized Vox was just looking for an excuse to focus. He exhaled impatiently but kept his voice as calm as possible. "No, it's right. Keep going."

Vox moved to the next page. This was a graph of viewership numbers. The numbers and lines blurred together. His head started to ache. He sat for a while without saying anything, just staring into space.

"What about these?" Valentino asked, pointing to the graph section with his hand. "What do you think? Good performance or do we need to do something about that drop in the prime time slot?"

He heard the question. The words reached his brain. But forming a response, generating an idea, analyzing... These seemed distant and difficult. Things he used to do in seconds now appeared like an insurmountable mountain. His insides filled with distress. His hands didn't tremble on the desk, but inside he was shaking.

"I... don't know, Val," he whispered. "The numbers... are messy. My head can't focus." Admitting this drained him further. He bowed his head, his hair falling over his forehead.

Valentino wanted to roll his eyes for a moment. His expectations were low, but he hadn't anticipated this much. A curse rose inside him, but then he saw Vox's helpless, crushed state. His anger gave way to deep weariness. This wasn't working. "Okay," his voice was softer now, even a bit tired. "It's not important. I just... wanted an opinion." He began gathering the files. The rustle of papers echoed in the quiet room. "I'll ask Peppermint about this. Don't worry."

Vox saw Valentino collecting the files. He knew he'd failed. Valentino deciding for him was both a relief and a source of shame. He muttered softly, "I'm sorry."

Valentino tucked the files under his arm. He looked at Vox. There he sat at the desk, shrunken and ineffective. The man who was once Hell's most powerful now couldn't answer the simplest question. A strange feeling welled up inside him; not quite victory, nor pity. Just a cold acceptance of the fact. "Forget it," his voice neutral. "You're tired. Go rest. There wasn't much to look at anyway."

Vox stayed in place. Even after Valentino left the room, he stared at the empty space left by the files. Only a pen and a notepad remained on the desk. He reached for the pen and held it. He felt like he should write something, draw something, produce something, but his mind was blank. He dragged the pen aimlessly, weakly across the paper. Nothing came out. Finally, he set the pen down and rested his head on the desk.

Just then, the door creaked open slightly. Velvette peeked inside and entered quietly. She held two mugs of hot chocolate. Seeing Vox at the desk, staring blankly at the empty notebook, her face twisted. She entered silently and placed one mug on the edge of the desk. "Drink," she said. "It's hot. It'll perk you up a bit."

Vox lifted his head slowly. He seemed to notice Velvette's presence only now. His eyes shifted to the mug, then back to Velvette. He couldn't make sense of it. Why was she here? Why was she bringing him a drink? His mind struggled even with this simple kindness. "Thanks," he muttered, like an automatic response. He reached for the mug, but his hand trembled, so he pulled back. The steam from the hot chocolate brought a faint sweetness to his nose.

Velvette settled into the chair and took a sip from her own mug. They sat in silence for a while. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was thoughtful. Finally, Velvette pointed to the empty notebook in front of Vox. "Were you doodling something?" her voice free of mockery, just genuine curiosity.

Vox looked at the notebook. The whiteness of the blank page stung his eyes. He shook his head. "I can't," he whispered. "Nothing comes to mind. All the ideas, everything... gone."

Velvette held her mug with both hands, feeling the warmth inside. She looked at him. The deep fear and helplessness in his eyes chilled her. Vox, whose ideas never ran out, who always came up with a new project at any moment, was now exhausting himself over nothing. "Maybe you shouldn't force it," she said carefully. "Give yourself time. Maybe... maybe what you're looking for isn't something you can find by forcing it."

Vox couldn't make sense of these words. He'd always been told to push, to fight, to never give up. Time? He didn't think time would help him. Time just meant more medication, more emptiness, more nothingness. "Time doesn't heal," he replied. "It just habituates and habituating... isn't healing."

Velvette couldn't say anything to these words. Vox was right. Getting used to this situation didn't mean healing. It might be the very essence of getting worse. She sighed and set her mug on the table. "Well," she said, standing up. "Maybe you should rest. Don't force yourself. Tomorrow... tomorrow might be better."

Vox bowed his head again. He had no faith that tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow would just be a copy of today, but he didn't argue with Velvette. He watched silently as she left the room.

A few hours later, Vox had grown bored of the silence in his room. To feel better, or perhaps just to succumb to the familiar illusion of doing something, he descended to the office floor.

The corridors were as brightly lit as ever, with screens constantly broadcasting new advertisements. No one paid him much attention; employees rushed from place to place with quick steps, and lively voices echoed from the meeting rooms. Everything seemed normal, just as Valentino had said: Everything was running perfectly without him.

He wandered aimlessly. Maybe he wanted to go to his own office and look at something, but he didn't have the energy for that. Instead, he headed to the elevator and decided to go down to the lower floors where the research and development laboratories were.

The lab floor smelled cooler. Behind the glass partitions lining the walls, there were flashing circuits and scientific experiment setups. The place was almost empty, with only a few technical staff deeply concentrated on their work.

One of them, in a corner lab, was stirring a strange-looking liquid in front of him. Baxter. He was mumbling something, then hastily scribbling in his notebook.

Vox approached quietly. Baxter didn't notice him, so Vox pushed open the glass door and entered. Baxter jumped, nearly dropping the test tube in his hand. His eyes widened abnormally, and his face turned pale. "V-Vox! Sir! I... I wasn't expecting you."

Vox tilted his head slightly. He couldn't understand why Baxter was so flustered. He'd just come to say hello, maybe ask how things were going. "Did something happen, Baxter? You look... strange."

"Nothing!" Baxter's voice pitched higher. He immediately turned around, starting to fiddle with the complex-looking devices on his desk, arranging things. "Just... I'm in the middle of a very important and delicate experiment. It requires concentration. You understand."

Something didn't quite sit right with Vox. Baxter was always a bit odd and tense, but not this much. It was like he'd been caught red-handed. "Alright," Vox murmured, glancing around. "Anything new? An interesting project?"

"No! I mean, yes! There's always something!" Baxter gave a hesitant, mixed response. "But it's not ready to present yet. Way too early. Way, way too early." Then he suddenly turned to Vox, with a panicked expression. "Are you okay, sir? Do you feel well? Why are you here? Does Mr. Valentino know you're here?"

When Valentino's name was mentioned, the slight emphasis in Baxter's voice caught Vox's attention. Why was he asking about Valentino? "I'm fine," Vox replied. "Just... taking a stroll. Why do you ask?"

Baxter's tongue seemed to tie itself in knots. "Nothing! Just! Only... you're usually... you know, they say you need to rest." His hands were trembling, barely holding back from knocking over a glass bottle on the desk. "Maybe... maybe you should go rest? The chemicals here... aren't good for you. They could make your head spin even more."

Vox took another step closer. Baxter backed away, his back against the desk. "Baxter," Vox said slowly. "Are you hiding something from me? Did something happen?"

"No! For God's sake, no!" Baxter's voice squeaked. "Why would I hide anything? I'm just a scientist! I do experiments! Drugs... I mean, INVENTIONS! I make inventions!" The word "drugs" that slipped out of his mouth made the lab's cold air even icier. Baxter's expression froze on his face.

Vox's brows furrowed slightly. His mind was starting to work, albeit slowly. Drugs. Why had he used that word? Baxter's terrified demeanor... It was like he was afraid of spilling a huge secret. "Baxter..." he started again, his voice a bit firmer.

But Baxter couldn't take it anymore. "I have to go!" he shouted. "Sudden... meeting! Very urgent!" He pushed past Vox and started running toward the lab door. Before disappearing into the corridor, he threw one last fearful glance back. "Take care of yourself, sir! Please!"

Vox was left alone in the empty lab. Something... something important, but thinking about it, making sense of it, was so exhausting.

He just shook his head and left the lab. Baxter was just being his usual weird self, that was all. Maybe he was right; he should go rest.

At the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor was leaning on his microphone, observing the surroundings. As his eyes scanned the lobby, he spotted a familiar figure nervously swaying at the main entrance door. Baxter, still in his stained lab coat, with a complete look of breakdown on his face, had entered the hotel lobby and was looking around in confusion.

Alastor's wide grin widened for a moment. This was an unexpected visit. Before approaching him, he saw the little demon, Niffty, hopping around Baxter like she was playing hopscotch. Niffty's single eye locked onto Baxter, her face showing admiration and extreme excitement. Finally, she crouched behind the nearest plant pot and started peeking at Baxter from the corner of her eye.

Baxter hadn't even noticed Niffty's sudden movement. His mind was still on the last moments at VoxTech.

Just then, Alastor approached them. "Niffty, my dear," he said in a soft but extremely persuasive tone. "Our lady Charlie said there's a very important job for you in the kitchen. I think the dishwasher is trying to walk again. You should check it out right away!"

Niffty's attention scattered instantly. "AN ESCAPE?!" she shouted, clenching her tiny fists. "I won't allow it!" And in an instant, she dashed off to the kitchen with her massive cleaning cloth in hand.

Baxter felt a temporary relief as Niffty left, but now he found Alastor in front of him. "Mr. A-Alastor! I... Uh... I didn't come to see you. Just... planning an escape route."

Alastor tilted his head slightly, his grin never fading. "Is that so, my dear friend?"

Baxter's shoulders slumped. All his resistance was broken. "From my job... I got fired. Probably. Yes, definitely fired." His voice was filled with utter defeat. "Mr. Valentino will definitely fire me. Maybe do something worse."

Alastor's focus sharpened. "Valentino?"

Baxter barely noticed Alastor starting to pull him toward the shadows. The next moment, they were in Alastor's personal room. The room was filled with old radios, wild animal patterns, and an unsettling warmth. Baxter looked around in bewilderment.

"Well, he... Vox came to the lab," Baxter began, clasping his hands together. "He caught me off guard. I panicked so much not to talk about you. I was so scared that... I pushed him. Very lightly, I mean! I'm weak! It was almost nothing, really! But it was disrespectful. Just disrespectful. Valentino will never forgive that. Vox is his... everything."

Alastor didn't move as he listened to Baxter's story. His fixed grin dulled for a moment, taking on a thoughtful expression. Inside, a strange, disturbing feeling bubbled up about someone else physically pushing Vox in that empty, drugged state. This wasn't part of his plan. "How did he seem?" he asked finally. "Tell me in detail. What was his facial expression? Did he say anything?"

Baxter flinched at Alastor's sudden seriousness. "He... he wasn't normal," he murmured. "He was slow."

Alastor placed his hand on Baxter's shoulder in a friendly but equally threatening manner. "Alright. Now let's get to the main point." His voice echoed in the room. "I have a new offer for you. Work for me."

Baxter's eyes widened like saucers. "F-For you? What... What do you want me to do?"

"The tasks will be simple," Alastor continued, starting to pace the room. "You'll be my little ears and eyes at VoxTech. Be in Peppermint's position. You'll report to me what Valentino is doing, what he's making Vox do, all of it."

Baxter shook his head hesitantly, his face showing pure fear. "But... But I'm not Peppermint! He's a personal assistant, a data analyst, a cybersecurity expert! I'm just a chemist! I don't leave the lab! I can't communicate with demons! I'll stand out, they'll figure me out, then... then..." His voice trailed off into the fear scenario he was trapped in.

Alastor turned abruptly, his artificial warmth vanishing for a second, and the red glow in his eyes intensified. "Of course you can," he whispered. "Because you wouldn't want to think about the alternative. Would you, Baxter?"

Baxter swallowed, his throat dry. He understood the implication in Alastor's gaze. Slowly, with a trembling nod, he agreed. "O-Okay. Of course. I... I'll do it."

"Excellent," Alastor instantly returned to his cheerful self. "Then let's get to work! I can't wait for your first report!" He pushed Baxter by the shoulder toward the door.

Looking out the car window, Vox's eye caught a small, chic bakery on the street with its glittering display. The lights illuminated colorful macarons and chocolate cakes. With a sudden impulse, he turned the wheel and pulled the car to the curb. When he entered, a sweet, heavy vanilla scent greeted him. There were few customers. He quietly settled into a corner and ordered a slice of chocolate cake and a milky coffee from the waiter.

As he brought the first bite to his mouth, his phone rang. Valentino's name was on the screen. He hesitated while swallowing, then answered. "Where are you?" Valentino's voice wasn't warm as usual; it was controlled.

"I'm out," Vox replied, his voice trembling slightly. "Just... at a bakery. I craved something sweet."

On the other end of the line, there was a deep, patient sigh. "Vox, sweetie. Are we going to discuss this again? I told you not to go out alone. I'm worried. Especially with... certain dangerous people around these days."

The phrase "dangerous people" nearly made Vox drop the fork he was holding. He knew who Valentino meant. His hands started trembling despite the warmth of the coffee. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I just... craved it."

"I understand, darling," Valentino replied, his voice softening a bit, but the underlying pressure was still there. "But we have rules. For your safety. Please leave there now and come home. Listen to me."

Vox looked at the half-eaten cake on his plate. His appetite was gone. "Okay," he whispered. "I'm coming."

"Great. I'm waiting, and Vox? Be quick."

The call ended. Vox set his phone on the table. He took a sip of his coffee, but he couldn't taste it anymore. Valentino's voice had swept away all the good thoughts in his mind. Even in the bakery's comforting atmosphere, he started to feel unsafe.

Soon after, when Vox stepped into the luxurious lobby of the VoxTech tower, as he headed toward the elevator, he noticed some uneasy activity from a seating group in the corner.

Baxter was perched on a couch as if he'd been specifically waiting there. He had a drink in his hand, but his expression reflected someone on guard duty rather than relaxed. As soon as he saw Vox, he jumped up and started walking straight toward him. His movements were so sudden and clumsy that he nearly dropped the glass in his hand.

"M-Mr. Vox!" he called out, his voice tense. "It's... great to see you. Very, very great."

Vox stopped. "Baxter," he replied, his voice tired and distant. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes! No! I mean... I want to apologize!" Baxter blurted out the words in a rolling, fast, and irregular manner. "For that... little... unfortunate incident in the lab. I pushed you. Very lightly, accidentally! Please forgive me."

Vox looked into Baxter's panic-filled eyes. The man's fear was so real that it made him forget his own troubles for a moment. "Forget it," he murmured, shrugging. "It was unimportant. I already forgot." He turned to continue walking.

But Baxter didn't give up. He immediately sidled up to him and started walking alongside toward the elevator. "Thank you! Thank you so much! You're very generous!" he mumbled. Then, trying to change the subject, he attempted to steady his tone. "Um... how are you feeling? Better? Are the drugs... I mean, the rest... helping?"

The question was so odd and untimely that Vox's brows furrowed slightly. "I'm fine," he gave a short, clipped response.

"Ah, good! Very good!" Baxter thought about what to say next. "Maybe... maybe we could have coffee together sometime? Chat. Outside of work. Just... a normal chat." As he made the suggestion, his face flushed, and his gaze shifted to the elevator doors. He was like an amateur spy.

The elevator arrived, and the doors opened. Vox stepped in, and Baxter followed. Vox pressed the button for his floor. Baxter didn't press any button; he just kept looking at Vox.

"This isn't your floor, Baxter," Vox reminded him, with a hint of weariness in his voice.

"Ah! Yes! Sorry! I... I thought I'd escort you a bit further. For safety."

Vox stared at him long and hard. Everything was so weird. The fog from the drugs kept him from solving this strange game. He just felt tired.

The elevator stopped at Vox's floor. The doors opened. Vox stepped out and, without turning back, said, "Thanks for the offer, Baxter, but I'm busy." His tone clearly indicated the conversation was over.

Baxter was left in the elevator, his mouth still agape, pondering his next move. The doors slowly closed, leaving him alone with the shame of failure and the fear of Alastor's impending reaction.

A few days later, there was a small commotion in the shared kitchen on Vox's office floor. Peppermint had placed a light lunch plate he'd prepared for Vox on the counter and was quickly reviewing a report on his tablet.

Just as he was about to pick up the plate and take it to Vox's office, Baxter suddenly appeared at the door. He looked out of breath, with a new acid stain on his lab coat.

"Peppermint! Great, just who I needed!" he burst out immediately, his voice unnecessarily loud and shrill.

Peppermint slowly lifted his head. His expression held a professional patience with a slight suspicion underneath. "Yes, Baxter? Is there a problem?"

"Problem? No, no! Absolutely no problem!" Baxter came over to Peppermint and unnecessarily took the plate from his hand. "I just... wanted to help. Let me take this plate. You're busy. I can see. You're looking at very important things." His eyes glanced at Peppermint's tablet.

Peppermint couldn't make sense of the food being taken from his hand. He knew Baxter never bothered with tasks like delivering food to Vox. "Thanks, Baxter," he said in a measured tone, "But this is my job. Besides, I need to review today's schedule with Mr. Vox." He reached out to take the plate back.

But Baxter held onto the plate tightly. "Oh, schedule! Yes, of course! I... I wanted to talk about that too! I have a new project idea for him! Very important! That's why I should take the food, so I can take the opportunity to explain my idea."

Peppermint tilted his head slightly. Baxter's "project idea" usually meant explosive, poisonous, or at least extremely messy experiments. He didn't think Vox could tolerate something like that in his current state. Plus, Baxter's insistence was increasing his suspicion. "Baxter," he said, his voice hardening a bit. "Mr. Vox is in rest mode. He can't deal with new projects. Please give the plate."

Baxter's fake cheer on his face gave way to slight panic. He was afraid of failing the "get close" task Alastor had given him once again. "But... but this is very important! Really! I could even tell Mr. Valentino!" he insisted.

Peppermint let out a deep, meaningful sigh. Hearing Valentino's name made the situation even more complicated. He wondered if Valentino was behind Baxter's strange behavior. Maybe they were trying a new method to keep Vox under control.

Finally, he set down the tablet in his hand. "Alright, Baxter," he said with weary surrender. "You can take the plate, but please don't tire him out. Just give him the food and leave. Tell him your project ideas another time. Deal?"

A mix of triumph and relief appeared on Baxter's face. He finally felt like he'd done something right. "Deal! Absolutely! I'll just give the food and leave! I promise!" Clutching the plate tightly with both hands, he left the kitchen with clumsy but determined steps.

When Baxter reached Vox's office door, his breathing was still a bit fast. Peppermint's suspicious glances were still burning his back. With one hand holding the plate, he lightly knocked on the door with the other. When there was no response, he slowly opened it.

Upon entering, he found Vox sitting motionless at his desk in front of the screen. There were live broadcast statistics on the screen, but Vox's gaze seemed lost in space. He startled at the footsteps and slowly lifted his head.

"Food!" Baxter exclaimed excitedly, placing the plate on the desk a bit too quickly, causing the fork to bounce slightly. "Lunch. I brought it. Peppermint was busy, so I... wanted to help."

Vox looked at the plate, then at Baxter's tense face. He couldn't understand why he was so excited about such a simple thing. He just nodded. "Thanks."

With the courage of having completed half his task, Baxter stood there. "Um... you look good. Better. Much better." He was trying to observe and report the situation, but he was displaying an extremely unnatural demeanor while doing so.

Vox's brows furrowed slightly. "I'm fine," he repeated, as he had said before.

"Of course! Of course you are!" Baxter quickly agreed. "I just... wanted to ask. Maybe... maybe you'd like to work on a research project? Something small. Maybe a new communication protocol? Or... data encryption?" Staying true to Alastor's instructions, he was trying to draw Vox into talking about technology and work.

However, Vox's expression clouded. Work was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. "No. Not now. Maybe... another time."

The spark of hope on Baxter's face faded. He'd failed again. "Ah. I understand. Of course. Another time." He turned to retreat, then suddenly stopped. Alastor needed him to learn something. Anything. "So... Mr. Valentino? Is he okay? Is everything alright with him?"

This question caused an unexpected reaction in Vox. His eyes focused for a moment, something stirred inside him. "Val?" he murmured. "Yes. He... he's handling everything."

That was enough for Baxter. At least he could confirm that Valentino still had control. "Great! Very good! Then... I'll go. Enjoy your meal." And he practically ran out the door, leaving behind a still slightly bewildered Vox.

Silence reigned in the office once more. Vox looked at the plate again. The food looked delicious, but he had no appetite. With everything so complicated and exhausting, why did everyone still want to talk to him about work and projects? Why didn't anyone understand that he just... needed to stop?

In the corridor, Baxter was congratulating himself. He'd finally learned a little something! He had something to tell Alastor! As he hurried toward his lab with quick steps, he seemed to have completely forgotten the weirdness caused by his own clumsiness. He was filled with a false pride from fulfilling his task, forgetting just how dangerous Alastor's approval could be.

When he arrived at the Hazbin Hotel, he needed to find Alastor. He had to give him the information, but with every step drawing him closer to that radio-voiced demon, the fear inside him grew exponentially.

Finally, he found him in a corner, watching the surroundings. He was there with his usual fixed smile, but to Baxter, that smile was more like a warning sign baring teeth than a genuine grin. He approached, his feet reluctantly carrying him forward. "M-Mr. Alastor,"

Alastor turned his head, his red eyes focusing on Baxter. "Ah, dear Baxter! I've been expecting you. I'm sure you haven't disappointed me." The artificial cheer in his voice hid an underlying threat.

Baxter cleared his throat. "Yes. I mean, no. I mean... I saw him. Vox." The words tumbled out of his mouth, jumbling together.

"Wonderful! Tell me then, dear friend. All the boring details. Don't skip a thing." Alastor leaned back in his chair, ready to listen.

Baxter began recounting what happened. He described his strange conversation with Peppermint, taking the food to Vox's office, and how Vox sat motionless at his desk. "He was staring at the screen," he explained, "but... it was like he wasn't really looking. You know? His eyes were there, but his mind was far away."

Alastor listened with his fingertips pressed together. "Interesting and did he speak to you? Choose your words carefully for me, Baxter. I want to hear them."

Baxter tried to recall the few words Vox had said. "He said 'thanks.' Then... I mentioned work projects. He refused. 'Not now,' he said. 'Maybe another time.'" Baxter glanced up occasionally to see Alastor's expression, but he couldn't decipher what lay behind that fixed smile.

Then, he got to the important part. "I asked him... about Valentino. If everything was okay with him." Baxter's voice dropped even lower as he said this, as if someone might be eavesdropping.

Alastor leaned forward slightly. "And? What did he say?"

"He... said he's fixing everything." Baxter tried to mimic the grateful tone in Vox's voice but failed. "That's what he said. Like Valentino was handling everything for him."

For a moment, there was silence from Alastor. That fixed smile remained in place, but the red glow in his eyes dulled for an instant, as if something stirred within him. Baxter misinterpreted the silence and continued. "He didn't eat his food either! He pushed the plate away! Maybe the meds are suppressing his appetite; that could be a side effect, maybe-"

"Enough," Alastor cut him off, his voice suddenly sharper and filled with static. Baxter fell silent immediately. Alastor slowly stood up and took a step toward Baxter. Baxter instinctively stepped back.

"So... he's handling everything, is he?" Alastor's voice carried a dangerous softness. "That moth turns him into a pile of drugs, robs him of his mind, leaves him sitting in his office like a ghost, and Vox is still grateful to him?"

Baxter wasn't sure if he should say anything. He just waited silently.

Alastor stood thoughtfully for a while, then turned back to Baxter with that wide, artificial smile. "Good job, dear Baxter! That was truly... enlightening." He placed his hand on Baxter's shoulder. Baxter flinched at the touch, feeling the coldness of Alastor's hand beneath his own.

"Now," Alastor continued, his voice returning to its chirpy tone. "Continue to be my ears. We need to learn more. Agreed?"

Baxter nodded quickly, unable to find words. "Yes. Of course. Agreed."

"Excellent!" Alastor withdrew his hand. "Then off you go. Leave me... with my thoughts."

As Baxter backed away, he nearly tripped over a side table behind him. He gave Alastor one last fearful glance and hurried away from the lobby.

Alastor walked over to Husk. "Husk," his voice slightly different from its usual mocking tone more serious. "Any activity on social media? Anything about him?"

Husk shrugged without even turning his eyes to Alastor. "Nothing. Silence. Deaf as a wall."

Alastor's smile tightened for a moment. "No updates? No new posts? A like? A comment? Nothing at all?"

"Nothing," Husk repeated, finally looking at Alastor. "They're keeping him away from technology, apparently. Valentino's doing. You know that."

Alastor couldn't help but sigh. He didn't like Husk's logical explanations at all. "Even so, he'd find a way. He always finds a way."

"Maybe he can't anymore," Husk muttered. "Maybe he doesn't care anymore."

That last sentence stirred an unexpected unease in Alastor. Not care?

Just then, Charlie came running into the lobby, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "Alastor! Husk! Carmilla's calling for an important meeting! She wants everyone there!"

Alastor raised his eyebrows. Carmilla's meetings were usually boring and formal. "Everyone meaning?"

Charlie, out of breath. "The Vees are coming too! Valentino, Velvette... and Vox!"

Upon hearing Vox's name, Alastor's attention sharpened instantly. His smile widened involuntarily, his voice a bit too loud and cheerful. "Really?"

Husk noticed Alastor's sudden change and rolled his eyes. "God, please don't."

Alastor ignored Husk. His mind was suddenly focused on the meeting. He didn't feel ready for it. He went up to his room and stood in front of his wardrobe. He felt a strange urge inside him. He wanted to wear something better, more flashy, more relevant. This urge disturbed him. For a moment, he wondered if he was doing this for him. Still, he took off his red jacket and put on a more elegant one in dark red tones with silver embroidery. He straightened his shirt collar and ran his hand through his hair. Satisfied with his reflection, he headed to the meeting room.

When he arrived at the meeting room, the Vees hadn't arrived yet. Charlie and Carmilla were whispering in a corner. Carmilla's face was as serious as ever. Charlie looked a bit nervous. Instead of joining them, Alastor chose a seat near the window and began watching the door.

Finally, the door opened. Valentino entered first, followed by Velvette, and then, almost like an invisible shadow behind them, Vox. He stepped inside, head bowed, eyes on the floor. Without making eye contact with anyone, he settled into a chair at the far back of the room.

Alastor couldn't help but stare at him. Vox's pale face, the purple circles under his eyes, his drugged daze... This wasn't the Vox who was always loud, angry, pulling technological stunts to grab attention. This... this was someone different. Alastor's gaze locked on Vox's trembling hands, his eyes staring into emptiness.

Valentino sat next to Vox. As close as possible. He whispered something low. Vox responded in a barely audible voice, nodding. Valentino smiled with a satisfied expression and then suddenly looked up at Alastor. His gaze was full of warning. Like saying, back off.

Alastor immediately averted his eyes. He heard Carmilla start speaking, but for a while, the words came as meaningless noise.

"...that's why I called you all here," Carmilla was saying, her voice clear and authoritative. "The upcoming gathering is very important. The angels are coming. This time it's different. I wanted to make sure you'll all be there." She looked at each of them in turn. "Charlie? Are you ready?"

Charlie had her hands clasped together. "We're not invited, Carmilla."

Carmilla nodded slightly. Then she turned her eyes to Vox. "Vox? You? Your technological surveillance and communication infrastructure will be critical. Will you attend?"

The entire room's attention shifted to Vox. Vox slowly lifted his head. His eyes were hazy. "Yes... yes, I think so. I can do it." His tone was uncertain.

Carmilla looked at the papers in front of her. "Excellent. Then I'll approve your invitation. Yours, Valentino's... and Angel Dust's."

As soon as that name was mentioned, the atmosphere in the room changed instantly. Vox's expression froze. His eyes suddenly focused, coming fully to the present for the first time. "What?" his voice growing stronger. "Angel? Why?"

Valentino jumped in immediately. A slight sweat had appeared on his face. "Love, you've forgotten. You arranged it. Maybe... you thought it would be a good idea. For communication. He has... connections."

Vox turned to Valentino. His face showed pure shock and a slowly emerging pain. "No," his voice now clearer and firmer. "No, I didn't. I didn't put him on the list."

Valentino let out a nervous laugh. He placed his hand on Vox's arm, gripping it tightly. "You did, darling. You just forgot." He leaned in and whispered. "The meds... you know. They affect your memory."

Vox pushed Valentino's hand off his arm. The movement was sudden. All his lethargy had dissipated. "I didn't," he repeated, his voice trembling. "And if you did, cancel it right now."

Carmilla watched the exchange with glances bouncing between the two sides. Her eyebrows were slightly raised. "Are you sure, Vox?"

Vox took a deep breath. His eyes were fixed on Valentino, not Carmilla. He knew why Valentino wanted Angel there, and it stung inside him. He was still cheating. "I'm sure," his voice cold and resolute. "Cancel it. I don't want him."

Beads of sweat appeared on Valentino's forehead. Carmilla finally nodded and made a note on the paper. "Alright. Understood. Angel Dust will not be invited."

Vox leaned back in his chair. His breathing was still rapid. His hands trembled under the table. Valentino shot him a glare full of anger, but Vox wasn't looking at him anymore. Alastor's smile turned into a genuine expression of triumph.

Charlie turned to Vox, looking at him with concern in her eyes. "Vox, I'm sorry! I... I didn't know there was a problem. Please, if there's an issue with Angel coming, we can sort it out, I'm sure there's an explanation for this..." Her tone was high and frantic.

Seeing Charlie's control about to unravel, Alastor took a deep breath. He couldn't let this meeting fall apart, at least not yet. He tapped his microphone lightly to draw attention, "Dear Charlie, please calm down. Just a small misunderstanding, that's all. No doubt our friend Valentino acted thinking he knew what's best for Vox. Right, Val?" He gave Valentino a meaningful look. Valentino nodded through gritted teeth, a forced expression on his face.

Alastor continued speaking, ostensibly to calm the room by touching on general topics, trying to refocus on the meeting's main purpose. However, his eyes involuntarily drifted to the other side of the table, to Vox. Vox still looked tense from anger and inner turmoil, his gaze fixed on a single point. His hands were under the table.

As Alastor spoke, he noticed Vox's right hand slowly clenching into a fist, his nails digging into his palm. He was squeezing so hard that a dark red line appeared on his palm and began trickling down to the edge of his hand, toward his wrist. Blood. Vox was tearing his skin and didn't even seem aware of it. His expression was blank and distant, as if he wasn't feeling the pain in his body.

Alastor's words froze on the tip of his tongue. In that moment, he thought about how disturbed Vox was, and that his voice might be contributing to it. He didn't want to make a sound, didn't want to say another word. He cut off his speech abruptly, right in the middle.

Everyone looked at Alastor, trying to understand why he'd stopped mid-sentence.

Vox lifted his head too. This sudden change of Alastor falling silent created a ripple inside him. For the first time that day, he looked directly at Alastor. His eyes met Alastor's, which were filled with surprise and a momentary vulnerability.

Alastor couldn't handle that gaze. The ever-dominant, mocking Radio Demon felt defenseless and insecure in that moment. Being exposed to Vox's empty, pain-filled stare made him sick. He immediately averted his eyes. He didn't have the face to look.

Zestial broke the heavy silence. "Perhaps," he said, pressing his fingertips together, "it would be more appropriate to invite the entire Hazbin team. Especially the Princess, Lucifer's daughter. It could provide an advantage in terms of formality and... communication. We can handle relations more smoothly."

Carmilla nodded slightly in approval. "Logical. However, as I said, they're not invited. If you send an invitation, they'll come. It's unlikely they'd refuse, especially with the Princess involved."

Everyone fell silent. No one wanted to invite the Hazbin members. Charlie began to shrink in her seat. She felt humiliated. "I'm sure you can manage without us. No problem." The insecurity in her voice was evident in every word.

Vox absentmindedly wiped the blood seeping from his palm onto the leg of his pants with the back of his hand. "Let them come. Write them all as invited on my behalf. Including Lucifer's daughter."

The room froze for a moment. Velvette's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Charlie oscillated between shock and gratitude.

But the biggest reaction came from Alastor. He quickly turned his head to Vox. That fixed smile shifted for an instant, twisted with surprise and disbelief. Was this drugged indifference, or something else? Something inside him wondered about the real reason behind Vox's attitude.

The meeting wrapped up after discussing a few more technical details. Vox stood up as Valentino immediately came to his side and hooked his arm through his. Valentino's face held a barely controlled rage.

When the doors of the black luxury car closed, the air inside suddenly became charged with electricity. Instead of getting behind the wheel, Valentino turned to Vox. "What was that?" Valentino asked. "What were you trying to do in there?"

Vox didn't turn his head. He continued watching the shapeless silhouettes passing outside. "Nothing," he murmured. "It meant nothing. I just... wanted them to come. They have the right to come."

Valentino gripped the steering wheel tightly. "They have the right?" he repeated, his voice rising. "Who are you to grant them rights? I took you there to show you're in control! So I wouldn't have to make decisions for you! And what do you do? You challenge me in front of that radio freak, in front of everyone! The Angel thing... was that the time to bring it up? We were humiliated!"

Vox finally turned his head. "I told the truth," his voice still tired but less submissive this time. "I didn't put him on the list. You did, and I know why. You lied."

Valentino was stunned for a moment. Vox speaking so clearly, confronting him so directly, was unusual. The effects of the drugs must be wearing off. This was a dangerous sign. "You know why, do you?" he asked in a low voice. "Well, tell me, love. Why do you think I did it?"

Vox looked into Valentino's eyes. He knew the answer. The scene he'd seen in the bedroom, Angel's back, the satisfied expression on Valentino's face... It all lingered in the back of his mind, hazy through the fog of the drugs, but he didn't want to put it into words, didn't want to relive that pain. He turned his eyes back to the window. "It doesn't matter anymore," he whispered. "Just... don't do it again."

Valentino stared at Vox's profile for a while longer. Inside him, anger and a touch of unease boiled. Vox was starting to resist again. This was unacceptable to him. He needed to take full control, crush this little rebellion immediately. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

"We're going home," he announced in a firm tone. "And you're taking your meds."

The car moved. In the reflection on the window, Vox saw Valentino's tense face and his own pale, exhausted self. The scratch on his palm throbbed faintly. He'd go back to the room, swallow that little white pill, and everything would blur and quiet down again.

During the walk back to the hotel after the meeting, Charlie walked with a smile, buoyed by Vox's unexpected invitation. She turned to Alastor, her eyes sparkling. "You know, maybe this is a turning point," she began excitedly. "It shows Vox is willing to work with us, even collaborate. If we combine VoxTech's resources with our mission, we can do amazing things for the Hotel! We can make a real difference!"

Alastor couldn't help but sigh inwardly at Charlie's naive optimism. Such naivety was sometimes unbearable. He tilted his head slightly, his smile a bit cruel. "Dear Charlie," his voice soft but realistic. "That doesn't seem very likely. Considering Valentino's control over him, the chance of genuine collaboration is quite low."

The excitement and hope on Charlie's face faded instantly. Her shoulders slumped, her lips trembled slightly. Another disappointment? Alastor, seeing her like this, felt a slight twinge inside for some reason. Charlie's pure faith was a rare light in his dark world, and extinguishing it didn't sit well with him. He continued in a softer voice, in a rarely seen manner. "Of course," he added, infusing his tone with a bit more warmth. "Just in case. Let's see. Maybe there'll be a surprising development. After all, Hell is always full of surprises." These were empty hopes, and Alastor knew it, but they were said like a consolation to ease Charlie's disappointment.

Charlie responded with a grateful smile to this small comfort. She nodded and walked away to think about other things related to the meeting.

At that moment, Husk approached Alastor. His face was as disinterested and weary as ever. "So," he muttered, "Tomorrow. Do you think he'll come?"

Alastor gazed into the distance for a moment, toward the long shadow of the VoxTech tower. Images flashed in his mind: Vox's trembling hands, his empty stares, the blood on his palm. He thought about how Valentino had turned him into a puppet, how the drugs had trapped him in nothingness. Free will was a luxury concept in Vox's world.

"I doubt it," he replied finally. "I don't think Valentino will allow it at all."

Vox slowly closed the door when he returned to his room, opened his drawer, and pulled out an old, leather-bound notebook from inside. The notebook's pages were slightly yellowed, with frayed edges. He used to fill it with project sketches and ideas back in happier times. Now, it consisted of empty pages and scattered drawings.

He sat down and opened the notebook in front of him. For the past few weeks, without realizing it, he had been drawing Alastor on the edges of the pages. Always the same thing: those sharp facial features, that wide, unsettling smile... But each time, something was missing. The eyes.

Vox picked up a pen. He lightly tested the tip with his thumb, then leaned over a blank page. He started by drawing the main outlines of the face. The lines were insecure and shaky, not as sharp as they used to be. His hands weren't obeying him, but this time it was different. The way Alastor had looked at him during the meeting... That momentary surprise and vulnerability... He remembered the eyes clearly.

He gripped the pen tighter. On the paper, he tried to capture that red, insane gleam. As he drew the eyes, he attempted to catch the complex expression in Alastor's gaze—both threatening and curious.

Finally, he finished the drawing. He leaned back and looked at what he had done. The drawing was awful. It was so far from the original that it was almost comical. The face was disproportionate, the smile resembled a caricature, and the eyes... The eyes were the worst part. He hadn't been able to give them that lively, manic expression. Instead, he had drawn two blank, dull, almost sad dots on the paper.

For a moment, he just stared. Then, he slowly reached out and traced his fingertips over the drawing. He could feel the slight roughness of the paper. A deep, gnawing shame and sadness rose within him. This line was a reflection of his own situation. Everything that used to be creative, sharp, and powerful was now here: clumsy, meaningless, and strange.

He slowly stood up. The effects of the pills he had taken in the morning had worn off completely. His head was throbbing, his stomach nauseous. That feeling of emptiness, that nothingness, had begun to envelop him again. It was unbearable.

He reached toward the back of the top shelf of the bookcase. There, he grabbed one of the unlabeled small white bottles that Valentino had set aside for him. The ones in the drawer were finished.

He opened the bottle's cap and poured a pill into his palm. Without thinking, in an automatic motion, he popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it. He walked to his bed and lay face down. He buried himself in the pillow. After a while, the familiar fog of the drug slowly began to envelop his brain. Thoughts slowed, lost their sharp edges, and that unbearable weight gave way to an empty, numb calmness.

At midnight, the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel was almost completely deserted. Behind the bar, Husk was sitting alone, keeping the night watch. At that moment, the shadows in the darkest corner of the lobby thickened, and Alastor slipped out from within them without using any door.

"Boss. Where have you been? Charlie was looking for you. She says you need to look presentable for tomorrow's meeting. She's worried about what you'll wear."

Alastor leaned against the counter. He lightly tapped the wooden surface with his fingertips. "No need to worry, dear Husk. My appearance is always 'presentable.'" The usual crackling cheer in his voice sounded a bit forced this time. Then, in a lower, almost confessional tone, he added, "I was in Vox's room."

Husk's eyes widened like saucers as he looked at Alastor. "Fuck," his voice was filled with both shock and disbelief. "Did he see you? Did he wake up? Did Val or anyone come?"

Alastor maintained his calm in response to Husk's panic. In fact, he widened his smile a bit more with an inner delight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper with scribbles on it. He gently unfolded it and placed it on the bar. Husk saw the clumsy drawing of a familiar face with eyes and a smile.

"No," Alastor replied, his voice low and thoughtful. "He didn't see me. Just... left a little memento. That's all."

Husk looked at the drawing without understanding, then back at Alastor. "What else did you see?" he asked, his anxiety giving way to curiosity. "How's he doing?"

Alastor took a deep breath, as if it were a rare moment of sighing. His eyes focused on the drawing. "In the notebook... there were pages full of eye drawings," he whispered. "My eyes. He tried to draw them. All of them... half-finished, incomplete, flawed, but he stubbornly tried." He lifted his head and stared at a distant point. "I think... seeing me clearly at the meeting today... was a good thing. For him. It triggered something."

Husk studied Alastor for a while without saying anything. Then, he shook his head side to side. "I don't think so," he muttered, his voice realistic. "You just messed with his head more. If Valentino notices this, it'll be him who suffers the consequences again."

Alastor didn't respond to this comment. He just folded the drawing again and put it back in his pocket. His smile was in place, but there was a unease in his eyes caused by Husk's words.

In the morning, Vox stirred restlessly in his bed. The heavy fog of the drugs was slowly lifting, giving way to the usual feeling of emptiness and headache. He opened his eyes. After staring at the ceiling blurrily for a while, he sat up in bed.

His eyes drifted to the notebook he had left open last night. It was sitting on the desk with pages scattered. His heart suddenly started pounding rapidly. If Valentino saw that notebook... He would punish him. He would give him more drugs to 'calm' him, maybe even lock him away in that horrible silence again, screenless and disconnected.

With trembling legs, he jumped out of bed and headed to the desk. He was going to hurriedly close the notebook, maybe hide it in a drawer. Just as he reached out, he noticed something. One page of the notebook had been carefully, cleanly torn out and taken.

His first thought was Valentino again. This was his style. He might have done something like this to scare him, to remind him of the game he was playing.

Then, he looked more carefully. In the blank space right next to the torn page, a note had been written in neat, curly, distinctive handwriting. The writing style didn't resemble Valentino's flashy and ornate script at all. It was more old-fashioned, with sharper lines.

Slowly, almost without breathing, he leaned in and read the note:

I recommend looking more closely at your live model while drawing :)

Below the note, there was a small, simple radio doodle.

The sharp edge of the torn page pricked his hand, but he didn't even feel the pain. He just stared at the words in the note. An indefinable emotion swelled inside him. Fear, anger, a bit of shame... and maybe, just maybe, a tiny, impossible hope hidden behind that mocking message.

Baxter's heart was pounding rapidly in the cold, sterile corridor of the VoxTech laboratory floor. The "surveillance" task Alastor had given him was making him far more anxious than he expected. His hands were sweaty, his breathing irregular. As he walked toward Peppermint's office, he felt like he saw Valentino's shadow at every corner, and his instincts told him to turn back with every step, but Alastor's voice and that fixed, creepy smile were in his ears. There was no turning back.

He paused in front of Peppermint's office. The door was slightly ajar. Keyboard clicks were coming from inside. He gave himself three seconds to enter. One, two... Just as he was about to push the door on the third second, a deep, familiar voice from behind froze him.

"Baxter. Darling. What are you doing here?"

Baxter turned slowly. Valentino was standing at the other end of the corridor, arms crossed over his chest, leaning slightly. His eyes gleamed with threat as always. There was no smile.

"V-Valentino sir!" Baxter's voice pitched higher. "I... just... was going to ask Peppermint something. For a small... chemical analysis. Very unimportant."

Valentino started taking steps. His high-heeled shoes echoed on the hard floor, approaching slowly and rhythmically. Each step doubled Baxter's inner panic. "Is that so?" said Valentino, "Does Peppermint handle your chemical analyses now? Interesting. It seems to me that lately... you've been seen unusually often in the office floors, in personal offices."

Valentino was now completely close. He looked down at Baxter with the advantage of his height. The heavy, dizzying scent of his perfume clogged Baxter's nose; he was having trouble breathing.

"No! I mean, yes! I mean..." Baxter was mixing up his words, stepping back. His back hit the cold wall. He had nowhere to escape. "Just... collaboration. Efficiency. We're all on the same team, right?"

Valentino's one hand suddenly grabbed Baxter's collar. He gripped the silk shirt tightly, lifting him slightly upward, his toes off the ground. Baxter's eyes widened like saucers.

"Team?" Valentino's voice turned to a whisper. "Your team is the test tubes in the lab, Baxter. My office, Vox's office... those aren't your territory. Especially matters related to Vox's health."

Baxter was trembling. "I'm not doing anything related to Vox! I swear! Just... I was trying to talk to him. To ask if he's okay!"

Valentino began dragging him down the corridor toward the elevators. Baxter's attempts to protest were useless against Valentino's strength.

"I think," Valentino growled, his voice still in that dangerous low tone, "you've forgotten our little talk from before. That Vox shouldn't be disturbed. That you shouldn't approach him."

They reached the elevator doors. Valentino pressed the elevator button hard with his other hand. The doors opened immediately. It was empty. Valentino shoved Baxter inside. Baxter stumbled, steadying himself by hitting the back wall of the elevator.

"Valentino sir, please! I just..."

Valentino silenced him by pressing the button to close the elevator doors. As the doors began to close, he gave one last look. "If I see you in the office floors again, especially near Vox," he said, "your next visit won't be in the lab, but in my private room. Understood?"

The doors closed completely. Baxter, shaking, leaned against the cold wall of the elevator. His heart was fluttering in his chest. Alastor's terrifying tasks aside, Valentino's anger was a much more tangible and burning threat.

When Valentino entered Vox's room, he took a few steps inside and scanned the area. His gaze wandered over the desk, then the closed drawers. Vox's hands sweated. Had he seen something? Had he caught a clue?

"Baxter has been acting strange lately," Valentino spoke, "He's started taking too much interest in you. Trying to talk to you, give you things."

Vox listened carefully to Valentino's words. He was talking about Baxter. Not Alastor. A deep relief washed over him, so much so that he almost felt dizzy. "You must have misunderstood, Val," he replied, his voice a bit more confident. "Besides, he's not bothering me."

Valentino came to Vox's side and placed his hand on his shoulder. The touch was light, but underneath it lay the usual sense of control. "Maybe you're right, my love," he said. "But still, be careful. I want what's best for you. I want to protect you. The outsiders... they don't understand you. They just want to use you." He lightly massaged Vox's shoulder with his fingers. "Maybe I should add a bit more security to your room. Just to keep you safe. So no one can disturb you."

Vox instinctively wanted to object. The idea of more restrictions, more isolation, constricted him inside, but Valentino's words made sense. Maybe he really was trying to protect him. He bowed his head. "Okay," he whispered. "You know best."

A slight smile appeared on Valentino's lips. "Perfect." He withdrew his hand from Vox's shoulder. "Now rest a bit. I'll go arrange these security measures."

When the door closed, Vox was left alone. From outside, the sounds of Valentino giving instructions to the security guards could be heard. There would be more men in the corridor. Tighter measures would be taken outside his room. It would become impossible for Baxter to reach him again.

He lay down on his bed and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. Valentino hadn't mentioned Alastor. He hadn't found the note. That was a good thing, right? So what was that small, betraying feeling of disappointment gnawing at him? Why did a part of him want Valentino to have learned everything and end these games?

Chapter Text

After Valentino left the room, Vox sat on the edge of his bed, motionless for a while. From outside, the sound of footsteps and hushed conversations echoed in the hallway. Valentino had kept his word; security measures were being tightened, preparing to isolate him even further from the outside world and perhaps from himself. His mind kept replaying Valentino’s words: “I want to protect you.” Maybe he was right. Maybe everyone was trying to use him. Maybe the only safe place was the cage Valentino had given him.

The next morning, Vox woke up with his head still foggy. Getting out of bed, getting dressed, eating something… it all felt like tasks requiring monumental effort.

As he was about to head to the kitchen, his bedroom door opened, and Valentino walked in. That familiar smile was on his face. Draped over his arm was a perfectly pressed, deep navy suit made of expensive fabric. “Good morning, darling,” his voice was soft, but as always, it carried an undertone of command. “Today’s an important day. Carmilla’s meeting. You need to get ready.”

Vox looked at the suit. Valentino had chosen it for him. He always chose for him. Vox barely had any choices left anymore. “Thanks," his voice still heavy with sleep.

Valentino placed the suit on the bed. “Hurry up. Velvette’s getting ready too. Be downstairs in ten minutes.” He paused at the door, glancing back at Vox. “And don’t forget to take your pills. You’ll need to stay calm and focused during the meeting.”

The door closed. Vox stared at the suit on the bed. He reached out to touch it. The fabric was cold and smooth. It didn’t feel like him but Valentino liked it. That was enough.

The process of getting ready was quick. He showered, shaved, and swallowed his pills. The effects didn’t kick in immediately. He still felt trapped in his own body. Then he put on the expensive suit. It fit perfectly Valentino had thought of every detail. He stood in front of the mirror. A well-dressed stranger with an empty, exhausted expression stared back at him.

When he stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, Valentino and Velvette were waiting for him. Valentino was dressed in an all-white, dazzling suit. Velvette, in stark contrast, wore a black, gothic-style dress with sharp, aggressive lines, looking striking. They were both perfect. Vox felt dull next to them.

“There’s our boss,” Valentino said, giving Vox a once-over and nodding approvingly. “You look great.”

Velvette’s expression, when she looked at Vox, held genuine concern. “How are you?” she asked quietly, low enough that Valentino wouldn’t hear.

Vox shook his head, not bothering to respond. A flicker of sadness crossed Velvette’s eyes, but she quickly composed herself. “Let’s go. Traffic’s going to be a nightmare.”

The sleek black limousine glided silently onto the road. Vox stared out the window. Beside him, Valentino scrolled through messages on his phone, occasionally smirking. Velvette sat across from them, engrossed in social media.

When they arrived at the building where the meeting was being held, the area was already bustling. Flashes went off, cameras rolled. Valentino slipped into character immediately. As soon as the door opened, he stepped out with a flawless smile, waving to the crowd. Velvette followed suit, striking poses and giving short, sharp interviews.

Vox trailed behind them, his steps slower. The flashes blinded him. Voices echoed in his head. His breath started to catch. Valentino must have noticed because he turned back and linked arms with him. “Smile, darling,” he whispered. “Everything’s fine.” Vox forced a smile onto his face.

They were ushered into the meeting room. It was filled with a large table surrounded by high chairs. Carmilla sat at the head of the table, serious and composed. Vox immediately noticed Alastor. He was at the far end of the table, in the corner, as if he’d chosen the perfect spot to observe everything. He sat there in his usual red jacket, with that wide, fixed smile, lightly tapping his microphone. He ignored Vox’s entrance. Or at least, he chose to.

Vox sat in the chair Valentino indicated, next to him. The pills were finally kicking in, shrouding his mind in a heavy fog. Carmilla began speaking. Her words reached Vox’s ears but dissipated before forming coherent sentences in his brain. He only caught fragments. "weapons,” “defense,” “order,” “alliance.”

Valentino occasionally interjected, making sharp comments and asserting his ideas, acting every bit the leader. He didn’t even glance at Vox for approval. Vox’s presence was merely physical.

Vox’s gaze drifted to the pitchers of water in the center of the table. Clear, cold water but that wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was something to loosen the knot in his throat, to dispel the suffocating feeling inside him. Something to make him forget, even for a moment, and pull him out of this fog.

As a waiter passed by, Vox coughed lightly. “Excuse me,” he whispered. “Could you get me… a whiskey? On the rocks.”

The waiter nodded and walked away. Valentino, in the middle of his speech, glanced at Vox briefly. His eyebrows raised slightly, a questioning look. Vox avoided his gaze.

A few minutes later, the waiter returned with a small glass of whiskey on the rocks. Vox grabbed it immediately. Without thinking, he downed it in one gulp. The sharp, burning taste of the alcohol was almost painful as it slid down his throat, but moments later, a sense of relief spread through his chest. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. The fog in his mind thinned, at least for a while.

He sipped the second glass more slowly. Now he could hear Carmilla’s words more clearly, piecing them together. He noticed the forced confidence in Valentino’s tone, Velvette’s quiet but observant demeanor.

By the time the third glass arrived, he felt like he was part of the meeting. The fog had lifted, replaced by a slight dizziness and artificial courage. At one point, Valentino turned to him and asked quietly, “What do you think, darling?” It was a question, but also a test.

Vox hesitated for a moment. Then, wetting his lips, he began to speak. His voice came out clearer. “The communication frequencies in the defense line… they’re not secure. They can be easily jammed or manipulated.” As a flicker of surprise flashed in Valentino’s eyes, Vox continued. “VoxTech’s encryption protocol could be adapted. It would be more secure.”

The room fell silent for a moment. All eyes were on Vox. These were the first coherent sentences he’d spoken that day. Carmilla tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “An interesting point,” she said. “Can you elaborate?”

Vox was about to respond when he noticed Alastor leaning forward slightly. That fixed smile was still there, but his eyes held a spark of curiosity. Vox’s artificial courage vanished instantly. His throat tightened again. Alastor was watching him. Listening to him. The thought both thrilled and terrified him. “Maybe… maybe another time,” he mumbled, lowering his head. “I haven’t… fully thought it through.”

Valentino jumped in immediately, filling the gap. “Of course, of course. Vox is full of great ideas. We’ll revisit this later.” He steered the meeting to another topic.

Vox didn’t speak again. His whiskey was finished, and its effects were fading. A heavier, more oppressive reality was settling in. Alastor’s gaze was still on him, and this time, it wasn’t just curiosity in those eyes it was something complex, something Vox couldn’t define. Maybe disappointment. Maybe… no, it couldn’t be. Never.

When the meeting ended, Vox stood. Valentino linked arms with him again, guiding him out. “You were great, darling,” he whispered in his ear. “Finally coming around.” But it wasn’t pride in his voice it was relief. The relief of regaining control.

In the lobby, the flashes and cameras greeted them again. Vox leaned on Valentino’s arm as they walked. His eyes caught Alastor in the crowd, standing at the back, just watching. His gaze was fixed solely on Vox, and there was no mockery or anger in those eyes anymore. Just a deep, unreadable seriousness.

As they headed toward the limousine, Vox’s stomach churned. The alcohol mixed with the pills, making his head spin. Valentino tugged his arm, almost shoving him into the back seat. The door closed. The noise from outside cut off instantly. The silence inside was more suffocating.

“Next time,” Valentino said, his voice no longer soft but sharp, “you won’t be drinking instead of focusing on business. Understood?”

Vox leaned his head against the window. He didn’t respond. He knew he didn’t need to. All that was expected of him was to listen and obey. As always.

But deep within, through the haze of whiskey and pills, a small, rebellious spark lingered, recalling Alastor’s final look and wondering, just for a moment: What did that look mean?

Valentino dropped Vox off at home and headed straight to his office. Inside, a mix of anger and unease simmered over Vox’s recent erratic, unpredictable behavior. His small outburst at the meeting, demanding a drink, his insistence on the Angel issue… these were all signs that Valentino’s control was slipping. This was unacceptable. The pills didn’t seem to be enough anymore. Something stronger was needed.

With that thought, he sat at his desk and called the lab’s direct line. Moments later, he was speaking to a technician. “Refine the formula for the current medication,” he ordered. “I expect it by tomorrow morning.”

As he was about to hang up, the office door opened, and Velvette walked in. Her face was visibly worried. “Val, I overheard. New meds? Stronger ones?” she asked, cutting straight to the point.

Valentino looked at her, his expression calm but with a hidden tension. “Yes, darling. It’s necessary. You’ve seen his fluctuations lately. He’s becoming unstable. He asked for a drink during the meeting did you notice? That’s not a good sign.”

Velvette paced the room a few steps. “Of course I noticed! But have you ever thought about where this instability is coming from? It all started when he came back, Val. Alastor. He’s gotten into Vox’s head again. Maybe we should let Vox face his feelings, deal with them. More drugs will only make him worse turn him into a vegetable!”

Valentino stood, his tall frame looming slightly over Velvette. “That’s exactly why,” his voice carried a dangerous edge, “it needs to be stronger. Because we can’t let him feel. Pain, fear, longing… those are signs of weakness. I don’t want to see him weak. I want him controlled, calm and… functional. Do you understand?”

Velvette saw the cold, resolute look in Valentino’s eyes. She knew arguing was pointless. Her shoulders slumped. “I understand. I hope it works.”

The next morning, the new pills were on Valentino’s desk. Small, white, unlabeled bottles. He went straight to Vox’s room. Vox was sitting on the edge of his bed, still groggy and dazed. Valentino handed him the bottle. “Here, darling. The doctor’s recommendation updated formula. It’ll make you feel better. More energized.”

Vox stared blankly at the bottle. A flicker of doubt stirred within him, but he was too exhausted to fight it. He took it silently. Valentino handed him a glass of water. Vox swallowed the new pill. The effect was immediate. A heavier, deeper fog settled over his mind. The world around him grew more distant, sounds more muffled. The light in his eyes dimmed further.

That day and the next, Vox barely left his room. He became more withdrawn, more unresponsive, sinking into a deeper silence. When Velvette visited and tried to talk to him, Vox’s responses were delayed, monosyllabic. His gaze lingered on the void. Velvette left, consumed by a gnawing sense of helplessness.

At noon, Peppermint, as usual, prepared Vox’s lunch. The tray held a light salad and a bowl of soup. As he headed to Vox’s room, he felt uneasy. He’d noticed the changes in Vox lately, and it worried him. He knocked softly on the door, entering at the faint “Come in” from inside.

Vox was sitting in an armchair, staring out the window. Peppermint approached to place the tray on the table. “Your lunch, sir. Something light today…”

He didn’t finish. The door flew open, and Valentino stormed in, his face taut with anger. “What are you doing here?” First Baxter, now Peppermint. “No one told you to come in. No one’s to disturb him. You’re done bringing his meals. Got it?”

Peppermint froze, startled. “But… Mr. Valentino, it’s my job. I always bring-”

“Not anymore!” Valentino snapped, striking the tray from Peppermint’s hands. It crashed to the floor, the soup bowl shattering, salad leaves scattering. “NO MORE ASSISTANTS HERE!”

Peppermint stood stunned. He couldn’t find words in the face of Valentino’s fury. He lowered his head and hurried out of the room. In the hallway, his face burned with a mix of shame and anger as he walked quickly, eyes on the floor.

His first thought was the lab. He could go there, distract himself with work. He took the elevator to the main laboratory. Inside, Baxter was meticulously working at an experiment station. Seeing Peppermint’s tense expression, he flinched. “Peppermint? You okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”

Peppermint leaned against a lab bench, covering his face with his hands. “Valentino,” his voice weary. “Just now… I was in Vox’s room, bringing his lunch. He threw the tray. Said he doesn’t want me there anymore. I’m done.” He looked up at Baxter. “You… you’ve been hanging around lately too. Who are you working for, Baxter? Why are you so interested in Vox?”

Baxter froze at the direct question, his eyes darting away. “I… uh… Alastor,” he stammered, almost in a whisper.

“Alastor?” Peppermint repeated, incredulous. “Why? What’s he got to do with Vox?”

Baxter glanced around nervously, checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned closer to Peppermint. “I think… he’s trying to reach him,” he whispered. “He thinks Valentino’s paralyzing him with those drugs. He might want to help Vox or… maybe he’s just continuing his game. I’m not sure. He just told me to keep an eye on him, try to talk to him.”

Peppermint paused, processing this. Alastor… helping Vox? It seemed impossible, but then again, what Valentino was doing to Vox wasn’t right either. A conflict stirred within him. He looked at Baxter’s desperate, frightened expression. They’d both felt Valentino’s wrath.

“Will you help me?” Baxter asked. “I… I can’t do it. I can’t get close enough. Valentino threatened me, but you… you’re so close to Vox. You’re his personal assistant. We could help him regain his old strength.”

Peppermint took a deep breath. It was a huge risk. If Valentino found out, the consequences would be severe but Vox’s current state, those empty eyes, wasn’t right. Maybe… maybe they should try. “Alright,” he whispered finally. “We’re in but we have to be careful.”

Relief washed over Baxter’s face. “Thank you! Thank you, Peppermint! Okay… we need to go to the Hazbin Hotel. We have to tell Alastor. I’ll introduce you. He’ll be thrilled!”

Peppermint was uneasy but curious. He nodded. Baxter grabbed his arm, pulling him excitedly out of the lab toward the elevators.

When they arrived at the Hazbin Hotel’s lobby, Husk was at the bar, cleaning a glass. He raised an eyebrow at the two new arrivals.

“Husk! Husk!” Baxter called, breathless, rushing to the bar. “Where’s the boss? We need to see him! Now! It’s important!”

Husk set the glass down, his usual bored expression intact. “Boss is busy.”

“But this is different!” Baxter insisted, practically climbing onto the counter. “Look who’s with me! Peppermint! Vox’s personal assistant! Alastor’s gonna want to hear this, I’m sure!”

Husk’s expression shifted briefly. He glanced at Peppermint, surprised, then sighed deeply. “Goddamn it,” he muttered. “Fine. Wait here.” He trudged toward Alastor’s room, knocked, and entered.

Alastor was in the middle of his room, fiddling with an old radio, though Husk knew he was just pretending to be busy. His mind was likely at the VoxTech tower. “Boss,” he muttered, not hiding his reluctance. “Two visitors downstairs. Baxter and… someone else.”

Alastor, without turning, asked, “Baxter again? I told him-”

“It’s Vox’s assistant,” Husk interrupted. “Peppermint.”

Alastor’s demeanor changed instantly. He let go of the radio and turned slowly, almost thoughtfully. That fixed, wide smile remained, but a new light sparked in his eyes. Interest. Intense interest. “Is that so?” he whispered, How intriguing.”

Husk shook his head and returned to the lobby. Baxter and Peppermint were still there, huddled together, scanning their surroundings. As Husk approached, Alastor materialized from the shadows. His smile was less artificial now, more purposeful. “There’s my dear friend!” he called to Baxter, his voice dripping with mock cheer that, as always, sent a shiver down Baxter’s spine. “I told you not to come too often, to avoid drawing attention. I hope you have a good reason.” His gaze locked onto Peppermint.

Baxter stepped forward, trembling. “Mr. Alastor! Please, listen! This… this is Peppermint. Vox’s personal assistant. I brought him because… we can’t take it anymore. Valentino just threatened his too! He's agreed to work with me! He can help you! As someone close to Vox, he can do so much more than I can!”

Alastor ignored Baxter’s panicked words, stepping closer to Peppermint. He studied him from head to toe. Peppermint held his gaze, maintaining his professional composure.

“Peppermint,” Alastor murmured, rolling his name in his mouth. “Yes, I know you. Vox’s loyal shadow for years. You’ve witnessed all his… ups and downs.”

Peppermint nodded slightly, his tone calm. “Mr. Alastor. I know you know me and I know you. What Baxter says is true, but I’m not here to beg for help or pledge loyalty to you.”

Alastor’s eyebrows rose in surprise. This wasn’t the response he’d expected. His smile tightened slightly. “Is that so? Then why exactly are you here?”

"I see Mr. Vox's condition," Peppermint continued, "this... numbness, this emptiness that Valentino has driven him into. I know it's not right. Baxter mentioned your... interest. If your goal isn't just to toy with him, to drive him even madder, then maybe... we can form a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Alastor remained silent for a moment. Peppermint's direct demeanor and loyalty to Vox had piqued his interest. A rare feeling of respect stirred within him. Then, he slipped back into his performative mode, lightly stroking his chin. "Ah, a 'mutually beneficial arrangement!' My favorite thing! So, what are you offering me, my dear friend? And what exactly do you expect in return?"

"I'll provide you with information about what Valentino is doing, observations on Vox's true state," Peppermint replied. "I'll try to find ways to reach him. In return, you promise not to harm Mr. Vox. You'll... try to save him. From Valentino's grasp."

Baxter shifted nervously between the two, waiting for Alastor's reaction.

Alastor let out a light laugh. "Save him? What a romantic idea! I just... want to remove the obstacle in the way of my entertainment. Valentino has trespassed into my playground without permission. Vox is my... amusement. His control should belong to me. Not to anyone else."

A brief twitch crossed Peppermint's face. Alastor's possessive attitude turned his stomach, but at least it was honest. Unlike Valentino, he wasn't hiding behind a veil of love and protection. "Understood," he murmured. "Then our deal is this: You neutralize Valentino, and I'll provide you with the necessary information. After that... what you do with Mr. Vox is your business."

Alastor liked this proposal. "Accepted," he said. "Wonderful! Excellent! This is how collaborations are done!" He suddenly grew serious, his smile narrowing slightly. "But I have a warning, dear Peppermint. You won't breathe a word about our little... alliance to anyone. Not to Valentino. Never to Vox. Understood?"

Peppermint nodded without hesitation. "It wouldn't work any other way."

"And one more thing," Alastor added, his voice dropping dangerously. "Don't try telling Vox stories about me."

Peppermint met Alastor's eyes. He saw the seriousness. "Mr. Alastor," he replied, "I know more than you think, but don't worry. I'm quite good at keeping my secrets to myself."

A momentary silence fell over the room. Alastor stared at Peppermint. The assistant's calm confidence and the implications of his words had disrupted his game. A rare unease stirred within him. What did this man really know? Then, he quickly composed himself. His smile returned, but this time it was more forced. "Excellent!" he exclaimed, with his artificial cheer. "Then let's get to work! Baxter, escort him out safely. Peppermint, I'll find... ways to communicate with you."

Peppermint nodded one last time and followed Baxter out of the hotel.

The next day, around noon when Valentino was away, Peppermint knocked on Vox's door. He held a tablet and a few files. He entered at the faint "Come in" from inside. Vox was in his usual spot in the armchair, staring blankly out the window.

"Mr. Vox," Peppermint began, keeping his voice as normal and businesslike as possible. "There's a... minor malfunction report in the main server room on the 3rd floor. The tech team is occupied elsewhere. Could you take a quick look? Your eye would spot something right away."

Vox slowly turned his head. His gaze was hazy. "Server room?" he murmured. The drugs made his thoughts slow and heavy. "Val... Valentino doesn't want me going out."

"I know," Peppermint replied, his heart twisting. "But this is an urgent business matter. We'll just go down one floor. We'll slip past the guards; no one will see. I can't handle it without you." He added a tone between pleading and insistence.

Vox hesitated for a moment. A tiny spark ignited within him the desire to act, to do something. Through the fog, a longing to feel useful emerged. He slowly stood. "Alright," he said. "Let's go."

Peppermint felt relief. He led him into the hallway, guiding him quickly and quietly to the elevators. They boarded, and Peppermint pressed the button for the 3rd floor. Vox leaned against the elevator wall, listening to his own breathing.

As they approached the server room door, Vox's steps seemed firmer on the ground. He had a purpose.

As Peppermint reached to open the door, a stir came from the shadows at the end of the hallway. Then, a figure appeared. Red jacket. Sharp silhouette. That unforgettable smile.

Alastor.

Vox's breath caught. In instinctive fear, he stepped back toward Peppermint, almost hiding behind him. "No," he whispered.

Alastor had taken a step toward them. He was about to speak with his usual cruel, playful expression when he saw the fear on Vox's face and he froze.

That wide smile vanished instantly. Vox was afraid of him. Truly, physically, trembling in terror. This wasn't the reaction Alastor had expected. He anticipated anger, defiance, even hatred but this raw horror caught him off guard. In a momentary panic, almost involuntarily, he bowed his head. He averted his gaze. Shadows immediately gathered around him, enveloping him. As if he were avoiding being the source of Vox's fear, avoiding scaring him further. In the next breath, the hallway was empty. As if no one had been there.

A deep silence settled over the corridor.

Peppermint adjusted his tablet, acting as if unaware of what had happened. "The server room is right here, Mr. Vox," his voice calm but weary. "Shall I open the door?"

Vox's eyes were fixed on the empty space at the end of the hallway. His heart was still pounding wildly. "Didn't you see him?" he whispered. "He was there. Watching me."

Peppermint's face held professional calm. "Who, sir?" he asked. "The hallway is completely empty. Maybe the shadows tricked you. The lighting on this floor can be inadequate sometimes."

"It wasn't empty!" Vox's voice rose for a moment, then dropped again. He shook his head in disbelief and fear. "He was there... Red... Smiling as always..." His hands began to tremble. "No... No, don't... It's starting again..." he murmured, almost to himself. "Hallucinations again... The pills... The pills aren't working anymore. I'm losing my mind completely."

Peppermint gently took Vox's arm. "Sir, please calm down. You're just a bit tired. Let's get you back to your room. You can rest."

Vox didn't resist. Guided by Peppermint, they crossed the hallway and boarded the elevator. Throughout the trip, incomprehensible words spilled from Vox's lips: "It wasn't him, was it? I just imagined it... It has to be..."

When they reached his room, Vox collapsed on the edge of the bed. Sweat beads glistened on his forehead. Peppermint handed him a glass of water. "Drink this, sir. It'll make you feel better."

Vox took the glass with trembling hands and sipped. His eyes roamed the room, flinching at shadows. "Don't leave me alone here," he pleaded with childlike fear.

"Of course, sir. I'll stay with you. Until Mr. Valentino arrives." Peppermint sat in the armchair and picked up his tablet. He pretended to be busy with something, but his full attention was on Vox.

After a while, Vox's breathing steadied, and his eyes slowly closed. The heavy effect of the pills and the panic he'd experienced had exhausted him. He fell asleep.

Peppermint slowly stood. He watched Vox's steady breathing for a moment, then quietly left the room. He closed the door softly behind him.

He'd only taken a few steps in the hallway when the deep shadows beside him rippled, and Alastor emerged. That fixed, static smile was absent from his face. Instead, there was a rare expression of genuine unease. "How is he?"

Peppermint startled but wasn't surprised. He sighed lightly. "He saw you or thought he did. He nearly had a panic attack. He thinks he's hallucinating. He was saying the pills' effects are wearing off, that he's losing his mind."

Alastor's expression darkened further for a moment. A flash of guilt appeared in his eyes, acknowledging his own role. "I... scared him," he murmured, trying to adjust to this new and unwelcome emotion.

"Yes," Peppermint confirmed, with brutal honesty. "And if you continue like this, you'll only strengthen Valentino's hand. Vox will become even more convinced that his mind is playing tricks. Valentino will isolate him further 'to protect him,' maybe even increase the dosage. It'll become impossible for us to reach him."

Alastor gritted his teeth. It made sense, and that irritated him more. He wanted to play the game on his terms, but Vox's fragile state was far more complicated than he'd anticipated. "So, what's your suggestion, dear friend?"

"Pull back a bit," Peppermint suggested, taking the risk. "At least for a while. Observe him, yes, but don't be so... obvious. Give me time. Let me try to adapt him slowly and safely to the outside world, to his work. Help him regain his strength and confidence. Then... then he might be ready to face you again."

Alastor didn't like this idea at all. He was impatient. Waiting wasn't his style, but Peppermint's words rang true. With a deep, meaningless sigh, he nodded. "Fine," he said. "Agreed but it won't take too long." Before the shadows pulled him back in, he glanced one last time at Vox's door. There, with a worried expression, Valentino appeared. Seeing Peppermint, he hurried over. "What happened? Why are you out here? Where's Vox?"

Peppermint adopted a calm demeanor. "Sir felt a bit unwell. I took him back to his room. He's sleeping now. I think he's just overexerted himself."

Valentino eyed Peppermint suspiciously, then shoved his shoulder aside and entered Vox's room. Peppermint remained in the hallway, with a growing mix of hope and fear inside him.

Valentino found Vox asleep in the room. His tense expression softened slightly. He approached and sat on the edge of the bed. He placed his hand on Vox's forehead. Feeling the cold sweat, his lips pursed.

Vox woke at the touch and opened his eyes. Seeing Valentino, relief flashed in his eyes, followed immediately by deep guilt. "Val," he whispered, "It happened again... I saw him again. My hallucinations started. I can't control myself." His eyes filled. "Don't leave me. Please. Don't leave me."

Valentino sighed. His expression wavered between anger and weariness. Finally, his sarcasm and anger gave way to that false compassion that emerged upon seeing Vox's helpless state. He placed his hand on Vox's cheek in a caressing manner. "Calm down, baby," he murmured, "You just had a bad dream. That's all. I'm here. I'll never leave you. I'll protect you from everything."

Vox clung to these words, closed his eyes, and leaned into Valentino's hand. He even saw the disappointment and impatience in his gaze as proof of his own flaw. He thought he needed to try harder to heal. To cling tighter... to Valentino.

"I'll call the doctor again tomorrow," Valentino whispered, stroking Vox's hair. "Maybe we need to adjust the dosage a bit more. I know what's best for you, don't I?"

Vox nodded faintly in agreement.

The next morning, when Vox woke, he didn't clearly remember what had happened the night before only an intense fear and a subsequent sense of emptiness lingered in his mind. He struggled out of bed. The new pill bottle Valentino had left was still on the nightstand. Unease washed over him. He knew these little white pills were what had brought him to this state, but he also remembered how dysfunctional he became without them. Desperately, he took the bottle and poured a pill into his palm.

At that moment, the door opened softly, and Velvette entered. She carried two cups of hot tea. Seeing Vox standing there with the pill in his hand, her face twisted. "Again?" her voice weary and sad.

Vox looked up. "I have no choice, Vel. You saw. Yesterday... I snapped again."

Velvette set the cups on the table and approached him. "Maybe this isn't your choice," she whispered. "Maybe you need to feel, to live. Instead of escaping."

Vox smiled bitterly. "Feel? All I feel is this. Emptiness. Fear. Worthlessness. Valentino's right. Only these pills hold me together."

Velvette touched his arm. "Valentino doesn't always have to be right, Vox. Sometimes... he says the truth not for your good, but for his control." Saying these words was a huge risk, and she knew it.

Vox looked at her, a doubt flickering in his eyes. This thought had crossed his mind before, but he'd pushed it away each time. Valentino loved him. Accepting otherwise would shatter the foundation of his world.

At that moment, Valentino entered. He saw Velvette standing close to Vox and the pill in his hand. A shadow crossed his face momentarily, then he composed himself. "Good morning, my dears," he said, with artificial cheer. "Check-up time. How are you feeling, darling?"

Vox looked at the pill in his hand, then at Valentino. "I'm fine," he murmured.

"Great," Valentino said, approaching and taking the pill from his hand. "Then you don't need this today. Maybe some fresh air will do you good. I want to come with you to the office. You'll sign a few things, that's all."

Vox was surprised. Valentino wasn't giving him his pill. This was new. A small hope stirred within him. Maybe he was really getting better. Velvette, however, looked at Valentino uneasily. She must have heard what he said.

Valentino led Vox to his office. As they passed through the hallways, employees greeted them respectfully, but the pity and distance in their glances toward Vox were palpable. When Vox entered the office he once commanded, it felt foreign. The piled-up files on the desk, the data streams on the screens... All belonged to someone else.

Valentino handed him a file from the desk. "These are the ones you need to sign. Simple contracts. Read and sign."

Vox took the file. As his eyes scanned the lines, the words blurred, losing their meaning. His head began to ache. He felt Valentino's impatient gaze. Finally, without understanding, he opened to the signature page and picked up the pen.

Valentino softly closed the door behind him and headed to Velvette, who was waiting a few steps down the hallway. His artificial smile vanished instantly, replaced by a cold expression. "What do you think you're doing?"

Velvette faced Valentino's anger without looking away, though inside she trembled. "I want him to get better, Val! To come back to himself! Don't you? Or do you prefer him constantly dependent on drugs, wandering like a shadow?"

"I know what's best for him!" Valentino waved his finger lightly in front of Velvette. "I'm the one holding him together! I'm the one keeping him on his feet! Without those pills, he's... nothing! He'll have crises like yesterday, hurt himself! Is that what you want?"

"No! Of course not!" Velvette snapped, her voice rising for a moment. "But this method isn't working! It's getting worse! Maybe we should try something different! We need to talk to him, give him time, listen to him!"

Valentino smirked cruelly. "Ah, yes. Sure. Let's talk to him. Listen to him and then let that radio maniac take him over completely, right? The one to blame is clear, Velvette, and it's not me." He pointed his finger at the empty space, as if implying Alastor was there.

Velvette paused for a moment at Valentino's words.

Seeing the hesitation on Velvette's face, Valentino nodded slightly. "There. You see. Now, please don't bother me with this nonsense anymore. Go. I'll take care of him."

Velvette, unable to say anything more, walked away down the hallway with her head down.

Valentino took a deep breath, trying to compose his tense expression, and re-entered the room. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw Vox's state. Leaning against the desk, sweat beads glistening on his forehead, his breathing a bit rapid and irregular. His face was pale. Without the pills, his body was starting to send withdrawal signals. Sweating, trembling, inability to focus... Valentino knew all of them.

"Val," Vox whispered, "I can't do it. I can't concentrate. I need my pills. Please."

Valentino nodded with a deep sigh, an impatient expression on his face. "Alright, darling. Alright." He turned toward the door and called to someone in the hallway. "Peppermint! Bring Vox's pills. Now."

Peppermint immediately headed to the room where the pills were kept.

The cold sterility of the pill room always chilled Peppermint. As he reached for that small, unlabeled white bottle, the shadows behind him rippled, and Alastor appeared. Peppermint startled, nearly dropping the bottle. Alastor's face lacked that fixed, static smile; instead, there was a rare serious and focused expression. "Take this," Alastor whispered. He extended his hand. Peppermint hesitated, then took the pill from Alastor's palm. "Valentino won't notice," Alastor added. "But Vox... will feel it."

Peppermint glanced into Alastor's eyes for a moment. Then he quickly swapped the vitamins with the real pills in the bottle and returned to Vox's room.

Valentino almost snatched the bottle from Peppermint's hand and handed it to Vox along with a glass of water. "Here, darling. Take it and pull yourself together."

Vox's hands were trembling. He took the bottle and poured a pill into his palm. Under Valentino's and Peppermint's gazes, he popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it with water. As he swallowed, he closed his eyes, waiting for that momentary relief, the familiar feeling of the symptoms subsiding.

But the expected relief didn't come. Instead, his thoughts began to take on a more ruthless form. Valentino's condescending gaze, the artificial coldness of the office, his own helplessness... All assaulted his mind more clearly. His headache hadn't gone away; it had just changed. A surprised expression appeared on his face. "Val," he murmured, "Something... felt different."

Valentino frowned. "Of course it's different, darling. New formula. They said it'll make you feel better."

Vox shook his head, growing more uneasy. "No... it doesn't feel better. My thoughts... they won't stop."

Valentino didn't like this explanation. With a sullen expression, he pointed to the file on the desk. "Maybe you're just not focusing. Sign this. Get back to work. You'll forget."

Vox picked up the pen again, his fingers still trembling. He bowed to Valentino's pressure and signed the file.

Towards the evening Vox's condition had worsened further. He wouldn't leave his room, refused to eat, and flinched at the slightest sound. His mind was now confronting all the demons the pills had silenced, and he was losing.

When Peppermint came to check on him, he found Vox curled up in bed, shivering. As he entered, Vox sat up abruptly, panic in his eyes. "Is he here?"

Peppermint's heart ached. He approached slowly. "No, sir. It's just me. Peppermint."

Vox looked at him, his gaze hazy. "But I hear... a constant hum... And thoughts... They won't stop..." He covered his ears with his hands. "Please, tell them to be quiet..."

Peppermint knelt slowly to his level, speaking in a voice as soft and harmless as possible. "Sir," he began. "I want to ask you something, but please don't misunderstand. I'm just curious." Vox lifted his head slightly and looked at him. Peppermint continued. "You and Alastor... In the past... Did you have a relationship? What was he like to you?"

Vox immediately averted his gaze, swallowing hard. A response was expected perhaps in anger, perhaps in sorrow but he chose only silence.

Peppermint realized his mistake. "I'm sorry," he added hastily. "I shouldn't have asked that. I upset you."

Vox shook his head, as if it wasn't even worth getting upset over. He spoke with extra effort to make his voice heard, "No. It's fine. Just... He's a difficult one. Very difficult." His lips trembled slightly, "He never showed he cared. At least, that's how I felt but... maybe he showed enough. In his own way. I always struggled to understand him. I never knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling. I still don't." The confession had exhausted him. His shoulders slumped.

"I'm on your side, sir," Peppermint whispered, trying to make his voice as warm and reassuring as possible. "You're not alone. Remember that."

Vox finally lifted his head and looked at Peppermint. He nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly. "I know," he said, his voice a bit stronger. "I know, Peppermint."

After leaving Vox's room, Peppermint paused in the hallway for a moment. He decided to go to the hotel.

He found Alastor sitting in an old-fashioned armchair in one of the hotel's most secluded corners. When Peppermint approached, Alastor looked up. His usual fixed, wide smile was on his face, but a fleeting unease could be read in his eyes.

"Alastor," Peppermint began, his voice a bit tense. "I need to talk to you. About Vox."

Alastor's smile froze for a moment, then quickly recovered. "Ah, yes! My dear friend Vox. Am I about to hear something new and cheerful about him?"

Ignoring Alastor's mocking tone, Peppermint got straight to the point, "I just talked to Vox." Alastor's fingers suddenly stopped on his microphone. Peppermint continued. "I asked him about your... past. He told me you never showed you cared. He said you were a hard someone for him. That he could never understand what you were thinking."

Alastor paused. His fingers gripping the microphone loosened slightly. Then, with a deep sigh that was almost inaudible but carried so much within it, "Is that so?" he said. "Not at all? He thinks I never cared?"

There was a momentary silence. Peppermint was waiting for a response perhaps an outburst of anger, perhaps a mocking laugh but what came from Alastor was much calmer than expected, even tinged with a hint of sadness. Then, Alastor slowly stood up. He took a step forward, lightly waving his microphone. "So, he saw every interest I showed, every step I took, merely as a game, a subject of mockery." The static in his voice rose. "If that's how he wants to see it. If that empty, numb existence Valentino has turned him into a puppet is better than my 'indifference.'"

Peppermint hadn't anticipated Alastor taking it so personally. "No, wait-"

But Alastor cut him off. Now fully back to his old self, with an even wider smile, "Don't worry, dear friend!" he said, "That was very valuable information. It gave me all the motivation I needed for my final move. Now I know what I have to do." Without giving Peppermint a chance to say anything more, shadows immediately gathered around Alastor, swallowing him up, and he vanished. Peppermint was left in the empty hallway, wondering if he had just caused a terrible mistake.

On the way, what Peppermint had told him gnawed at Alastor's mind, stirring an unfamiliar wave of anger within him. Did I never care? This thought was driving him mad. Pushing aside all his plans and games, intent on confronting him, clearing up this nonsense. He pushed the door open and stormed in, with dozens of venomous words on the tip of his tongue.

But Vox turned his head and looked at him and in that moment, Alastor forgot all the poisonous words he had prepared.

There was no old spark in Vox's eyes, no defiant anger. Only a calmness, a hazy serenity created by the drugs. Even more shocking, he didn't flinch or show fear upon seeing Alastor. He just watched him curiously, as if he didn't recognize him. This unexpected calm upended all of Alastor's plans.

Snapping out of his momentary shock, the first thing that came to mind was to truly communicate with him. Constant surveillance and indirect messages weren't enough. He needed a direct connection. His eyes scanned the room and finally settled on the nightstand near Vox. A perfect opportunity.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket. "I want to save your number."

Vox looked at the phone, then at Alastor. Without hesitation, he slowly reached out and took it. He unlocked the screen, navigated to the new contact page with a few taps. As his fingers hovered over the screen, Alastor smiled inwardly. This was it. It had been too easy.

Vox saved the number and placed the phone back on the nightstand. "Done," his voice still filled with that drugged numbness.

Alastor eagerly took the phone back. The moment he looked at the screen, his entire expression vanished. The new contact read Valentino. Vox had saved Valentino's number, not his own.

Alastor looked at him. Vox was so distant that he couldn't even consider the situation involving himself. This thought stunned Alastor for a moment. Had Vox sunk so low that he was this indifferent?

Vox noticed Alastor's stunned state. "Is there a problem?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Alastor swallowed. He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible, "No," he said. "Just... I wanted your number. Not Valentino's."

A faint expression of confusion appeared on Vox's face. "I don't have access to technological devices," he explained, shrugging. "Val restricted it. I don't even remember my number."

Alastor pondered the phone in his hand for a moment, then made his decision. He pushed the phone back toward Vox. "Then keep this."

Vox stared at the phone for a long time. Then he slowly lifted his head and looked at Alastor. "Isn't this yours?" 

Alastor looked into his eyes. There, behind the fog of the drugs, he searched for a spark of the sharp intelligence he once knew. "I have nothing to hide," he said, shrugging it off. "Take it." Then, without further explanation, he vanished into the shadows.

Vox stared at the phone left alone on the table for a long time. Finally, with a hesitant motion, he reached out and took it. He unlocked the screen, browsed through the apps inside. His fingers hovered over the social media icon and finally tapped it. It automatically opened Alastor's account. Vox froze for a moment. With trembling fingers, he pressed the post button. Without thinking, instinctively, he scribbled something as if writing from Alastor's mouth:

TheRadioDemon: Everyone here is two-faced and boring. I'm sick of all your fake interest and stupid comments!

Immediately, the screen filled with notifications. Comments, likes, retweets... Demons were shocked. This didn't match Alastor's usual mocking style at all. Was the account hacked? Stolen? Or had the Radio Demon finally snapped?

Vox looked at the screen. He was trying to grasp the magnitude and consequences of what he'd done. Then, in a sudden panic, he hid the phone under the bed, behind his pillow. His heart was racing.

Meanwhile, Alastor had appeared beside Husk. His face was grim and thoughtful. "I need a new phone," there was an unusual urgency in his voice. "Right now."

Husk looked at him. "What happened to your old phone?"

"It's with Vox," Alastor replied, averting his gaze. "It's his now."

Husk sighed deeply. God, they were starting again. "What about everything in it? All that... information?"

Alastor finally looked at Husk, his fixed smile slowly spreading across his face, but this time it was forced. He said nothing.

Husk handed Alastor a plain, black new phone. "Here. We had a spare."

Alastor took the phone, quickly logged into his old account. Seeing the flood of notifications and the tweet Vox had posted, a wide smile spread across his face. "Ah, ah, ah," he murmured, his voice filled with delight. "There it is. Look, Husk, look!"

Husk rolled his eyes. "What happened this time?"

"He poured out his heart from my account, in my name. Angry, impulsive, wonderful!" Alastor began scrolling through the comments rapidly. "There are people saying my account was hacked!"

Husk was stunned. "He wrote nonsense in your name. Aren't you bothered by that?"

Alastor looked at Husk, his smile unwavering. "Bothered? No, no, dear Husk. On the contrary! This is the most interesting, most alive thing he's done in months! He's engaging with me. Spilling his guts. This is exactly what I wanted. He's starting to cause mischief. This is beautiful."

He turned back to his phone and wrote a comment under the new tweet, reverting to his mocking style, giving the air of being in control, but inwardly pleased that Vox had shown a spark again.

TheRadioDemon: Don't worry, dear friends, I'm still me! Maybe just a bit too honest tonight, hm?

After a while, the door to the room opened. Vox flinched, immediately lay down on the bed, and shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep. It was Valentino who entered. When he saw Vox “sleeping,” he paused for a moment. He walked toward the bed and adjusted the blanket that was covering him. Vox held his breath, sensing his presence. Valentino lingered for a few seconds more, then left. He closed the door quietly.

Once the door clicked shut, Vox opened his eyes. He could feel the phone beneath his pillow. He knew Valentino would do anything to check on him, to “protect” him. Reaching under the pillow, he pulled the phone out again and returned to Alastor’s account.

Then a new notification came through. A reply from Alastor. He had written something in his usual mocking tone, as if nothing had happened. Vox’s chest ached as he read it. So Alastor had seen everything and hadn’t cared. In fact, he almost seemed amused. Maybe to him this was just another game. Vox shoved the phone back under his pillow and turned over in bed. Maybe it was all pointless.

The next morning when he woke, it all felt like a dream. He immediately reached under his pillow. The phone was still there. It was real. When he went downstairs for breakfast, Valentino and Velvette were in the kitchen. Valentino was reading his newspaper, while Velvette was busy with her phone. Vox quietly took a seat.

“Good morning,” Velvette said, handing him a glass of orange juice. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Vox muttered.

“Today will be calm,” Valentino said, folding the newspaper and placing it on the table. “You can get some rest. Yesterday’s meeting must have worn you out.”

Vox nodded. Inside, he was thinking about the phone under his pillow. The fact that Valentino knew nothing about it gave him a strange sense of safety. This small secret gave him a flicker of control.

As the day went on, Vox slipped back to his room often just to check the phone, to read the demons comments.

By evening, Valentino wanted to take him out for dinner. Vox didn’t want to go; the outside world still frightened him but Valentino insisted. “It’ll be good for you. Some fresh air will help.”

In the car, Vox stared out the window. The phone was in his pocket. He had brought it with him. He didn’t even know why.

At the restaurant, while they ate, Valentino kept talking about business, about his plans. Vox tried to keep up, but his mind was elsewhere. Then his pocket buzzed. A notification. Almost without thinking, his hand went to his pocket.

Valentino stopped talking. “Was that a phone?” he asked, frowning. “I didn’t know you had one.”

Vox’s heart nearly stopped. “No,” he lied, his voice trembling slightly. “I must’ve imagined it or… maybe it was just my keys.”

Valentino stared at him suspiciously for a moment, then shrugged and continued talking, though he was no longer as relaxed. Every so often, his eyes flicked toward Vox’s pocket.

When they returned home, Vox rushed straight to his room. He pulled the phone out. The notification was a private message from Alastor: “Having fun?”

Alastor knew everything, and he was mocking him for it. The fact that Valentino was just in the next room made the guilt and fear of holding that small device in his hand even stronger. His fingers trembled as he touched the screen, about to reply, but he had no idea what to write. “No?", "You found me? Or maybe he should write nothing at all, shut the phone off, and never look again?

Despite the fear, the need to feel something weighed heavier. It was more real than the numbness Valentino gave him. Slowly he typed: “Not really.”

The reply came almost instantly, as if Alastor had been waiting for it: “Not surprised. Valentino’s choices are usually dull. Flashy, but soulless.”

Vox couldn’t help but smile at that. Alastor was right. The food had been fine, but the atmosphere was artificial and forced. “Were you watching?” Vox wrote.

“Maybe or maybe I just guessed. I know him. I know you. It’s not hard to imagine how an evening between the two of you would go.”

Vox tried to parse the meaning behind the words. Was Alastor pitying him, or just amused? Once, he would have snapped back in anger. Now, he only felt tired. He didn’t know what to say.

Alastor: Still there? Or did Valentino walk in and force you to hide the phone?

Vox glanced at the door instinctively. No one was there. He typed: “I’m here. Just… thinking.”

Alastor: Dangerous habit, but nothing new for you.

This was the Alastor he knew from before, when nothing had gone wrong. Talking to him like this, keeping this forbidden connection alive… it was strange, but it made him feel alive. “Is this the only reason you wanted to talk? To tell me I’m boring?”

Alastor: Maybe or maybe I wanted to see if you still think about me. Seems you do.

Vox’s cheeks warmed. He had given himself away. “You’re watching me. Of course I think about you. It’s impossible to ignore you.”

Alastor: Ah, but you’re very good at ignoring me when Valentino’s around. Sitting quiet, like a well-behaved little boy. Doesn’t that make you angry?

Vox blinked at the words. “Are you saying I should be angry?” he wrote.

Alastor: Yes. You should be. Because I would be. If I were in your place, acting like you do, it would drive me mad.

Vox took a deep breath. If Alastor were in his place, he would probably burn everything down, make sure Valentino could never threaten him again. “I’m not you.”

Alastor: I know and that’s my greatest disappointment.

He had disappointed him? Did Alastor expect more? Did he want him to rebel? To run away? Or… to return to him? Vox’s thoughts spun.

No reply came for a while. Vox assumed Alastor had grown bored, dropped the conversation. Maybe he was too dull after all. Just as he was about to set the phone aside, the screen lit up again not with a message, but with a call.

Vox’s breath caught. Should he answer? Valentino might hear but if he didn’t, Alastor might never call again. That thought felt heavier than the fear. He sat on the edge of the bed, took a deep breath, and answered. His hand trembled as he brought the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” His voice came out thin, nervous.

“Ah, a living voice.” Alastor’s mocking tone filled the receiver. “I wanted to make sure it was you writing the messages. Could’ve been Valentino.”

“No,” Vox whispered. “It’s me.”

“I know.” Alastor’s voice softened slightly, the mockery easing. “Texting… isn’t enough.”

Vox couldn’t find words. Silence stretched. In the darkness of his room, he could hear Alastor’s breathing. It felt strangely intimate.

“Why?” Vox finally whispered. “Why are you doing this? Why are you interested in me? I’m… not who I used to be. You know that.”

Alastor was silent for a moment. “Interested?” he repeated, as if the word were foreign. “Maybe you’re confusing my hatred for Valentino with something else because he’s the one who won’t let you be who you were.”

Vox’s chest ached. Of course. This wasn’t about him. It was about Alastor’s power struggle with Valentino. “I understand,” he said, voice small.

“No, you don’t.” Alastor’s voice rose, static crackling in the background. “You’re just… too quiet. Too obedient. It’s dull. You don’t even keep me occupied. So I have to make you.”

“I’m sorry,” Vox whispered automatically, the way he always did with Valentino.

On the other end, Alastor sighed deeply, for the first time sounding weary. “Ah, don’t say that. I don’t want to hear your insecure, pitiful apologies. That only makes you more boring.”

Vox closed his eyes. He didn’t know what else to say. Alastor wanted to talk, yet he hated him at the same time. It was more complicated and more exhausting than Valentino’s cold indifference.

“Well then,” Alastor said at last, his tone turning playful again. “Keep the phone close. Don’t let anything happen to it. Understood?”

“Understood,” Vox murmured.

“Perfect! Then goodnight, my dear friend. Let’s hope Valentino doesn’t sneak into your dreams.” His mocking cheer rang through the line.

The call ended abruptly. Vox pulled the phone away from his ear and stared into the silence of his dark room.

He slid the phone back under his pillow and lay down. He knew he wouldn’t sleep. His mind was tangled with Alastor’s words and all their hidden meanings.

When Alastor reached the bar in the lobby, he tried to keep his expression under control, but the twitch of his lips and the unusual sparkle in his eyes betrayed him. He leaned against the counter, drumming his fingers lightly.

Husk raised his brows as if to say, What now?

“Having a pleasant evening, Husk?” Alastor asked, his voice softer than usual, almost whistling.

Husk sighed. A too cheerful Alastor usually meant trouble. “What’s got you so chipper, boss? Finally driven him completely insane?”

For a moment, Alastor wanted to look serious, but he couldn’t suppress his excitement. He shrugged lightly. “We just… had a little chat. I was bored. So was he. A mutual pastime.” He twirled his microphone. “Trivial things.”

Husk looked at him more closely. “Chat? On the phone? Right under Valentino’s nose?”

“Ah, exactly!” Alastor’s cheer brightened even more. “That’s what made it such a surprise. A tiny spark in all that dullness. Unexpected. Almost like the old days.” His voice wavered briefly on the last words, but he quickly recovered. “Anyway, give me the strongest thing you’ve got. We’re celebrating.”

As Husk poured his drink, he shook his head. “You two are going to drive each other mad. Hope this ends well.”

Alastor took the glass with unusual gravity. “Oh, don’t worry, dear Husk,” he said. “It always ends well. Always fun.” He raised the glass, drained it in one swallow, and set it down without a wince. With one last grin, he slipped back into the shadows. “As always.”

Chapter Text

When Vox opened his eyes in the morning, he felt an unusual lightness. He got out of bed, dressed, and stood in front of the mirror. His reflection was still pale, with dark circles under his eyes, but something was different. At the corner of his lip, involuntarily, there was a small twitch. Almost a smile.

In the kitchen, Valentino was reading his newspaper in his pajamas, while Velvette was busy with her phone. When Vox entered, he didn't have his usual heavy, dragging steps; he looked more lively. "Good morning,"

Velvette looked up at him, blinking in surprise. "Good morning, Vox. You look good."

Valentino lowered his newspaper for a moment, his eyes scanning Vox. A flicker of doubt appeared in his eyes. "Yes, you really do look better, darling,"

Vox sat down at his breakfast plate. As he ate his toast, he couldn't help thinking about the previous night. The phone under his pillow. That short, strange phone call with Alastor. The things that mocking voice whispered in his ear... It should have disturbed him, scared him, but instead, for the first time in a long while, it made him feel awake. Truly feel.

As the day progressed, he tried to maintain this new energy. He went down to the office floor, staring at the data scrolling on the screens for a few minutes. He couldn't fully focus on anything, but at least he was trying to look. Valentino was watching him out of the corner of his eye, occasionally coming to his desk to ask trivial things, as if gauging his reactions. Vox gave short, simple answers each time, avoiding eye contact. Inside, there was a fear that this small joy would be noticed and taken away.

In the afternoon, he retreated to his room. He closed the door, sat on the bed, and carefully pulled the phone from under the pillow. His fingers trembled as he unlocked the screen. He opened Alastor's messaging app. The cursor was blinking, inviting him to write something.

He held his breath. What should he write? 'Hello'? Too ordinary. 'Are you watching me?'? That would seem too desperate. There was a struggle inside him. He feared Alastor would mock his desperation, but he also feared losing that connection, that attention. In the end, he chose something simple and direct.

Vox: I feel better today.

He sent the message and waited with his eyes closed until a reply came. His heart was pounding fast. A minute passed. Then two. Maybe he was busy. Or already bored.

Just as he was about to give up hope, the phone vibrated.

Alastor: Ah, I'm glad to hear that from you. I thought Valentino was speaking on your behalf. Still, 'better' is a relative concept, my dear enemy. Compared to what?

Vox read the message, trying to make sense of it. Was he mocking or genuinely curious? That was the most infuriating thing about Alastor; he could never be fully understood.

Vox: Compared to yesterday. My head is less foggy.

Alastor: Are you implying the source of the fog has disappeared? Or is this just a temporary enlightenment?

When Vox read this, he glanced at the drawer of the nightstand beside his bed, filled with unlabeled pills. He hadn't taken his dose that morning. Had Valentino forgotten to give it, or skipped it on purpose? The thought was chilling.

Vox: I don't know. Just... different.

There was no reply for a while. Then, a new message appeared.

Alastor: Enjoy the 'different' then. It usually fades quickly. I wonder what Valentino will do to your little 'different' moment.

Was this a threat or a challenge? As Vox's fingers hovered over the keys, he tried to write the next sentence. Alastor was provoking him, just like he used to. Part of him wanted to respond, to be the same old angry, defiant Vox, but that person seemed so far away. Fatigue was starting to press in again. Without thinking, he pressed the call button. The dial tone sounded, once, twice... Then, that familiar, static-laced voice answered.

"Ah, look at the courage. Calling me? Is Valentino asleep or something?"

Vox didn't know what to say. "I just... wanted to hear," he whispered.

There was a moment of surprise in Alastor's voice, then it returned to its mocking tone. "Hear? My voice? This is a more interesting development than I expected."

"I know you're trying to draw me into a game," Vox continued, his voice growing stronger. "You're provoking me. Using me against Valentino. I'm aware of all of it."

"Are you?" Alastor asked, his voice filled with amused curiosity. "Then why are you still talking to me?"

Because your voice is better than nothingness. Because it makes me feel more alive than the drugs that are killing me. Because you're the only real thing in this hell. He couldn't say those words. Instead, he murmured, "I don't know."

Alastor's chuckle, like a hiccup, echoed through the phone. "There it is! Confession! Not knowing! That's the most honest thing I've heard from you in months, my dear enemy."

Vox wanted to change the subject. His voice was insecure. "Today... there was a server room failure report at VoxTech. Peppermint asked for my help."

There was a faint rustle on the other end of the phone, as if Alastor was perking up. "Server room? I'm surprised Valentino allowed it. He doesn't let you out of his sight for a moment."

"He wasn't around at the time," Vox explained, shrugging as if it were nothing. "It was a short moment. I fixed the issue." He hadn't actually fixed it; he'd just entered a few commands at Peppermint's insistence, but saying that would tarnish the feeling of being useful, even briefly.

"How skillful," Alastor replied, his voice lightly mocking but still interested. "Did this little adventure excite you? Or did you just fulfill a task?"

Vox thought about it. Excitement? No, but... there was a but. "It was different," he repeated, like in his earlier message. "Better than just sitting."

There was a moment of silence from Alastor. It felt like he was analyzing this simple answer. "Better than sitting," he echoed, this time without any mockery. "That's a very low standard, my dear enemy. For you."

A warmth spread through Vox. Was this almost... concern? No, it couldn't be. It was just disappointment. Alastor expected more from him, just like Valentino. "Maybe my standards have dropped."

"Ah, no doubt about that," Alastor replied quickly, back to his old self. "But I wonder what it will take to raise them again? Maybe a bit more... forbidden fruit. Like talking to me."

At that exact moment, the door handle moved quietly. Vox's heart nearly jumped out of his chest. His gaze fixed on the door in panic.

He hurriedly moved his finger to the screen to hang up the phone.

As soon as the connection ended, Vox shoved the phone under the pillow as deep as possible. His heart was still racing wildly. He tried to control his breathing, turning his back to the door, pretending to be doing something normal in the room. Like staring at the blank wall.

Valentino entered, his tall frame filling the doorway. His eyes immediately slid to Vox, with that usual analytical expression.

"Darling," he began. "What are you doing here? Didn't you sleep?"

"I couldn't sleep," Vox murmured, without turning his face. "Just... thinking."

Valentino's footsteps advanced slowly on the carpet. He approached, standing behind Vox. Vox could feel the heavy perfume scent and the pressure of his presence.

"Thinking too much isn't good for you, sweetie," Valentino said, placing his hand on Vox's shoulder. Vox flinched slightly under the touch. "You need things to keep your mind occupied. Maybe tomorrow you come to the office, stay by my side. Light stuff."

Vox just nodded, lacking the strength to speak.

Valentino withdrew his hand from the shoulder and reached for the drawer. He pulled out the familiar, unlabeled small white bottle. A pill gleamed in his palm. "You forgot to take your medicine," Valentino said. "That's not good for you. Take it."

Vox slowly turned and looked at the pill. Was that lightness he felt that morning, that "different" feeling, due to the absence of the drug? Or the conversation with Alastor? Now, did he have to take the thing that would return him to that empty, numb state?

He extended his trembling hand and took the pill. Valentino handed him a glass of water.

Vox popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it with the water. He felt it slide down his throat. Valentino stood there until he observed the swallowing motion. Then he smiled satisfactorily. "Good boy," he touched Vox's cheek again. "Now sleep. You'll feel better tomorrow."

Vox nodded again, his gaze fixed on the floor. Valentino gave the room one last scan, as if searching for something, then left and quietly closed the door.

As soon as Valentino left the room, Vox collapsed onto the bed. The drug's heavy effect was slowly enveloping his mind like fog, numbing his body, but this time, amid that fog, a small, stubborn spark still seemed to burn. That short, forbidden contact with Alastor had triggered something. The numbness was coming, but he wasn't completely defeated.

He lay motionless until Valentino's footsteps faded down the hallway. Then, he slowly sat up. His head was spinning, his stomach nauseous, but he had to do something. He slipped his hand under the pillow. Touching the phone's cold, hard surface, confirming it was real, gave him a kind of peace.

He turned on the screen. The bright light dazzled his eyes in the dark room. The messaging screen with Alastor was still open. He read the last things they wrote once more. Then, he saw a new notification. Not one, but multiple. One after another.

Alastor: Maybe it'll be cloudy tomorrow.
Alastor: Husk complained about bartending for hours again today.
Alastor: Do you think the flowers in the living room will wilt? No one's taking care of them.

Vox froze as he read the messages. What were these? No mockery. No provocation. No dark implications. Just... daily, ordinary, almost meaningless things. It was as if Alastor was writing his thoughts out loud, without expecting any reaction, just leaving them there.

For a moment, he thought the account had been hacked, but the style was the same, those unique, twisting sentences. The next message came.

Alastor: Does the sunset look red from your towers there, or is it just the air pollution here?

Vox involuntarily turned his head and looked out the window. The sun had set, but a red trace still lingered on the horizon. Yes, it did. His fingers hovered over the screen.

Vox: It does.

The reply came instantly.

Alastor: Ah, you're there. Has the drug's effect worn off?

Vox sighed. There was the familiar ground.

Vox: No. It hasn't. Just... getting used to it.

Alastor: Getting used to it. What a mediocre expression of surrender.

Vox couldn't help rolling his eyes this time. This was more normal, but he didn't feel anger. Just a kind of familiar weariness.

Vox: If I were in your place, getting used to it would be a luxury.

There was no reply for a while. Vox watched the screen dim. Just as he was preparing to put the phone down, a new message appeared.

Alastor: Probably.

What did that mean? Was he agreeing? Or just cutting it short?

Alastor: About what I said with the flowers. I think I'll give them some water. Let's see what happens.

In Vox's mind, a scene flashed of Alastor in the hotel's lobby, tending to the wilted flowers in the pot. He had to hold back a smile. How would he look doing something so everyday, so human? The image was so absurd and unexpectedly warm that it stirred a strange feeling inside him.

He scrolled up the screen with his finger, reading that silly flower message once more. Then, without replying, just to himself, he whispered.

"I hope they don't die."

He wasn't expecting a reply. He had just said it to say something.

The next morning, Valentino entered his room with a larger bottle in hand. The usual carefree expression wasn't on his face; he looked more serious, more determined. As Vox sat up in bed, he felt a gnawing anxiety inside. Seeing Valentino like this was a harbinger that it wouldn't be good for him.

"Good morning, darling," Valentino said. "It seems yesterday's medicine didn't affect you much. I talked to the doctor. They prepared a stronger formula. This time it'll definitely work."

Vox's eyes shifted to the bottle. Valentino's gaze on him carried that usual hidden threat. He had no choice but to obey. Part of him hoped that maybe this time he'd truly numb out and escape all this chaos.

Valentino poured a pill into his palm and extended it along with a glass of water.

Vox took the pill. He hesitated for a moment, the image of Alastor's silly messages flashing in his mind. That meaningless flower query, the complaint about Husk... Then, he popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed it with the water.

Instead of the heavy, gelatinous fog created by the previous drugs, this time there was a different feeling. His mind was fogging up, but within that fog, there was a weight, a gloom.

Valentino observed his state. He saw Vox's facial expression change, his eyes becoming even emptier. He smiled with satisfaction. "That's it. Now rest. I'll be at the office until evening. Peppermint will take care of you."

After Valentino left, Vox collapsed back onto the bed. The drug's heavy effect was slowly enveloping his mind like fog, numbing his body, but this time, amid that fog, a small, stubborn spark still seemed to burn. That short, forbidden contact with Alastor had triggered something. The numbness was coming, but he wasn't completely defeated.

He lay motionless until Valentino's footsteps faded down the hallway. Then, he slowly sat up. His head was spinning, his stomach nauseous, but he had to do something. He slipped his hand under the pillow. He touched the phone's cold, hard surface. Finding it there, confirming it was real, gave him a kind of peace.

He turned on the screen. The bright light dazzled his eyes in the dark room. The messaging screen with Alastor was still open. He read the last things they wrote once more. Then, he saw a new notification. Not one, but multiple. One after another.

Alastor: Husk complained about bartending for hours again today.
Alastor: Do you think the flowers in the living room will wilt? No one's taking care of them.

Vox froze as he read the messages. What were these? No mockery. No provocation. No dark implications. Just... daily, ordinary, almost meaningless things. It was as if Alastor was writing his thoughts out loud, without expecting any reaction, just leaving them there. For a moment, he thought the account had been hacked, but the style was the same, those unique, twisting sentences.

Alastor: Does the sunset look red from your towers there, or is it just the air pollution here?

Vox involuntarily turned his head and looked out the window. The sun had set, but a red trace still lingered on the horizon. Yes, it did. His fingers hovered over the screen.

Vox: It does.

Alastor: Ah, you're there. Has the drug's effect worn off?

Vox sighed. There was the familiar ground.

Vox: No. It hasn't. Just... getting used to it.

Alastor: Getting used to it. What a mediocre expression of surrender.

Vox couldn't help rolling his eyes this time. This was more normal, but he didn't feel anger. Just a kind of familiar weariness.

Vox: If I were in your place, getting used to it would be a luxury.

There was no reply for a while. Vox watched the screen dim. Just as he was preparing to put the phone down, a new message appeared.

Alastor: Probably.

What did that mean? Was he agreeing? Or just cutting it short?

Alastor: About what I said with the flowers. I think I'll give them some water. Let's see what happens.

In Vox's mind, a scene flashed of Alastor in the hotel's lobby, tending to the wilted flowers in the pot. He had to hold back a smile. How would he look doing something so everyday, so human? The image was so absurd and unexpectedly warm that it stirred a strange feeling inside him.

Vox: I hope they don't die.

That night, Vox couldn't sleep. Even picking up the phone required great effort. His fingers were numb, his thoughts scattered. Still, inside him, there was an urge to write something to Alastor. He turned on the phone, entered the messaging screen. He tried to gather the words, but his mind was in chaos. He wrote randomly.

Vox: Is the wind blowing? The walls are talking. Do you hear them?

Alastor read the message from Vox. He frowned. This message was more senseless than the previous ones.

Alastor: Which walls? My walls are silent. Are you okay yourself?

An hour passed.

Alastor: Vox?

But there was no sound from Vox. Alastor's mind was confused. This level of disconnection wasn't the kind of entertainment he expected. Vox's mind being so scattered disturbed him. Maybe things were getting out of control.

At that moment, Peppermint appeared in Vox's room. Valentino had sent him to check on Vox. He quietly cracked the door and looked inside. He found Vox lying motionless on the bed. His breathing was heavy. He approached.

"Mr. Vox?" he whispered. "It's me, Peppermint. How are you?"

Vox turned his head. "The walls..." he murmured. "They're whispering. Don't you hear them?"

A deep worry appeared on Peppermint's face. Valentino's new drug had completely shut Vox in. He realized it was impossible to have a normal dialogue with him. He just stayed by his side for a while, watching his breathing. Then, he quietly left the room.

As he walked down the hallway, he pulled out his phone. He decided to inform Alastor of the situation. He quickly wrote a message.

Peppermint: Alastor. Vox's meds have changed. Valentino gave him something stronger. His condition is bad. I think he's hallucinating.

He sent the message and put his phone in his pocket. He walked toward the office.

Alastor read the message from Peppermint. What Peppermint said confirmed his own suspicions. He let out a deep sigh. The seriousness of the situation was changing the rules of the game.

Alastor: Vox. The walls' voices are deceiving you. Listen to my voice. I'm still here.

Vox squinted at the bright light on the phone screen. The letters were blurring together, the sentences turning into a meaningless pile. With trembling fingers, he barely managed to write a few words.

Vox: cant... read... eyes... light...

He sent the message and his head fell back onto the pillow. Even this small effort had exhausted him.

Alastor saw the notification from his phone. He paused for a moment to understand the message. He figured out what Vox was trying to say: "Can't read. Eyes. Light."

A strange tightness gripped him inside. This wasn't a game anymore. Valentino's drugs were rendering Vox unable to perform basic functions. He hesitated for a moment. Then, with an unusual patience, he began writing slowly. Each word one by one, in capital letters.

Alastor: OKAY.
Alastor: SLOW.
Alastor: I.
Alastor: AM.
Alastor: WRITING.
Alastor: UNDERSTAND?

Vox felt the phone vibrate. He strained his eyes to look at the screen. He could make out the words written one by one in capital letters. It was slower. Clearer. He waited for the next message.

Alastor, getting no reply, continued. His goal wasn't just to communicate but to help Vox focus.

Alastor: YOU.
Alastor: GOOD.
Alastor: ?

Vox tried to piece the words together. "You good?" He understood. Forcing his fingers, he wrote letter by letter.

Vox: N... O...

It took so long to write.

Alastor read the fragmented reply. His heart twisted.

Alastor: UNDERSTOOD.
Alastor: I'M HERE.

That was enough. More would overwhelm Vox. Knowing the message had gotten through was the only important thing for him right now.

Vox tried to read the last two words. Amid the fog, he felt a small sense of security. He placed the phone on his chest and, with that thought, surrendered to the drug's heavy sleep.

The next morning, Valentino entered Vox's room without wasting any time. Valentino's eyes immediately fell on the cell phone that had slipped onto the bed beside the pillow.

He didn't recognize that phone. It was a forbidden object that Vox shouldn't have in his possession. An instant rage surged within him. He approached the bed quietly, advancing almost silently on the carpet. He picked up the phone. The screen was off. He tried to figure out the brand and model. Then, he slowly turned to Vox.

Vox was beginning to wake from the depths of sleep. The effects of the drugs were still enveloping his brain. When he cracked his eyes open, the first thing he saw was Valentino standing at the head of the bed, holding the phone. His heart suddenly began pounding rapidly. A panic rose inside him. He met Valentino's gaze.

"What is this, darling?" Valentino asked, lightly shaking the phone in the air. "I don't remember you being given something like this. In fact, I'm sure I told you to stay away from technological devices."

Vox tried to sit up in the bed. "Val, I... that..."

When Valentino saw Vox's panic, his expression darkened even more. He gripped the phone tightly. "Who gave this to you? Who were you talking to?" Without raising his voice, he added, "Peppermint? Or that idiot scientist Baxter? Don't tell me it has anything to do with Alastor."

Vox flinched at the name. He couldn't tell the truth, but he also lacked the mental clarity to lie. "I think I found it in the hallway," he murmured, his voice trembling. "I was just curious."

Valentino didn't believe this weak lie. He quickly tried to unlock the phone, but the screen was locked. He shook the phone in irritation. "What's the password? Unlock it."

Vox didn't want to give the password. That phone was his only connection to Alastor. Losing it felt like being left in the dark. His eyes filled with tears. "Please, Val," he begged. "It's just a phone. I didn't do anything."

When Valentino saw Vox's tears, he grew even angrier. His weakness had always bothered him. He sat on the edge of the bed, bringing his face close to Vox's. "Darling," he whispered. "I'm worried about your well-being. Things like this make you sick. I have to protect you." He reached out and touched Vox's cheek. "Now tell me. What's the password?"

Vox felt the coldness of Valentino's hand. In a low voice, he told him the password.

Valentino entered the password, and the phone unlocked. He quickly checked the messaging app. He found the conversations with Alastor. His eyes narrowed as he read those short, scattered messages. An incredible rage appeared on his face. "What is this?" he turned to Vox. "You were messaging that radio maniac? Don't you know you need to stay away from this devil who's making you sick, messing with your mind?"

Vox bowed his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was just... bored. Lonely."

"Lonely?" This time, Valentino's voice rose. "I'm here! Velvette is here! We don't leave you alone! But you reject everything I've given you and choose to secretly talk to a monster who's ruining you!" He hurled the phone onto the bed in fury. "This is betrayal, Vox. Pure betrayal."

Vox began to sob. Inside him, there was guilt and fear. He started to think Valentino was right. Maybe Alastor was making him sick. Maybe Valentino was trying to protect him. "Forgive me," he murmured. "It won't happen again. I promise."

When Valentino saw Vox's desperate state, his anger subsided a bit, but there was still resentment and jealousy inside him. Vox directing his attention to someone else threatened his control. He slowly stood up. He picked the phone up from the bed. "No, it won't happen again," he agreed. "Because I'm taking this." He put the phone in his pocket. "And you, you're not leaving your room today. You'll take your meds and rest. Maybe this will help you come to your senses."

Vox nodded, lacking the strength to speak. Valentino gave him one last look, then left the room and locked the door behind him.

After leaving Vox's room, Valentino headed straight to his study. He slammed the door shut, then sat down at his desk. He pulled out the phone from his pocket and examined Vox's messaging history with Alastor once more. Each scattered, nonsensical message fueled his rage even further. It was an unacceptable betrayal to him, but now, he could turn this situation to his advantage.

He placed the phone on the desk. He massaged his temples with his fingers as he thought. To trap Alastor, he needed to mimic Vox's style. The disjointed, absent-minded messages Vox had written under the influence of the drugs could actually make his job easier. Alastor was already aware of Vox's condition; strange or inconsistent messages might not raise suspicion. His goal could be to provoke Alastor or learn something from him. Perhaps he wanted to understand how deep Alastor's interest in Vox truly was.

He tried to imitate the style of Vox's last messages. He chose the words slowly and thoughtfully, as if writing from the fog of Vox's mind.

Vox: The sounds stopped but my head is still noisy inside. Are you there?

He sent the message and began waiting. Until a response came, he pretended to deal with some papers on his desk, but his real attention was on the phone. A few minutes later, the phone vibrated.

Alastor: I'm always here, my dear enemy. I'm curious what the sounds are saying.

The mocking tone was still evident, but there was also a hint of interest. This was what Valentino wanted. To test Alastor's bond with Vox, he needed to push further. He started typing again, this time adding something a bit more personal.

Vox: I can hear you. Clearer than everyone else. Val is so far away. Always distant.

When he sent the message, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction inside. He wanted to make Alastor jealous or lure him in further with Vox's vulnerability. The response came quickly.

Alastor: Valentino always thinks of his own interests. That's no surprise, but there's someone who cares about you. Me.

Valentino gritted his teeth. Alastor's arrogance drove him mad, but he had to keep playing the game. From Vox's mouth, he needed to write something that would entice Alastor even more. Perhaps a cry, like a plea for help.

Vox: I'm scared. These drugs... they're suffocating me. I want to get out. I want to talk to you. For real.

As he wrote this message, he could almost hear Vox's voice. In fact, he was writing things that Vox might have truly felt. It was disturbing even for him, but he continued for the sake of his goal.

This time, the response took a bit longer. Valentino wondered if Alastor was taking the message seriously. Maybe he was suspicious. Finally, the phone vibrated.

Alastor: You don't need to be afraid. If you really want to talk, I'll find a way. Do you think Valentino can hold me back?

Valentino read Alastor's challenge. Rage stirred within him. Alastor was underestimating his power. He quickly typed a response, but this time he had to be more careful. He needed to maintain Vox's fearful and indecisive state.

Vox: I can't. He's watching me. Every moment. If I do something... it'll get worse.

After sending the message, he set the phone down on the desk. This game was tiring him out. Dealing with Alastor indirectly like this was out of the ordinary for him. Normally, he handled problems more directly, but everything involving Vox was complicated.

The phone vibrated again. Valentino picked it up immediately.

Alastor: Then we wait or maybe I should take action instead of you. It could be fun to get you out of that cage.

A smile appeared on Valentino's face. This was exactly what he wanted. Alastor was intent on doing something to rescue Vox. This was an opportunity for him to set a trap. If Alastor came, he could catch him unprepared and end this once and for all. He quickly wrote one last message.

Vox: Please. Be careful. He's very dangerous. He might be able to hear me.

He sent the message and turned off the phone. That was enough now. He would wait for when and how Alastor would make his move.

After reading the last message on his phone, Alastor began pacing wildly around the room. There was excitement inside him, that familiar, sweet thrill of planning something, making a move. The desperation in Vox's last message had felt like an invitation to him.

He headed straight to the hotel lobby, to the bar. His red coat fluttered lightly. The grin on his face was wider than ever. "Husk! Dear Husk!" He lightly tapped the bottles at the bar. "I think it's time for a bit of fun."

Husk looked at Alastor. His expression screamed deep weariness and "not again?" "What happened this time?"

Alastor ignored Husk's sarcasm; he couldn't contain his excitement. "I think our little enemy has finally called for help!" He waved his microphone in the air. "But it doesn't matter! Opportunity knocks!"

Husk let out a deep sigh. "Boss, please. What are you planning to do?"

"I'm going to take him, Husk!" Alastor explained, spreading his arms wide. "I'll rescue him from that dark, drug-scented room, from that disgusting moth's clutches! Maybe I'll bring him here, to the hotel! What do you think? Charlie would absolutely love it! A rescue story! And from whom? The Radio Demon!" The static in his voice increased with his excitement. "Just imagine, Husk. Taking his most valuable asset from Valentino's fortress... Wouldn't that be the perfect way to drive him mad? Besides," he added, lowering his voice a bit, "I can keep Vox right under my eyes. Watch him... recover. Return to his old self. Then maybe the game between us becomes even more enjoyable."

Husk immediately noticed the insincerity in Alastor's use of the word "recover." To him, Vox was still a source of entertainment, just now he wanted to control that entertainment more closely. "If you do this, Valentino will consider it a declaration of war. He'll come at you with all his power. He'll attack the hotel. You'll turn Charlie's peaceful sanctuary into a battlefield."

"Ah, but doesn't it need a little excitement?" Alastor countered, shrugging. "Let the hotel liven up. Besides, Valentino's power isn't as great as it's hyped up to be. I can handle him. Everything will go as I planned."

Husk rubbed his forehead. "Fine. You're going to take him. How? Are you going to go to VoxTech Tower and knock on the door? 'Hello Valentino, can I borrow Vox?'"

Alastor's excitement dimmed for a moment with Husk's realistic words, but it flared up again immediately. "Ah, details, details! That's my job! I'll slip through the shadows! I'll find him! Maybe I'll strike him with his own weapon, his technology! Manipulate the cameras, bypass the security systems! He's so sick and scattered that maybe Valentino isn't watching him too closely. A moment of inattention is all I need!"

Husk continued to grumble, but Alastor wasn't listening anymore. His eyes were distant, scenarios forming in his mind. "It'll be magnificent, Husk! You'll see!" he repeated, as if talking to himself. Then, suddenly, he turned toward the shadows. "I need to prepare! Observe! Wait for the right moment!" In an instant, he vanished into the shadows.

Husk stared at the spot where Alastor had disappeared. He let out another deep sigh, as if carrying the weight of the world. He lifted the bottle and poured himself a double.

Valentino had spent the last few hours making the final adjustments to his new security system, specially designed to capture Alastor. The system was equipped with sensors that specifically detected shadow movements and speakers emitting high-frequency, disturbing sounds. His goal was to stun Alastor by targeting his most sensitive point his ears and to restrict his ability to move between shadows. Additionally, powerful projectors placed in every corner of the room would activate instantly, illuminating everything and making it impossible for Alastor to hide in the shadows. After completing the final test, Valentino leaned back with satisfaction. Everything was ready. He was just waiting for his prey to fall into the trap.

Meanwhile, Alastor was planning to infiltrate the building by using the shadows like a door. Slipping through the shadows, he materialized next to a wall in Vox's corridor. He listened to his surroundings—it was silent. Without wasting any time, he headed toward the door of Vox's room.

He found Vox on the bed, awake but exhausted. Vox flinched when he saw Alastor. His mind was foggy from the effects of the drugs, but Alastor's presence triggered him as always. He tried to pull back on the bed, but his movements were sluggish. "Alastor," he whispered, "What are you doing here?"

Alastor stopped in the middle of the room, quickly scanning the area. "I'm getting you out of here."

Vox, with an instinctive fear, huddled even closer to the edge of the bed. His fear of Alastor combined with the numbness from the drugs, making him feel completely helpless.

Alastor took another step closer and extended his hand. "Come with me. We'll go to the hotel. I'll keep you safe."

Vox looked at Alastor's outstretched hand but didn't dare touch it. In his mind, Valentino's warnings echoed. That Alastor had made him sick, bewitched his mind... "Go," he repeated, his voice even weaker this time. "Please."

When Alastor saw Vox in such a terrified state, a rage boiled up inside him. He knew the source of this fear was Valentino. "The phone," he asked, as if it had just occurred to him. "Where's the phone I gave you? We texted with it."

Vox's eyes filled with tears. "He took it," he murmured. "Valentino took it. He read everything."

Alastor froze at these words. Now he understood why Vox's last messages had been so scattered and desperate. Those messages hadn't been written by Vox Valentino had. "Of course," he sighed, his expression hardening. "This was a trap." Valentino knew or hoped he would come. He knew he had to leave immediately. Just as he stepped back to merge into the shadows, Vox suddenly sat up.

"Do you... hear that sound?" Vox whispered, his eyes fixed on the corridor. "That sound..."

Alastor heard it too. A faint, hissing electrical noise coming from the corridor. Valentino was setting the trap.

In that moment, everything changed suddenly. The entire corridor lit up with a blinding whiteness, the lights surging to maximum level. At the same time, a wave of sound high-pitched, shrill, and unbearably disturbing filled the room and corridor. This sound was specifically targeted at Alastor's sensitive hearing. His head spun instantly, his vision darkened. For a moment, he lost his balance and clutched his head.

At that exact time, Vox saw what was happening. He saw Alastor staggering in pain, his face contorted. Through the fog of the drugs, the thought emerged that someone was hurting him. He couldn't think clearly due to the fear and drugs, but with an instinctive movement, he grabbed Alastor's arm. He tried to pull him toward himself, toward the bed. "Hide!" he shouted, his voice muffled with panic. "They're going to shoot you!"

Alastor was stunned by Vox's unexpected touch and pull. Was this a fear response, or... was he trying to protect him? This brief moment of hesitation took away his last chance to escape. Vox had pulled him toward himself, restricting his mobility.

At that moment, the door burst open, and Valentino stormed in with two burly security guards behind him. There was a triumphant, cold smile on his face. "I was waiting," His eyes shifted to Vox clinging to Alastor's arm, and his expression darkened for a moment. "What a touching scene."

Valentino gave a signal, and the security guards quickly advanced toward Alastor. Alastor tried to free himself. The guards grabbed him by the arms, holding him firmly and neutralizing him.

Alastor turned to Valentino, his grin returning to his face but with anger in his eyes. "What a creative welcome, Valentino, but your hospitality is a bit heavy-handed."

Valentino walked toward him. "Guests come with invitations, Alastor. You're a thief." Then he looked at Vox, who was still on the bed, trembling as he watched them. "Well done, my darling," he said in a mocking tone. "You managed to keep him here. You did a great job."

Then, he turned to Alastor, who had been brought to the ground. He leaned down and whispered in his ear. "You see, don't you? He's afraid because of you. You only bring him pain."

Alastor looked at Valentino with fury, but his eyes flicked to Vox for a moment. Vox was trembling with fear, unable to make sense of what was happening. Alastor remembered that small, protective gesture and now that worried look. Complex emotions stirred within him.

Valentino straightened up and signaled to the guards. "Take him to the special room downstairs. I'll... deal with him personally."

The guards lifted Alastor from the ground and dragged him out. Valentino gave Vox one last look. "You get back in bed and rest, my darling. You accomplished great things today." Then he closed the door and turned the lock.

Valentino had taken Alastor to a special room deep in the building. The room was almost empty, with only concrete walls and a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Alastor's hands were bound behind him with a thick chain attached to a ring on the wall. Valentino stood in front of the door, watching him in this state. There was a cold expression of satisfaction on his face. "Are you comfortable?" His voice echoed in the emptiness of the room. "I hope it's sufficiently cozy for your stay."

Alastor lifted his head. There was pain in his eyes, but his lips still held that unsettling grin. "This room feels a bit too cold for me, but I suppose I'll try to warm up in your company."

Valentino entered with slow steps. He walked toward Alastor and suddenly raised his hand, landing a hard punch on his face. His head jerked to the side, but the grin remained. It even widened.

"I can feel your power waning, Alastor," a grin appeared on his face. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have been caught so easily."

Alastor straightened his head, feeling the pain in his cheek. "I wasn't caught I was invited," he corrected, the static in his voice increasing for a moment. "Vox's voice called me here. You see, he's still thinking of me."

These words infuriated Valentino even more. He landed another punch, this time harder. "He's mine! He's always been mine! You have no right over him!"

Alastor licked the blood from the corner of his mouth with his tongue. "Is that so? Then why does he hear my voice instead of yours? Why does he make room for me in that small, fragile mind of his? While you fill him with drugs and fears, I was just... there."

Valentino couldn't take it anymore. Alastor's words showed how fragile his control was. He turned around in rage and walked to the door. "Rot here," he spat. "You'll never see him again." He slammed the door shut and left.

Around midnight, Alastor opened his eyes. The chains were touching the cold concrete, hurting his wrists. As he tried to shift his position, he was startled by a faint creak from the door. He lifted his head and saw Vox in the doorway. Vox stood there in his pajamas, with a pale face, looking at Alastor. His eyes were filled with fear and worry.

Alastor looked at him in surprise for a moment. "Vox? What are you doing here?" he whispered, his voice unusually serious. "If Valentino sees you, this won't end well for you."

Vox stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him. He didn't speak. He just looked at Alastor, the chains, and the small cuts on his face. There was deep guilt on his face. "I'm sorry," his voice was so weak it was almost inaudible.

"Don't apologize," Alastor replied. His eyes scanned Vox and noticed a dark stain seeping through the fabric on his upper left arm. His expression changed suddenly. "You're injured," the softness in his voice gave way to sharp concern. "What happened?" Deep down, he raged at the thought that Valentino had hurt him.

Vox looked at where Alastor was staring, at his bleeding arm. He shook his head lightly. "I tried to teleport," he explained, his voice still trembling. "I haven't done it in a long time. The door was locked... I wanted to get out of my room." He had made a clumsy attempt, and his body couldn't handle it.

When Alastor heard this explanation, the tense expression on his face softened slightly. It was replaced by an unusual, almost warm expression. A small curl appeared at the corner of his lips. "Did you do this... for me?"

Vox immediately averted his eyes. His cheeks flushed slightly.

Alastor leaned forward slightly to catch his gaze. "Vox," he called, in a more insistent tone. "You need to clean that wound. It could get infected. It could get worse."

Vox finally lifted his head and looked at Alastor's wrists, at how the chains had reddened and chafed his skin. "Do your... wrists hurt?"

Alastor paused for a moment. They did hurt a lot but "No," he said. "Don't worry about me." He wasn't telling the truth, and Vox knew it. His wrists were red, even cracked in some places.

Vox took another step closer. "Maybe I can... loosen them a bit," he suggested, in a voice lacking confidence. "The chains."

Alastor's gaze sharpened suddenly. "Are you serious?" he asked, his voice low and urgent. "Vox, you need to go back to your room. Valentino shouldn't see you here. Please, go."

But Vox seemed not to listen. He slowly moved behind Alastor, toward the ring where the chain was attached to the wall. He extended his hand and began fiddling with the metal ring with his weak fingers. He was trying to do something, to fix this small thing.

Alastor couldn't see him since his back was turned, but he could hear Vox's breathing and the sounds of his efforts. "Vox," he repeated, this time softer, almost pleading. "Please. Go."

At that moment, there was a faint click from the metal. Vox had managed to loosen the chain a little. Alastor felt the tension in his arms ease slightly. He took a deep breath.

Vox walked back around to face him, as if about to say something about what he'd done, but at that exact moment, Alastor suddenly raised one hand now freed from the chains and grabbed Vox's hand.

Vox flinched at the unexpected contact. He looked at Alastor. Alastor's hand was warm, and his wrist was red where Vox's fingers touched.

Alastor was looking into Vox's eyes. He wasn't grinning. "We're getting out of here," his voice clear and devoid of his usual playful tone. "Both of us. I promise."

The next morning, Valentino seemed to be hiding behind his newspaper, but he was watching Vox's every move out of the corner of his eye. Velvette was toying with a bowl of yogurt, occasionally glancing at Vox and then at Valentino, sighing. Vox, on the other hand, was staring blankly at the cornflakes in his bowl. The soggy, milk-soaked grains seemed to reflect his current state of mind. His thoughts were still on Alastor. Those chains, those reddened wrists...

"Sweetheart," Valentino called out, suddenly lowering the newspaper. The artificial sweetness in his voice made Vox shudder. "Don't you like your cornflakes? Or is your appetite off? Maybe it's time for your medication."

Vox jerked his head up in surprise. "No. I mean, I'm fine," he muttered. He picked up his spoon to take a bite, but his hand was shaking so much that the cornflakes fell halfway.

Velvette frowned as she watched the scene. "Leave him alone, Val. He's obviously not hungry." She gave Valentino a meaningful look. "Maybe he needs some rest today."

Valentino shot Velvette a sharp glance. "I know what's best for him, Velvette." Then he turned back to Vox. "I expect you to come to the office today, sweetheart. I've prepared a light workload. It'll keep you busy, distract your mind."

A fear settled in Vox's stomach. Going to the office meant being under Valentino's constant watch. He wouldn't have any chance to check on Alastor or bring him some food. "Val, I... I don't feel so good," a weak protest escaped his lips. "Maybe, like Velvette said, if I rested a bit more..."

A flicker of anger appeared on Valentino's face, but he quickly regained control. "The office will heal you, sweetheart. There, by my side, you'll be safe." This wasn't a suggestion; it was an order. It meant the conversation was over.

The rest of breakfast passed in heavy silence. Vox forced himself to take a few more bites, but each one stuck in his throat. Valentino continued reading his newspaper, but Vox knew he was watching every little movement, every breath. Velvette, after a while, couldn't stand it and started playing with her phone, but her fingers moved unnecessarily harshly.

Finally, Vox pushed his plate away. "I'm done," he said. His voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

Valentino folded the newspaper and set it aside. "Excellent." He stood up. "Then get ready. Let's head down to the office together."

In the spacious office on the top floor, the air was heavy, like a continuation of the tension from breakfast. Vox had been seated at a small workstation right next to Valentino's desk, prepared just for him. Valentino, meanwhile, was settled behind his massive desk, occasionally talking on the phone or checking emails. "Here, sweetheart," he extended a file toward Vox. "These are the draft texts for that new little ad campaign. I want you to take a look. I need your old flair, that sharp wit."

Vox took the file with trembling hands. He flipped through the pages.

"Is there a problem, darling?" Valentino's voice made him shudder. He had gotten up from his desk and come over. His tall frame cast a shadow over Vox.

"No, no. Just... trying to focus," Vox muttered, fixing his eyes on the file.

Valentino placed his hand on Vox's shoulder. "You know, if you're not feeling well, you can take your medication. It'll calm you down, help you focus."

Vox's heart leaped into his throat. The drugs meant shutting down his mind completely, forgetting Alastor and his promise. "No!" As Valentino looked surprised, he quickly composed himself. "I mean... I'll handle it myself. I'm fine."

Valentino withdrew his hand from the shoulder. "Alright. Suit yourself." He returned to his desk, but now he wasn't pretending to read the newspaper. He was openly watching Vox.

Vox tried to look at the words in the file. "Next Generation Communication" read the headline slogan. It felt meaningless. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Alastor's reddened wrists came to mind. Was he in pain? Was he hungry?

Just then, the door cracked open slightly, and Velvette entered. She had a tablet in hand. She looked not at Valentino, but directly at Vox. "Vox, I want your opinion on this new interface design," her voice was neutral and businesslike. "Do you have a minute?"

Valentino opened his mouth to intervene, but Velvette cut him off. "Just five minutes, Val. It's work-related. It'll distract Vox."

Vox looked at Velvette with gratitude. This was a chance to breathe. Valentino nodded reluctantly. "Five minutes."

Velvette led Vox to her desk in the other corner of the room. She placed the tablet in front of him; it showed a colorful interface draft. In a low voice, she asked, "How are you?"

Vox shook his head, unable to speak. His eyes welled up.

"Listen," Velvette whispered, pretending to explain something on the tablet. "Hang in there. Just a little longer."

"He's going to hurt him," Vox whispered, his voice broken. "Valentino... he's keeping him down there. Chains..."

Velvette's face hardened. "I know," she said in a short, firm tone. "But you need to pull yourself together right now. You have to look strong. Otherwise, Valentino will drug you into oblivion with those pills." She took the tablet back. "Got it?"

Vox took a deep breath and nodded. Velvette was right. He had to play the game.

Vox returned to Valentino's side. He tried to neutralize his expression, to stop his hands from shaking. He picked up the file again. This time, he could read a sentence. Then another. His mind was still foggy, but Velvette's words had given him a purpose. He would endure. He would wait for the moment Alastor walked through that door, and perhaps, when that moment came, he needed to start gathering his own strength to be ready to escape. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and finally, for the first time in months, he began to write a meaningful sentence.

Valentino noticed the change immediately. His eyes were fixed on Vox's focused gaze on the screen. His brows furrowed slightly. This wasn't the reaction he expected. He wanted Vox to withdraw further, to become more desperate, to eventually seek refuge in the drugs. This small revival was a challenge to his control. "You seem to be making progress, sweetheart," he called out. "So coming to the office is doing you good."

Without lifting his head, Vox muttered, "Yes." There was a hint of confidence in his voice, small as it was. "Just... trying to focus on work."

"Of course," Valentino stood up and slowly came over to him. He looked over Vox's shoulder at what was written on the screen. "It's nice to see you back to your old self." He placed his hand on Vox's shoulder again, this time tighter, more possessive. "But don't overdo it. Start slow."

Vox felt the pressure on his shoulder. Valentino's touch felt like a warning, not a congratulations. I'm here. I'm watching you. Don't go too far. A rebellion stirred inside him, but he kept his expression neutral. He just nodded. "Of course, Val. You're right."

Valentino stood there for a while longer, his hand still on Vox's shoulder. Then, finally, he pulled away and returned to his desk, but now there was no newspaper pretense. He was staring openly.

When lunchtime arrived, Valentino had to leave for a meeting. As he closed the door, he gave Vox one last look. "Peppermint will take care of you. You can tell her anything you need." This wasn't freedom; it was just a change in surveillance.