That night, the one filled with drunken laughter and shared amusement that left two people completely and utterly enthralled by each other. Had dissipated into nothing more than a fleeting memory. The reluctant goodbyes were still hanging in the air. Neither one of them had wanted to leave, but it had to end somewhere. And it did.

And now? It had been days since they had seen each other, since Vox had felt something shift in his soul like he had finally met the one he didn't even know he was looking for...

The one he didn't know he had wanted.

But he wasn't going to admit that. No, no it was far too early for that.

And even if he wanted to, how could he? He couldn't even explain why the night was affecting him so badly, but ever since then everything just felt... off. Boring even. It was as if his world had gone grayscale, muted and lifeless. His usual activities didn't hold the same thrill. And every conversation he'd engage in would drag on, and Vox would try so desperately hard to reach for a spark that wasn't there.

Worst of all Vox could barely sleep. His mind wouldn't shut up, wouldn't let him forget the way Alastor had looked at him. The way his static laced voice had wrapped around him, pulling him in with every word. It was maddening.

And now here he was, exhausted.

Vox's screen flickering faintly as he sat slumped in his office chair, the tip of his shoe lazily pushing him back and forth in a rocking motion. He should be working, doing anything that would distract him from his now dull existence.

But he wasn't.

He simply couldn't because every time he tried to focus or close his eyes he saw him. Alastor. Sitting there laughing, rambling- Looking at him as if he were the most exciting damn thing in hell.

And fuck how he liked it, had liked the fact Alastor seemed to understand him like no one else did. And he had done it in one night, one fucking night. He even liked the way the bastard spoke, with that theatrical confident flare. Vox didn't even think it was possible to talk like that.

Vox let his head fall back against the chair, a hot heavy sigh leaving him as he kicked off the floor spinning into a slow lazy circle.

Even now as he sat there sulking he saw him. His unwavering wide grin glinting under the lights, his eyes shifting up playfully into crescent moons. His unwavering confidence radiating off of him as if he knew something others didn't-... and maybe he did.

Alastor was truly magnificent. The name alone sent a static pulse through Vox, weaving its way around his mind.

His foot pushed off the floor again, sending him into another slow, weightless spin. The pixels on his screen slowing and shifting into darker hues.

"I'm screwed," he muttered.

Vox knew this wasn't just admiration or a passing attraction. No- this was dangerous. This was the kind of thing that made him crave more, that made his fingers itch to find any way of contacting him, to see him again, to hear his voice, to know if Alastor was thinking about him too.

Vox groaned, shutting his eyes as he came to an abrupt stop. His mind was buzzing, his body sore from the lack of sleep.

"Get a grip it was just a night." Vox shifted in his seat leaning forward. His elbows on his knees and his hands pressing against his screen, "All we did was talk and drink." Vox let out a nasty groan as his body jerked forward, "But somehow, SOMEHOW the bastard was able to make it exhilarating!"

He let out a Huff and roughly fell back into his chair causing him to roll back and hit his desk, but he didn't care. Because that night- God that night.

All they had done was talk and drink, but Alastor was able to make it electric. There were no games, no seduction, no calculated power plays. Just-... connection. It was real and natural and it made Vox's soul hum and twitch. Alastor had matched him for all his energy. understood him, saw him.

Vox let out a warm sigh, his eyes half lidded.

Vox has tons of sinners watching him everyday. They look at him in fanatic awe wherever he goes. But Alastor? Oh how Vox could melt beneath that gaze. Alastor didn't just look at him like he was just another hotshot Overlord with power and influence. No, Alastor had looked at him like he was something new, something worth watching, worth entertaining.

Vox hadn't even realized how starved he'd been for it all until he'd gotten a taste.

Vox hummed as his mind wandered, flashes of the night replaying in his mind. But as soon as Alastors drunken half lidded eyes caught his own, his breath hitched as he was thrown out of his little daydream. His face flush as he tried to regulate his erratic breathing.

'Oh fuck.' is all he could think.

He was acting like a complete fool over a man he barely even knew-... he barely knew.

The realization struck him hard, the weight of it leaving him breathless. All this obsessing, all the energy, all this want for someone who slipped into his life for a minute of conversation. Someone he knew nothing about. Sure Vox heard the whispers, the stories, and the title 'Radio Demon' had rung a distant bell in his mind when Alastor had introduced himself, but who exactly was he?

Vox felt his stomach tighten in excitement, he wanted to know everything. He thrived on information and information about Alastor? Now that sounds even better.

Vox felt a grin creep onto his screen as he straightened himself out, he spun himself around to face his desk. His fingers twitching in excitement. 'Finally' he thought 'something exciting.'

His fingers danced over his keyboard, the keys clicking as he tapped on them. His digital eyes scanned the large screen in front of him, thousands of links and articles appeared.

'The Infamous Radio Demon\TheInfoManical.'

'Radio Dead? Or '

'Search Photos of '

Vox pushed his lips forward musing over them all before clicking a random one. The first result was as expected.

Alastor, The Radio Demon. A performer. A radio host. Infamous. Manipulative. Cunning. A demon whose broadcast can sway thousands-

'blah blah blah surface level bullshit' Vox thought rolling his eyes. He wasn't surprised that all this was basic information about Alastor. The information that everyone saw. But Vox wants the stories, the tales told through whispers. What were they? He wants to know them all.

Vox groaned as he read another useless article, "That's not what I fucking want. How did the prick get into power?" Irritated, he quickly erased his previous search and tried again. He leaned in looking over the new results, the glow of the larger screen clashing with his own. "That's more like it," he smirked.

THE WHISPER / FEATURE ARTICLE "THE RADIO DEMON: FROM THE SHADOWS HE CAME"

No one knows who he was before he came into power. His reign had come without warning, rising from the shadows. And when he rose, Hell's pride ring changed forever.

Most know him by his title. The Radio Demon. Fewer know what it means.

THE INFAMOUS BROADCAST

The first known appearance of the demon who's real name is Alastor, who would later come to be called the Radio Demon occurred decades ago. Though there isn't much information about the earliest days of Alastor. The records being corrupted or outright missing. What is clear however is that in a single night several Overlords vanished. No they didn't vanish, they had been eradicated, slaughtered for all of Hell to hear.

It was an incident that Hell's pride ring will never forget. From the depths of Hell's most obscure corners to the ears of the highest elites. Through the radios bled the static filled screams of the missing Overlords. The most terrifying part of the whole ordeal was that under all those pained blood curdled screams was the manic laughter of a man who found joy in their misery.

It wasn't just a slaughter fest on the air, Alastor had hosted his massacre. He had spoken as if it were all just a show. It was entertainment fueled on the despair of the agonized souls.

From that day on the whispers of the terrified sinners referred to him as "The Radio Demon."

Vox's eyes were wide, staring in shock at the screen in front of him, "a single day?" he muttered.

He was dumbfounded. It took him decades to build up his power, but Alastor? The man did it in a single day. Vox felt his lips curve up an uneasy laugh leaving him, "You really know how to sway a crowd don't you?"

Vox should be listening to the warning flags going off in his mind telling him to be afraid.

But he wasn't.

And why should he? Alastor liked him, and was entertained by him. Hell he drank with him!

And damn, how good it feels to know that. To know that, that kind of power isn't aimed at him.

It was thrilling.

Alastor is powerful, powerful in ways that Vox simply isn't.

Vox, for all his charm, all his success, was still a relatively new Overlord. He made a name for himself, he'd built an empire that helped claw his way through the ranks. But he knew the truth, he wasn't feared like he should be. Sure he was respected, admired, and fawned on by thousands. Watched. But not feared. And worse? The older more powerful Overlords dismissed him as just some flashy gaudy newcomer.

Alastor could change that.

He could be his ticket, his shortcut to that power. Vox could use him to get what he wants, to rise further.

It was the perfect plan.

Vox was grinning now with a wicked nasty grin. His soul was blazing with anticipation. His fingers drumming the desk in front of him.

All he needed to do was get close to Alastor, closer than anyone had ever before. Be the one that he listened to, the one he reached for when he needs it, the one he lets in.

And then?

He'd use him.

Not in some sort of crude manipulative way. No, no that would be too painstakingly obvious.

Instead he'll slowly weave his way into Alastors life. Building a bond, a partnership so deep and intertwined, that it would only be natural for Alastor to lend his power to whatever Vox wanted to create.

Oh the things they could create together- could build together.

They were two sides of the same coin. Video and radio, the perfect blend. Hell wouldn't even get a chance to blink before it sees them carve themselves into it. Their signal would be unstoppable and more than that? It would be addictive. The masses wouldn't even want to get rid of it.

Alastor would make them listen, Vox would make them watch.

And in the end?

Vox would have it all. Power, control, and Alastor to entertain him.

Power hungry or not, selfish or not. He wasn't faking the way Alastor made him feel. All of it was genuine, because Vox had fun because Alastor was fun, so much fun. And it was all real and unfiltered. It was a laugh till it hurt, kind of fun.

Alastor was able to peel back all the layers he had built around himself, Vox was able to relax and put his image to the side for one night and just be himself.

So yes Vox wants to use him.

But he also just wants him around. For the laughs. The drinks. The knowing understanding looks and the sharp edge of back and forth conversations. To be able to feel the same electricity that burned itself into Vox's mind that night. He wanted it all and more.

Of Alastor.

Of the power and influence.

Of the fun.

And he would be damned if he didn't get it because he always gets what he wants.

Vox leaned back into his chair, a giddy manic giggle erupting from within him. His mind was already buzzing and racing ahead, thinking, planning, dreaming.

The radio station was silent, the usual buzz of static gone. The only sound was the pouring of whiskey into a glass.

Alastor hummed as he screwed the whiskey bottle closed and placed it back on the cart. He took his glass and strolled over to his love seat and fell onto it. A soft pleased sigh escaped his lips.

The evening light peered in through the closed curtains, casting shadows that danced across the room. The polished dark wooden floor glistened under the soft rays of light.

Alastor snapped his fingers letting smooth jazz fill the atmosphere. He closed his eyes, a soft faint smile resting on his face.

He wasn't daydreaming. No, Alastor didn't allow himself to get swept away into such thoughts. But he was thinking. Reflecting and remembering how that night with Vox had gone. It was an enjoyable evening, the dinner, the conversation, the drinks.

Alastor chuckled, bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a sip. His body adjusting into a more comfortable position on the loveseat.

Vox was about to leave that evening after the meeting. And he almost had, but Alastor had caught him just in time. However Vox was still all too dismissive and arrogant when he did, but Alastor had seen through him, he had seen the fascinated glint in his digital eyes and when he did Alastor let his charm and curiosity weave out an innocent invitation. A simple dinner somewhere nice, with no strings attached. And even though he had thought the Overlord to be exciting he hadn't expected much, perhaps a shallow conversation, and a bit of rude banter, but what he got was pleasantly enjoyable.

It had been fun, genuine fun.

Alastor hadn't had that kind of fun in years. Most of his interactions were dull performances, games he played with intent to toy or manipulate. But Vox? Vox had played right back. He'd challenged him, humored him, somehow laughed in sync with him. And it wasn't out of fear, but out of sheer enjoyment.

Alastor grinned his head tilting back against the loveseat. His foot kicked itself into the air and rested on the coffee table in front of him.

He had found someone interesting. How rare.

The night was a mess, really. Two Overlords drinking too much, rambling on about everything and nothing at all, laughing till they couldn't sit up straight. And then a few moments, just a few. Where time seemed to stand still, when their drunken half lidded eyes looked into each other. A knowing understanding being passed between them through the gaze.

And maybe that's what caught him off guard, the feeling that seemed to creep up his spine when it happened. A feeling Alastor couldn't quite describe.

Maybe it was the fact Alastor didn't know what he expected from Vox, but there was something thrilling about watching him.

Vox was a vibrant, flashy, cocky Overlord and he was utterly infatuated with him.

Oh yes, he was aware.

Vox was completely wrapped up into him and their little conversation.

Alastor was amused by it, flattered even. Knowing that the new ambitious Overlord, drunk off whiskey and power. Who thought himself so clever and so confident was now utterly distracted and enthralled by him.

It was honestly just delightful.

Alastor taking another sip from his glass felt his smile soften ever so slightly.

It wasn't just amusing, it also felt nice.

Because for once, all that interest and attention wasn't based in fear or malice. Vox respected him, sure he wasn't an idiot. But he wasn't afraid. He wasn't trying to be careful and tiptoe his way around him. Oh no, Vox was engaged in the conversation, letting himself relax into it as if he hadn't a care in the world.

And that was captivating.

Alastor's grin widened, the fire in his eyes returning at the thought of watching him evolve. He could barely contain himself from shaking with excitement, he couldn't wait to see what Vox has in store for hell.

However, Vox. That ridiculous spectacle of a man. He was so desperate for power. So transparent in the way he chased it.

Alastor could see it all so clearly, through all his talk and motivations he could practically hear the buzzing of hunger seeping out of his words. It was the kind of hunger that festers deep inside gnawing for more. It was a nasty type of greed.

It was almost too easy. Too easy to see right through him. And that's what made it funny.

Alastor was able to catch Vox's attention so quickly, so fast. The man was enthralled by a smile and a smooth clever talk- a quick innocent glance. He acted like a giddy child with a fascinating new toy.

Alastor chuckled watching the amber liquid in his glass swirl around, "Oh my dear picture box, you really are something special aren't you?"

Vox had no idea what he had just stumbled into. This was going to be exciting and Alastor was going to enjoy every second of it. Because it's been awhile and he was more than ready to start something new.

The way Vox spoke of ideas and the way he talked about the bore of everything in hell. That restless hunger, that discontent.

Alastor wondered if he felt it too, that insatiable itch to watch it all crumble. Because if he did now wouldn't that be exciting? If that underneath all that pesky greed he was just as dissatisfied as he was. And if he wasn't?

Well. Alastor could shape him.

Not forcefully of course. Alastor didn't believe in dragging people by their hair towards change. That never worked, but if he nudged him here, whispered there... then maybe just maybe he could loosen Vox's death grip on his silly obsession over power.

He wasn't built for that kind of battle. Not yet anyways. Alastor had seen Overlords burn out and crumble to dust before their fire ever had the potential to burn. Oh and there was potential in Vox. Oh yes there was, but it was all so unrefined and sloppy. Vox with all his screens and bravado, his restless ambition. He was far too easy and readable. Someone was bound to see the cracks in his pristine image. Someone who could and would take advantage of them.

The fool was going to get himself killed through his reckless behavior.

Alastor grimaced, taking a swig of his drink, letting the amber liquid swish in his mouth, burning every crevice before swallowing. His fingers twitching and tightening around the glass, as he felt his stomach tighten in vile frustration.

He'd be damned if that happened, oh no not his new favorite distraction. His new source of entertainment.

He'd just have to protect him. From the shadows of course. Quietly. Casually. Nothing ever spoken out loud. Vox wouldn't even notice.

Then he'd let Vox chase his power, for now. Let him have his little illusion of control, but Alastor would be there. In the shadows, slowly guiding him, gently nudging him. He would toss in the pieces and let them fall as they may. To refine and build up what he knows Vox has the potential of being.

Alastor sighed in relief sinking further into the plush cushions of the love seat. The knot in his stomach relaxing again.

He wondered if soon, would Vox be willing to let it all go? Would he be able to stop clinging to the idea of control and just step back and watch everything collapse beneath him. Would he laugh at it, the way Alastor would and did?

Would he dance in the fire? Or- would he, in the end, still try to own the ashes?

Alastor softly tossed his head up lazily looking at the ceiling. He mused over the idea thinking if the Overlord was already too far gone or if there was any shred of hope in lifting him out of the race. It was intriguing to want to know the answer.

But then- his thoughts took another turn.

Television.

He had stopped to take a look at the vibrant screens on his way home that night. The displays in window shops flickering neon images that caught his eye.

And he had to admit-

He wasn't a fan.

The bright, garish screens. The jittering hollow displays. The unnatural way images seemed to move and the way sound seemed to distort and flatten.

It just doesn't hold the same level of intimacy and warmth that radio has. Radio is a pure form of connection. A voice filling the space of your room, slipping into your mind, unfiltered and unburdened by an unnecessary spectacle.

Television is a tacky,

Over the top,

Eyesore of a medium.

...

Which now that he thought about it, did suit that cocky, erratic, Overlord rather well.

Alastor chuckled to himself, his hand resting on his forehead as he shook his head.

Vox, with his bright neon glow and flashing grins. His ridiculous bravado and ceaseless showmanship of course he'd attach himself to something so obnoxiously loud- but he supposed that was just a part of his charm.

And if Alastor was being honest he did find the man to be rather charming.

Tacky taste and all.

However there was something unnerving about the fact Vox was almost the complete embodiment of Television or- anything having to do with the modern world.

Television and radio.

Two forces, both designed to captivate viewers, to entertain them. But they were fundamentally different.

Radio is all about the sound, the voice, the whisper in the dark. One that you blindly let yourself listen to. The sound seeping through the speakers along with soft buzzing static that slips into the hidden places of the mind. It creates a carefully curated vulnerability between the host and the listener. Radio is a tool for control and persuasion.

Television is all about image.

It is obnoxiously Loud and too Flashy. A Performance, built on illusion. It creates faces that aren't real, expressions and images that could be manipulated. It was a version of the truth that wasn't true at all.

And Vox?

Vox was television.

Alastor always thrived in the shadows, where fear came from, where the unknown was his best ally.

But Vox?

He took center stage. Basking in with all the glitz and glamor that came with the spotlight, the spectacle was made to distract and entertain, to dazzle the masses into compliance.

That was dangerous.

If Alastor should let himself get too close to whatever erratically intoxicating thing that Vox was? He could be a liability.

But Hell was already filled with all sorts of dangerous fiends and risks, so Alastor let himself relax at the thought. He would just have to be careful as to not get too swept away in the thrill of it all. Just like he always does.

He will not- could not let Vox become a liability. Not for his entertainment.

Alastor drank the rest of the liquid in his glass. His eyes glistening with knowing content as they flickered back up to the ceiling, his voice soft and playful as he murmured, "You're not ready, darling. Not yet, but I'll make sure you get there."