The next evening Angel made sure to leave the studio last. Thankfully the shooting schedule was not nearly as brutal as the day before and he was out the door just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. The shadows were growing long and ominous as night began to take hold.

Angel left from a door he didn't normally use. A back door that didn't see much traffic. He lingered for an extra minute pretending to be distracted by his phone, just long enough to allow a shadow to sneak in before the door came to a close.

Alastor was very wary. He knew this was a major risk, but he had to know what was on the 19th floor, and Angel refused to help any more than he already had. However, moving about the tower would be tricky. Yes, he could stick to the shadows easily enough, but he could not guarantee he would be able to hide the whole time and even he, with his limited understanding of modern technology, knew that his main source of trouble would be the security cameras. Their little red lights blinked around every corner, staring down every corridor. He would have to be smart as well as stealthy. With a crack of the neck and an adjustment to the bowtie, he assured himself that he would be able to manage and began to follow the rudimentary directions that Angel had given him the night before.

Moving through the darkness was simple at first, but as he got deeper into the bowls of V
Tower more and more employees roamed the halls. Luckily they all seemed to be in a hurry. Working 24 hours a day, seven days a week to move the cogs of the machine that kept the empire afloat, none had time to peer into the shadows or investigate a random odd sound. So he evaded, and soon he could hear the subtle ding of the elevators just around the bend.

"But you're not going to go there." He could hear Angel's words in his head. "The elevators have double security and knowing you, you'll probably get stuck in one not knowing how to work it."

"There were elevators in the 1920s," Alastor protested.

"Whateva ya say, old man," Angel continued as he drew a rough map on a piece of paper. "You're going to the stairs. No one uses the stairs unless they're hooking up, so you should be ok."

Alastor turned right, away from the elevators' sounds. After a few more turns and a tense moment when he thought a wandering employee had spotted him (luckily she was too bogged down with a stack of paperwork she was holding to notice and that one of the shadows looked a little different than the others.) he found the door labeled 'stairs.'

There were no cameras in the stairwell, so he was able to resume his normal form. He stood silent and still for a long moment, his long ears twitching this way and that listening for any sound. Nothing, except for the low hum of his own breathing. Alastor began to climb.

He took the stairs two at a time, his long legs propelling him upward past the 5th and 6th floor. He made swift time, stopping every now and then to listen. He had made it to the 11th floor before hearing anything at all. However, he suddenly became aware of two others in the stairwell. Their huffing and puffing made it very obvious exactly what they were up to, but he was fortunate that they were loud enough that their sounds quashed any noises he may have made in his haste.

Alastor pressed himself against the wall and rolled his eyes at the annoying obstruction. He would have to wait for the two to be done before moving on. His skin crawled listening. Thankfully, the wait was not long. Suddenly there was the tell-tale moan of someone reaching climax followed by a very disappointed voice.

"Is that it?"

"Uh, sorry. What did you expect?" They didn't sound very sorry at all. This was followed by more huffing, though of a different nature now, and rustling as the two presumably gathered their things and fixed their rumpled clothing. "What? Are you mad now?"

"What a fucking stupid question. Of course I'm mad, dick-for-brains."

Alastor closed his eyes and shook his head. Oh, how he hated people.

The sounds of angry voices and heavy steps climbed the stairs and then disappeared all together with the slamming of a door. Once he was sure he was alone again, Alastor continued his ascent until finally he came to a door with a bold, black 19 printed on it. He hesitated.

Now he would be entering the unknown. Angel could not tell him what to expect on the other side. So he was on his own from here on out.

The door swung open with a quiet squeak revealing nothing but darkness, lit only by the random emergency lights. Alastor took a quick assessment. He did not see any red blinking lights in the dark, so not security cameras. Whatever was here, Vox did not want any footage of it. Or maybe there was nothing here to actually warrant cameras. It looked as if the entire floor was simply abandoned. There was nothing but a large empty space, perhaps at one time used as a bullpen for workers, but now completely vacant. Not even a forgotten office chair remained. No windows either. Only a singular door stood dark and silent across the open space.

Alastor took one last look around, half convinced it was some sort of trap, before moving to investigate the door. He found a deadbolt locked from the outside. An eyebrow raised, curious. Locked doors meant nothing to him, of course. As long as there was a crack big enough for a shadow, he could maneuver a locked door just fine, but what would be lurking on the other side? It could still be a trap. There may be cameras or even Vox himself on the other side, but he had come too far not to take the chance. So ever so quietly, he slipped in.

Another room of darkness. This time it was near pitch black. Luckily, Alastor's demon eyesight was well adapted to deal with the dark. He could make out shapes, but what he was seeing did not make any sense to him. It seemed to be fashioned into a bedroom. There was, what looked to be, a vanity and mirror, dresser, and bed.

In the bed, he could just make out a mess of black tangles.

His breath caught in the back of his throat as something in his mind snapped. All sense of where he was or the situation he was in left him. Lost was the need to be stealthy and secret. With abandon he crossed to the bed, placed a hand on the sleeping figure, and rolled them over to face him.

There was a gasp in the dark. One full of fear and surprise. One that sent off bells of familiarity in his brain. AS the figure whipped around, Alastor was suddenly met by a pair of emerald green eyes.