Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Vox couldn’t do this anymore. He simply couldn’t.

After losing everything and everyone hating him, there wasn’t anything to live for anymore. The afterlife was torture- which he supposed was the point- but he… he just couldn’t do it anymore.

He wanted to just stop. Stop existing, stop thinking, stop everything.

Eight years ago, that would have been impossible. Every single person who had ever arrived in hell was still around before the first extermination, but now, with angelic steel, he could finally truly die.

Or, he would’ve been able to- if it weren’t for his friends. After his little melt-down where he tried to kill half the city, Velvette and Valentino decided he was a risk to his own and other people’s safety and locked him up in his own penthouse.

He swore that he was fine, but he had yet to prove that to them, so they didn’t trust it. They both said they were doing this because they cared, but if that was true, then why couldn’t they just leave him to die in peace?

Once they’d given him back his body about a month after The Might of Lilith incident, they took his phone, his computers, his TVs- anything that could access the internet- and stored it all far away from him. (They let him keep the radio on the bookshelf and acted like it was a kindness instead of a constant reminder of the man who had caused him to destroy everything he’d built. He didn’t even know why he’d bothered to keep it in the first place.) They also took any and all mildly sharp objects. They even took his favorite shark-patterned blanket, fearing that it could be used as a noose.

Obviously, they took anything made of angelic steel too. That was the main thing they were concerned about, they knew he had fully intended to die on The Might of Lilith that fateful day.

They didn’t even add cameras with the fear he might be strong enough to teleport away using their wires. He’d not been able to check his approval rating, but considering it was directly linked to his powers, it must be high enough that they were concerned he would still be able to teleport.

At least not everyone hated him, he guessed.

Didn’t mean he didn’t still want to die, but that was a given when he’d lost everything because of his own stupidity.

They left him with books- and that stupid radio- and that was about it. Velvette would take him to see Shock.wav every few days, and both Val and Vette would take turns having sleep-overs with him and bringing him food in the mornings and evenings. One of them would be there when he woke up and for breakfast, then the other would be there for dinner and while he slept.

But that was it. From 9 am to 8 pm most days, he was completely alone.

He hated being so reliant on them both- he was supposed to be their leader!- but he couldn’t help but be grateful each time one of them returned from their busy day. He couldn’t stand being alone, so most days he would just sleep or read the new marine biology books they brought him every now and then.

Velvette and Valentino kept trying to get him to take the medications the team of VoxTech doctors had prescribed to him, but he would refuse each and every time. The one time they’d forced them into his mouth and held his gills shut so he had to swallow in order to breathe, he’d only thrown them up an hour later, much to their frustration.

There’d been more than one occasion where one of them had yelled at him for not accepting help and told him they were giving up on him, but they always came back within the week. He hoped one day they would truly give up and just let him die, but he knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

They loved him too much to give up, and he hated that with his entire heart. Didn’t they know he was a lost cause? Didn’t they know he was too far gone to ever come back? Didn’t they know he could never again be strong?

Why did they even love him in the first place, now that he was useless? Didn’t they know that usefulness is what earns worth and love?

Of course, he would love them both even if they weren’t useful to him too, but that was a weakness on his part, and they were both so strong. They couldn’t have that weakness in them too, because if they did, they would only end up like him too, and he didn’t want that for them.

One night, while Velvette and Val were both busy with a mandatory attendance overlord event- basically one of those stiff parties where no one has fun- and couldn’t babysit him, he was going through his internal files and deleting unnecessary ones. That was one of the ‘perks’ of having cameras for eyes- every memory was photographic. Unfortunately, that meant a lot of unnecessarily high-quality pictures and videos of himself eating cereal, staring at the ceiling or trying to fall asleep.

He would hate to have his most important and sensitive memories somewhere that other people could access, so he had to do this every few months to avoid overfilling his memory banks. He likened it to snipping diseased or damaged branches off a plant- it hurt for a moment, but it kept everything running smoothly in the long run.

He’d never dared to delete anything important, just the moments that he knew he would have more of. He could remember everything about a conversation, but he didn’t need to know how many people he passed on the street daily. It was pretty much what a human mind would do automatically, but he had to do it manually. It sucked being a tech demon sometimes.

It was then that he had an idea- What if he deleted himself?

Unlike a physical death, nothing was stopping him from deleting everything in the past few months or even decades- everything that made him Vox.

This version of himself would be effectively dead- gone- buried! Oh, how nice that sounded…

It wouldn’t truly be properly killing himself, but it was close enough to where he wanted to do it anyway.

As a test, he wrote a physical note to himself that explained his plan and set it on his lap, only to delete the last five minutes of thought.

Vox woke up, seemingly having fallen asleep while deleting some unnecessary memories to find a note in his lap in his own handwriting. He couldn’t recall writing it, which was mildly creepy, but once he read it, it all made sense.

He could truly delete this version of himself, and he would be gone. Truly gone.

The current him would be dead, just like the version of him who’d had the idea in the first place was dead.

He couldn’t delete his physical body, they’d taken away all the angelic steel, AKA his only method to double-die. Then again, was it even truly dying that way? What if there was an after-afterlife? He didn’t really believe it, but he hadn’t believed in heaven and hell before he died either, so there’s that?

But deletion… there was no way to get that version of himself from five minutes ago back now- it was too late. And it could be too late for himself too, if he did it.

And oh, how he wanted to do it.

Vox could join his other self with the click of a button. 

He felt a wave of pure relief wash through him. He could finally die. He could finally be free from everything.

Sure, a past version of himself would still exist, but was that really him? He didn’t think so. Was the version of him who’d had the idea dead now? Well, he certainly wasn’t with him in his mind… it felt like someone else had told him the idea rather than coming up with it himself- so yeah, that version of him was dead.

Truly dead. Gone. Every other synonym for ‘at peace’ and ‘happy’.

He would have to leave a note as to why he couldn’t remember anything, because he wouldn’t be able to explain it himself, but he could just die without the hassle of pain.

When had he last been happy? Everything after that should be what he’ll forget.

Maybe if it was a version of himself that had yet to do all the bad things he’d done, then maybe that version could be forgiven. Maybe the other him could be happy.

For the first time in however long it had been since The Might of Lilith, he smiled.

The other him would be happy, and he would be gone. It was a win for both of them.

Vox began grouping his life into two massive folders- ‘before’, and ‘after’.

Everything in the ‘after’ folder would be gone by morning, and so would he.

Chapter Text

Vincent woke with a start, and was instantly greeted by a pounding headache.

He let out a groan and tried to recall what happened the night before, but strangely enough, he came up with next to nothing.

The last thing he could recall was hanging out with Alastor at their favorite bar. It was pretty normal for the pair to meet up on Fridays at that bar, so that in and of itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. His plans for the night were, but it was best not to dwell on that for too long, otherwise he’d start panicking and doubting himself.

But he couldn’t seem to recall anything more than simply hanging out with Alastor, or even anything after it. He had no idea whether he got a taxi or walked home. Hell, he couldn’t even remember leaving the bar or if he’d gotten the courage to ask Alastor that million-dollar question.

That was… mildly concerning.

He’d never gotten drunk enough to black out, but he couldn’t think of any other explanation, and it would add up with his plans for the night that he’d needed some more liquid courage than usual. He didn’t even feel particularly hungover, but then again, he had only just woken up.

He’d probably feel worse in a minute or two. That was a comforting thought.

His eyes cracked open slowly, but he quickly realized something was off.

This was not his room.

Or his apartment.

Or anywhere he recognized.

He sat up.

Or more accurately, he tried to.

He more so launched himself upwards, his body overcompensating for weight that wasn’t there and nearly falling off the bed.

Somehow, his head was… lighter than it should be. Like, significantly lighter.

His clawed hands found their way to his face and felt around. There were several things that were very different- for one, his screen was flat. The fact that that was even possible was news to him. He’d been trying to produce smaller televisions for years, and part of that initiative was to make screens flat- but that should have been years- if not decades- of work and technological advancements away from reality.

Secondly, front to back, his screen was the width of a finger. That certainly explained the weight difference from the last head he’d been wearing. This one was closer to being a flat square than the cubed one he’d worn before.

He decided not to dwell on that. Having his head changed out to a new model- a model that should’ve been impossible by the way- while he was asleep and not expecting it had many bad implications, sure, but he needed to figure out what was happening before making any assumptions.

Now that he was taking the difference in weight into account, it was much easier to balance. For the first time since he’d arrived in hell, his neck didn’t immediately scream in pain from supporting his massive head.

Huh.

Not being in constant pain was surprisingly nice. Who would’ve guessed? Certainly not Vincent!

Anyways, jokes aside, he sat up and took a look at his surroundings. It was probably a good idea to know where he was other than that it wasn’t anywhere he recognized.

The room had floor to ceiling windows that were seemingly intentionally frosted, as he couldn’t see out of them very well. Certainly not enough to read any billboards or tell where he was anyway. All the info he could gain from it was that he was in a very tall building, seemingly the tallest around, and that it was probably morning judging from the amount of light.

The walls were a pretty shade of blue-gray, almost like a shark, and the floor was black vinyl with a wood pattern to it.

There was a painted portrait of a mechanical shark on the wall, signed by someone named ‘Val’ in a fancy script that he had a hard time reading. The painting itself was huge- taking up most of the wall next to the window. The shark was adorable, but- just like the rest of the room- it was unfamiliar.

All around, the room was very pretty. Everything matched his tastes perfectly, but it was much too expensive for him to be able to afford.

He also noted that he was alone. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On one hand, he needed an explanation for where the hell he was, but on the other, he was glad his potential kidnappers hadn’t been watching him sleep.

…Or had they? He looked around, but there were no cameras, so he was safe. But that also meant he couldn’t teleport away if he needed to, which was rather inconvenient.

There were twin doors, one of which presumably led out of the room while the other would lead to a bathroom. One of the doors was lit up from the other side, meaning it likely led to people.

He decided it might be a better idea to know his surroundings more before talking to others, so he went into the room he assumed was a bathroom and was proven correct. He had to fumble around for the light switch for an awkwardly long moment, but he found it eventually.

The moment his eyes adjusted to the bright lights, he stared at himself in the mirror.

His screen was the obvious difference- being an entirely different model and such- but it wasn’t the only thing that stuck out to him about his appearance.

For one, one of his antennas- the longer one- had been bent into a zigzag shape like it had been forced to match the other, shorter one. When he touched it, it sent a spark of pain through his body. That was new. His antennae had always been sensitive, but it had never hurt just to touch them before. Why didn’t he remember it getting bent? It must’ve been pretty painful if that small amount of touch had been anything he could reliably go off of.

Whatever, he could worry about that later.

Another was the clothes he was wearing. The white shirt was way too big for him, falling half-way down his thighs and covering the fact that he wasn’t wearing anything but boxers underneath. The shirt read Pimpin’ not Simpin’ in a boring style of text. Each of the ‘i’s were dotted with hearts. Overall, it was a very ugly shirt. He’d almost rather be naked than be caught dead in this shirt, but for the sake of decency, he didn’t take it off.

But the most notable thing was that the shirt had four holes for arms. Many sinners had more arms than the standard two, but he wasn’t one of them, so why was he wearing a shirt that clearly didn’t belong to him? Since he didn’t remember putting it on- nor would he ever choose to wear something so ugly and with such a crude message- someone else must have changed his clothes while he slept.

Which, again, was mildly concerning, but something he could worry about later.

But neither of those observations could hold a candle to the most jarring difference he could immediately see on his person- which was a huge scar where his head connected to his neck. Like, it was an unsurvivable kind of huge. Any wound of that size and location should have- would have- killed anyone inflicted with it, even some of the most powerful sinners. 

He’d never fully regenerated before- he’d only gotten minor wounds in his time in hell- but this kind of wound would necessitate full regeneration for pretty much anyone.

Regeneration- his best understanding of it anyway- was that a sinner’s body could bounce back from any wound that wouldn’t have instantly killed them if they were a human. But if it did instantly kill them, then they would have to re-grow their entire body, which wouldn’t leave scars on their new body from previous wounds.

So why did he have a scar for a wound that he definitely couldn’t have survived? The only person he could imagine surviving that kind of wound was Alastor himself, and Alastor was widely considered the most powerful sinner to ever live. (Would the correct saying be the most powerful to ever die?) Anyway, he wasn’t nearly on Alastor’s level, so how could he have survived that?

It quite literally looked like he’d been decapitated and someone had stitched his head back on.

None of which should be possible for someone of his current power level.

That was a much more pressing concern than the others, and something he would need answers to as soon as possible.

Instead of dwelling, he decided to get some answers. That was more productive than panicking, and he was all about being productive.

He stared at the door with light coming from the other side for an uncomfortably long time. (So much for being productive.) Eventually, he opened it.

The other side was a sitting space with a pair of demons sitting together on the same- navy blue and very expensive- couch.

The taller demon was seemingly a moth with purple skin. With four arms and being significantly taller than himself, Vincent was willing to bet his ugly-ass shirt came from said moth demon. He seemed to be drawing something in a notebook, and was quite relaxed looking.

The other demon was much shorter than himself, had doll features, dark gray skin and multi-colour hair which was pulled back in a fluffy up-do with a headband. She held a small device that was glowing, and she was touching the screen with her fingers instead of buttons or a remote. Mildly weird, but not a concern considering all that he had to deal with.

They both glanced up at his arrival, but neither of them said a thing. When he didn’t immediately sit down, the moth demon patted the space next to him in invitation. Nope, Vincent was not sitting with his potential kidnapper.

He sat on the loveseat nearby instead. Close enough to talk, but not on the same couch as the pair. The moth demon gave a small sad frown at that but still didn’t say anything.

“So…” Vincent started, trying to be polite. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean, cariño?” The taller demon asked, using a nickname he couldn’t understand. Based on the little he knew of other languages, it sounded like either Spanish or Portuguese, but he wasn’t sure which, or even if it was one of the two.

Vincent frowned. “For starters, where am I?”

The moth demon seemed confused at his question, but he couldn’t be as confused as Vincent was. “Your penthouse. We got home late last night so we checked up on you but you were already asleep so we went to bed and came back here for breakfast. We got you your usual breakfast burrito, but we didn’t want to wake you up so it’s in the fridge.”

“Um, okay. And…” He paused. The demon acted like they knew each other. This might be the wrong question to ask, but he had to know. “...Who are you?”

The moth cocked his head to the side. “Valentino. Are you feeling alright?”

“Not really.” Vincent said, surprising himself with his honesty. He had no clue who this Valentino was, but something in him wanted to trust him anyway.

“What hurts? Is it your neck again? I’m sorry that stupid doctor didn’t fix you right, mi vida. I can cut off another one of his fingers, if you’d like?” He didn’t even stutter over the casual declaration of violence. 

“I… I don’t think that’s necessary."

“Or is it an emotional day? I can stay here for today if you need me, it’s Saturday so I don’t have any shoots today. I won’t promise anything for Vette, but she might be able to as well.”

“Yep, if it’s a bad day I can stay. We could even go to see Shock.wav later, if you’re up for it.” The doll demon, Vette, offered in a British accent. He got the feeling that Vette wasn’t her actual name but a nickname instead.

Okay, now Vincent was really confused. “Who’s Shock.wav?”

That caught their attention. They gave each other a look and seemed to have a silent conversation with just their eyes.

“You feelin’ alright?” Vette asked.

“No, I have no clue what’s going on.”

“Okay, well… Do you remember hitting your head or somethin’?”

“No, but if I had a concussion I probably wouldn’t remember getting it.”

“True, but I doubt you’re concussed- you seem pretty lucid. Do you know who I am?”

“Um, he called you Vette?”

“Yes, but do you know my actual name, or who I am to you?”

“No.” He said, completely honestly. “I don’t know either of you.”

She and Valentino looked at each other again with shared worried looks and had another silent conversation, but this time it looked more like an argument.

“Fuck you.” She said, glaring at the taller demon next to her like he’d said something offensive despite the fact that they hadn’t exchanged a single word. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was… at the bar with Alastor-” The name left a bitter taste in his mouth, even though they were friends. Valentino seemed to share that thought, because his lip curled at the mention of the Radio Demon. “-and then I woke up here.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“It was just last night.”

Vette’s brow furrowed. “Was it? You haven’t left Vee tower in months. Check your internal calendar, and it’ll say that you haven’t had any events in the last few months other than doctor appointments.”

He did. It read February 2025. Last night it said September 1974. Now it said he was more than fifty years in the future. “That… that can’t be right.” The closer he looked, the weirder it got. Every day up until a few months prior- just like she’d said- was filled with meetings and scheduled events. It kept going even as he scrolled back, showing days that were fully booked in his personal calendar- days that it said had already passed- but he’d never lived. “How would that even… How could that be? That can’t be right. It was 1974 last night, how is it 2025 today?”

“The last thing you remember is from 1974?!”

“Fuck, I was still alive in 1974.” Valentino commented. “If that’s the last thing you can remember, then neither of us were down here yet, so it makes sense you don’t know us.”

“I wasn’t even born yet. But, if you don’t know us, then we should introduce ourselves. I’m Velvette, and you can call me Vette. Or Vel, but that’s a bit too close to Val. I’m your business partner.” The word ‘partner’ struck a nerve in him, but he didn’t know why. “We’re best friends.”

“And I’m Valentino, also your business partner.” He paused for a moment, seemingly considering something. “And your boyfriend.”

Before Vincent could say anything about that, Velvette interrupted. “No, you’re not. You’ve never been official, but you do flirt all the time. It’s gross.”

Valentino looked scandalized. “How dare you, Vette! That was my chance!” He snapped. Then he smiled, clearly plotting revenge. “Well, Velvette here is practically your daughter. Under normal circumstances, you take care of her like a father would.”

Now it was Velvette’s turn to be offended. “I am not a child! I don’t need to be cared for!”

“Oh, c’mon, you died at 17. You’ll always be a child.”

“I’ve been dead for 10 years, you asshole! I’m 27!”

“Children shouldn’t swear.” Vincent playfully scolded, feeling oddly comfortable with the pair of demons. Maybe he really did know them.

Velvette’s glare turned on him in an instant. “If you’re from the 70s, then you have no say in what the kids say now-a-days. You’re old as hell itself- wait…” She had a predatory gleam in her eye. “What year did you die in?”

“1952.” He answered, assuming it was another question to check how there he was mentally. It was not.

“HA!” It had been two seconds and he already regretted answering her question. “You’re older than we thought!” She shouted gleefully.

Valentino lit up. “Oh my god, he’s never told us that before!”

“That’s why I asked!” Her smile was triumphant until it fell. “But, in all seriousness, that does prove he’s not faking it. Vox never would’ve told us that if he remembered how much we tease him for being old.”

Valentino ignored her realisation in favour of asking Vincent another question. “What year were you born in?”

Vincent glared at him in response. “You’re going to bully me, aren’t you?”

Valentino looked offended, but in a sarcastic way. “Whaaat? I would never do that. Not to my Voxxie!”

“And why do you keep calling me that?”

“That’s the name you chose. Vox. It means ‘voice’ in latin.” Velvette explained. “I’m guessing you still went by your human name in 1974?”

“Um, yeah.”

“I don’t think you ever actually told us your human name. What would you like us to call you?”

“It’s usually just Vincent.”

“Okay, we can call you Vincent if that’s what you’re used to. Do you have any idea what happened to cause this memory loss?”

“It wouldn’t be very effective memory loss if I did.”

“Okay, I’ll take that as a no. Has this ever happened to you before? Gosh, I sound like a doctor.”

“You really do.” Valentino agreed.

“No, I’ve never lost my memories before. Not when it wasn’t on purpose, anyway.”

“...On purpose?”

“Yeah, well… you know how a human mind forgets most things you do in a day? Tech demons don’t do that automatically. Or at least, I don’t. I have to go through my memories and delete the unimportant ones manually every now and then so my storage doesn’t overflow and I can take in new memories.”

Her eyes widened, seemingly putting together dots he hadn’t yet connected.

“Vincent, could you go to your room for a moment? I want to talk to Val alone. Don’t listen in.”

“Um, okay?” He said, and proceeded to do as he was told. He wanted a moment to think alone anyway. This was a good excuse to do so, even if it meant being sent to his room like a child.

He closed the door behind him and fell onto the bed dramatically. If he was going to be treated like a child, then he could act like one too. He got comfortable on the bed that was supposedly his and began to think about everything while doing his best to tune out the muffled argument from the other side of the door. Wow, that reminded him a little too much of his childhood.

So, he was apparently fifty years in the future.

Did he believe that?

Well, yeah, he did.

It was still a shock, but he’d never given anyone but Alastor access to his internal systems, so there was no way someone else could’ve edited his own calendar. Even when he’d let Alastor help repair a system that had crashed one time a few years ago- decades ago? Gosh, that’d take a while to get used to- he hadn’t given the other demon permanent access. No one but him should have been able to change things on his internal systems. He must have done it himself during the decades he couldn’t remember.

But that also brought up the question of how he lost his memories.

His internal systems shouldn’t have erased anything without his permission- so why was the last fifty years and five months entirely blank? His memory bank was perfectly scrubbed clean, but something caught his attention. Every memory leading up to the last thing he could recall were all in a folder labeled- quite simply- ‘before’.

That was interesting. He had no clue what it meant, but it was interesting nonetheless.

He’d have to mention it to Velvette. She seemed to have a better idea of what was going on than he did.

He was curious about a wide range of things.

How had the world changed in the fifty years he’d missed?

How had he gotten the scar along his neck? Valentino had said something about a doctor ‘not fixing him right’, so he’d clearly needed a doctor to fix it, and they hadn’t done a good job. He’d also causally threatened to cut another of the doctor’s fingers off, implying that Valentino had the man captured and was actively torturing him for failing to do his job correctly. Yeah, Vincent wasn’t going to think too hard about that one.

How had his antenna gotten bent?

What had happened with Alastor that night, and why was that the cut off point in his life that he couldn’t remember anything beyond?

Why couldn’t he remember anything in the first place?

What was life like nowadays?

Why were the last few months of his calendar so empty compared to the decades before it?

Vincent had many questions, and only a few of them had been answered by talking to the pair of demons who claimed to be his best friends.

Speaking of his supposed business partners/best friends, what did he think of them?

Velvette was interesting. She had been born, died and gone to hell in the time that he couldn’t remember- her world must have been totally different from his own.

Valentino had said that ‘under normal circumstances, Vincent- or Vox- cared for Velvette like a daughter’- which was a complicated sentence.

For one… She hadn’t denied it. She had only said she didn’t need to be cared for like a child, but not that he wasn’t similar to a father figure to her. Something in his chest swelled happily at that. Vincent had always wanted kids. He’d died before getting the chance, but if it were possible, he would’ve wanted to be a father. He probably wouldn’t have been a good parent though- he was in hell for a reason, and it was a good one.

Secondly, it told him that right now was not normal circumstances. That could be simply referring to his memory loss, but- for a reason he couldn’t put his finger on- he didn’t think that that was the case.

He wondered what she’d done to go to hell at only seventeen. Drugs? Murder? Would it be awkward to ask when he should’ve already known?

She seemed to know him well, being able to pick up on when he was genuinely confused. That, or she was just smart- and from the little he’d seen of her, it was probably both.

Overall, he liked her so far.

As for Valentino… he wasn’t sure what to think.

Valentino was likely younger than himself as well, but not nearly as much so as Velvette if he was alive in 1974. He’d kind of phrased it like he’d barely still been alive, so he’d likely died pretty soon after.

Velvette had also said they regularly flirted too, which was a little odd to him. Vincent knew he was attracted to men as well as women- his crush on Alastor was plenty enough for him to be aware of that- but he never thought he would act on those feelings, at least not openly.

But Velvette- the woman who was supposedly like a daughter to him- knew he liked other men? That was weird to him. She’d even said it was gross, and yet they were so close?

None of that made sense to him, but he supposed he’d been alive in the fifties, when stuff like that was fully off-board. In the seventies, of which he could remember, people were a little less hostile towards people like him… maybe the world had changed and it didn’t care who you liked anymore? That would be nice, but it was best not to get his hopes up.

But Valentino clearly wanted to be with him, and yet they weren’t together. Was that purely because he was another man, or was there another reason that the future version of himself had never wanted to be with Valentino?

Like many things, he had no clue, which was very frustrating.

Even with the feeling in his gut that said he could trust them, he still wanted to talk to someone he remembered. Someone who was actually included in that ‘before’ folder.

To put it plainly, he wanted to talk to Alastor.

Alastor would be a good way to verify everything they said, because he knew the Radio Demon wouldn’t lie to him. Or, well, he wouldn’t have lied to him fifty years ago, but how much had changed?

Vincent had intended to propose a deal that night, but that was when his memories cut off, so what had happened?

Had Alastor accepted? Probably not, considering he had other business partners now, and Val at least seemed to have a negative opinion on Al.

Did Alastor know about his crush? Did he care? Was it reciprocated?

If it was, then… were they ever together? Maybe that was why Vincent had always rejected Valentino.

He was well aware that was wishful thinking, but who could blame him?

The business deal had just been the excuse he’d come up with when he wanted to spend more time with Alastor but felt like he couldn’t just ask him out directly. Hell, he didn’t even know if Alastor liked men too.

The muffled conversation on the other side of the door escalated to hushed screaming, like they were trying not to be heard but also very mad at each other.

He was about to go out there and try to calm them both down about whatever it was they were fighting over when he saw something he hadn’t noticed before on the bookshelf.

A radio.

An old-fashioned one, even for the time he could remember. It must be ancient now.

He could still remember the day Alastor gave him that radio clear as day.

It had been the twentieth anniversary of Vincent’s death- which was basically a birthday for a citizen of hell- and he had chosen to spend it with Alastor. They’d been happy, and Alastor had taught him old dances they used to do in speak-easies back in the 1920s. It was fun.

Why did Alastor's name now leave a bitter taste on his tongue?

Entranced, he walked over to the radio, intending to turn it on. Maybe talking to Alastor could get him some answers.

But, as he reached for the dial, something stopped him.

There was a note tucked between the radio and the wall of the shelf, perfectly at his eye line, where no one but himself would think to look.

It was fresh white paper, and the words were in his own handwriting.

As he began to read, he felt like he’d been dropped in a bucket of ice.

Chapter Text

As he pulled out the paper with his own handwriting on it, a second paper slipped out. 

Both of them were signed off by Vox- the name Velvette said his future self went by- but they were not to the same person. The first was supposed to be to Velvette, and the second to Valentino.

They were written by his future self, and yet they felt like something he shouldn’t touch. Like they were private, and he wasn’t one of the ones meant to see it.

Regardless, he read them anyway.

Dear Velvette,

I’m sorry.

By the time you find and read this note, I will be gone. Not dead, no, you did a good job with making sure I couldn’t kill myself, Vette.

But you couldn’t control my internal systems, and that’s where everything that makes me Vox is. Every once in a while, I had to erase my memories to keep my processor from backing up. It was just the unimportant memories that I erased.

Until now. I erased everything that made me, well, me.

It will leave another version of me behind, but he's basically just a younger me- before my whimsy was crushed lol- in my current body. If you want to keep him, then that’s okay, but if he’s too much of a walking reminder of before, then you can decide what to do with him.

I know you tried so fucking hard to keep me alive, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. 

I want you to know that I love you, and I will always be proud of you. I mean that, okay? No matter what you do, I will be proud and I will love you, even if I can’t say it. Hell, especially if I can’t say it.

I know you well enough to know that you’ll blame yourself, Vette. You’ll think you didn’t try hard enough, or that you could’ve done more.

And that is absolutely not true. You were one of the only reasons I lasted as long as I did, right alongside Valentino. Sweetheart, I would have died much sooner if it weren’t for you. Just because you failed once doesn’t mean all those other times you saved my life don’t count.

I trust that you will go so far, and we both know I was only holding you back.

Okay, that’s a little too mushy for me. Just know I love you, you’re my little girl, and my death/deletion has nothing to do with you.

Love Vox

P.S. Don’t try to get me back. I deleted my memories for a reason, I chose this. Don’t try to revive me or some shit. That’s my final request, and I expect you to honor it.

The second read:

Dear Valentino,

I love you.

Take that however you want, because I’m not going to be around for you to act on it.

Not dead, you did a good job on making sure I couldn’t properly die.

But neither you nor Velvette could control my operating systems, and that’s where everything that makes me Vox is. I won’t bore you with the details, otherwise I know you won’t read this, but basically, I deleted myself.

It should leave another version of me behind. He’ll basically be a younger me, from before we even met. Hell, you probably weren’t even dead yet when Alasto… when you-know-what happened.

Anyways… I was trying to say that you can decide what to do with the me that’s left. If he’s too much of a walking reminder, then… Well, you can do whatever you think is necessary. If you would rather keep him around though, who am I to judge? I’m dead after all, lol.

You did so much to keep me alive, and I’ll be forever sorry that I wasn’t man enough to stick around for you and Vette.

I just want you to know that I love you. I know I already said it, but take that however you want. If you want it to be romantic, then that’s fine by me. If it’s easier, then it can just be sexual or even familial.

I know you well enough to know you’ll be angry. You’ll lash out and hurt people the way you want to hurt me for leaving you alone.

But you’re not alone. Velvette is going through this alongside you. You were both the only reasons I lasted as long as I did, so treat her like it. Don’t let your anger hurt her.

I trust that you two will go so far. As long as you work together, there’s nothing you two can’t do. We all know that I was only holding our trio back. You’ll do better as a duo.

Love Vox

P.S. Don’t try to get me back. I deleted my memories on purpose, I chose this. Don’t try to revive or some shit. That’s my final ask- other than not to hurt Vette- and I expect you to honor it.

So Vox deleted his memories on purpose.

He chose to… to what? Kill his mind and leave his body alive?

Why would he do that?

The answer to that was obvious enough. He wanted to die.

But why would he want that?

Vincent had never been suicidal, so what had happened that made his future self want to die that much?

Was his life that bad?

Clearly not, he had a penthouse and two friends who cared about him. And he’d obviously known that too, given the fact that he’d cared enough to leave notes for those he wanted to leave behind and tell them that he loved them.

Vox had spoken about Vincent in the letters too. He’d known it wouldn’t kill all of him, just the part that he chose to end.

So why did he choose to end that part of himself?

Vincent didn’t know, but the letters were the only way he was getting more knowledge on that without interrupting the argument on the other side of the wall.

‘You did a good job making sure I couldn’t kill myself’

So… Both Valentino and Velvette had known he was suicidal, and had taken measures to prevent him ending his own life.

That was weirdly sweet of the pair of sinners, but it also didn’t make much sense. Unless something had really changed in the last fifty years, sinners like himself couldn’t die. Not permanently- they’d always come back through regeneration.

Deleting his own memories was a way around that, but it wouldn’t kill the body, or any memories left behind.

So why was his future self talking about it like it was possible? Vincent guessed something had changed and sinners could truly die now, but how? Yet another thing to add to the ‘ask Velvette’ list, he guessed.

‘It will leave another version of me behind, but he’s basically just a younger me- before my whimsy was crushed lol- in my current body.’

‘He’ he said. Not ‘I’.

Did his future self not consider his past as part of him anymore?

He supposed that was reasonable. Was a baby Vincent still Vincent? Yes, but were they the same in mental capacity or experience? Not at all. Baby Vincent was part of Vincent’s past, but Vincent wasn’t yet a part of baby Vincent’s life.

He supposed that that was the same train of thought his future self- or Vox- had gone through. Vincent was a part of Vox, but Vox was not a part of Vincent, so if you remove the Vox from the Vincent, Vox no longer exists. That’s way too many Voxs and Vincents in the same sentence.

It was also slightly uncomfortable to hear that a future version of himself considered him as the happy version. It felt… almost dehumanizing to hear that he was just a younger, happier, version of his future self. Was that the best way to put it? It felt like he was considered lesser because he had less life experience or things to make him depressed.

Which was a weird feeling, because it came from something the other version of himself had said. He wanted to dismiss it as self-hatred, as something he said because he wanted to die- but that felt wrong, because Vincent didn’t want to think of himself as the same person who wanted to die.

Vincent didn’t want to be that version of himself, because that version clearly wasn’t happy, and he was. Or, well, he used to be. He didn’t know how his life had changed in fifty years, so he didn’t know if he could keep being happy.

All to say, he didn’t want to be considered the same person as Vox was, because he hadn’t lived Vox’s life. Vox may have lived his, but they were not the same person now that Vincent was making his own memories in Vox’s body.

‘Don’t try to get me back’ only reinforced this. Vox didn’t see Vincent as himself, and Vincent didn’t see Vox as himself either.

‘I love you. Take that however you want.’

So Vox, as a last chance in his literal suicide note, had admitted his love for Valentino.

That felt like a twist of the knife, one that was meant to hurt. Vincent didn’t think Vox meant it that way- he probably only meant he loved him and wanted Val to know that, but it felt cruel.

You find out that someone loved you, but only through their own suicide note. Fuck, that’s messed up.

‘You probably weren’t even dead yet when Alasto… when you-know-what happened.’

That was… interesting.

When what? The word was too scribbled over for him to be able to make out, but ‘when you-know-what happened’ combined with ‘You weren’t dead yet’ heavily implied that Vox was talking about the event that he had chosen as the cut off point in his life. The thing that separated himself from Vincent. The event that defined his life from that point on.

Vincent didn’t want to assume… but based on what he had had planned for that last night in the 70s, it almost definitely had something to do with Alastor and the deal he’d been about to propose.

Alastor may have rejected him. Vincent would have been hurt by the rejection, but it’s not like that would be enough to change the whole course of his life, so that probably wasn’t it.

Besides, there were much worse scenarios that he could think of than a simple rejection.

Perhaps they had gotten together, the break-up was devastating, and Vox didn’t want to remember anything about their relationship.

Or maybe Alastor had gotten a foot-hold in his company and then tried to kill him to get the company all to himself. It would be exactly what Vincent had done several times in life… Karma had a way of coming around, even in the afterlife.

Or Alastor had taken advantage of the deal and used Vincent for more power. It would make sense, the man could be quite power-hungry.

Vincent didn’t really know what else could have happened to cause Vox to want to go back to the time before the deal… but those were just his best guesses.

‘If he’s too much of a walking reminder, then… Well, you can do whatever you think is necessary. If you would rather keep him around though, who am I to judge?’

Yeah, so… that was concerning.

Vox had basically given Valentino and Velvette permission to kill him. Which, while it wouldn’t have been possible in the old days, it must have been now with how Vox spoke about death in the notes.

Why would Vox have said that?

Well, putting himself in their shoes for a moment, if Alastor had been suicidal and managed to kill himself only for another version of Alastor- one that didn’t know / remember Vincent- to take his place, then Vincent would have been pissed. Not at the not-Alastor for replacing real-Alastor, but at himself for letting real-Alastor die.

It was an unpleasant feeling- knowing you could have saved someone you cared about but you failed.

He could only imagine the feeling, but that’s what Val and Vette would feel for real if he told them what he had learned. He didn’t want to make the people who clearly cared for Vox feel bad, because while he wasn’t Vox, Vox was still a future version of how he could turn out.

If he was- as Vox had said- a ‘walking reminder’ of what they’d lost… would they kill him?

Would they want to?

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to hurt any version of Alastor, but they weren’t him, and they were the ones he had to worry about. Even Vox hadn’t known what they would want, so it’s not like Vincent could guess without knowing them.

If they did, then who could blame them?

That would be their way of lashing out- just how Vox said Val would- and it would be understandable if they took that anger and grief out on him.

Not because it was fair- nothing was ever fair in hell- but because they were sinners.

Sinners weren’t exactly known for being kind or reasonable people on the best of days, and the day you found out your best friend / father figure / lover killed himself would not be a good day.

He had to assume that they would, if given the option, kill him. He had to act on that, because that was the only way he’d stay alive if they did truly want to kill him.

So he couldn’t let them see these letters.

Not if it meant they had permission to kill him.

He could just let them believe he’d lost his memory by accident.

He could let them try to restore his memory, even when he knew it would likely be a fruitless endeavour.

He could let them come to their own conclusions about what Vox had done.

He could.

But it felt like a major betrayal. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knowingly, intentionally, deprived someone of their loved one’s last words.

So did he give them the papers and hope they chose to spare him, or did he keep the letters a secret?

Neither of those options were good.

Rock and a hard place, as they say.

But a rock was completely impassable, whereas a hard place was still an option- just not a favourable one. So he couldn’t simply give them the papers and hope they liked him enough not to kill him, but he couldn’t- in good conscience at least- not share the last words their loved one had left for them.

Unfortunately, the choice was obvious.

His self-preservation instinct was too high to put his own survival in two stranger’s hands, and a good conscience wasn’t necessary for survival.

Luckily for him, there was a third option.

He could re-write the notes.

He had the same hand-writing. He probably even had the muscle memory to do Vox’s signature well enough to be passable. He could just copy most of the letter and fabricate a small part that said not to kill the version of him that was left over- also known as Vincent.

It’s not like they had seen the notes yet, so they would never know. All he had to do was wait for them to leave him alone in the penthouse (should be easy enough), find pen and paper (must be around here somewhere), copy all the mushy stuff word for word, replace the stuff about allowing them to kill him, and pretend he only just found them when they returned.

Easy peasy.

And all he’d have to do to erase the evidence would be to set the original notes on fire with his electrical powers.

He knew that secrets always came out eventually, but what other choice did he have?

Give them the papers and hope they like him enough not to kill him?

Yeah, no. He wasn’t going to be doing that.

Besides, if he did a good enough job of replicating the notes, they’d have nothing to be suspicious of, and they would never find out.

That way, they could have the mushy stuff and know what Vox had done while also keeping Vincent himself safe.

Of course, that all assumed that they would respect Vox’s dying wishes. They very well might not care about that whatsoever. But if they loved Vox, then they would probably respect what he wanted. He hoped so, anyway.

Vincent himself definitely wasn’t exactly respecting his future self by changing what the note said, but it was only out of self-preservation, not intentional disrespect or cruelty, so he could excuse it in his own mind.

He tucked both papers behind the radio again.

It was a good hiding spot- taller than Velvette but shorter than Valentino. Neither of them would ever think to look there, but it was exactly at Vincent’s eye level.

Vox had clearly planned for Vincent to be the one to find those notes, so why would he not expect Vincent to read the notes before giving them to the other two? Surely he knew Vincent would want to save himself over giving them the notes instantly?

More questions, less answers.

Every few minutes, he’d hear something from the other side of the door and have to tune them out again, which his thoughts were luckily plenty to distract him.

Most of what he heard was swearing or British slang he didn’t understand, but it was clear they weren’t so much arguing as they were throwing insults at each other for their opinion on whatever had started the argument.

Walking over to the door, he knocked as a warning and opened it. It was high-time he shut down the pair of demon’s ‘argument’.

Velvette glared at him as he stepped out and spoke. “We’re not done ‘ere, Vincent. Go back to your room.”

“You know I can hear you yelling from in there, right? You’re not exactly quiet.”

She scoffed. “I know. You just shouldn’t hear this.”

“Yeah, well if I was trying to and not focused on my own shit I’d be able to hear every word.”

“We’ll be quieter, mi vida.” Val interjected. “Just go back to your room.”

Okay, time to pull out the big cards. “You sound like my fucking parents.” Vincent muttered as he closed the door.

As predicted, that got their attention. Ha, he knew Vox would never have told them shit about his childhood.

“Oh.” Velvette said, catching the door with her foot as he closed it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… remind you of that.”

“Yeah, cariño. We’ll stop now.”

“We’ll talk about this later.” She agreed, while still glaring at Val. “For now, do you wanna watch a movie or something? You’ve missed like 50 years of cinema history. We need to get you up to date.”

“Ooh, can we watch-” Val started, before being cut off by Vette.

“No. The first movie Vincent experiences is not going to be one of your smutty piles of shit.”

“You mean art?”

“No, I really don’t.”

Valentino let out an offended gasp.

“I’ve seen movies before.” Vincent added.

“Not the good ones.”

“Wait! Holy shit!” Val excitedly muttered. “You haven’t seen The Lion King!”

Velvette’s mouth fell open. “You haven’t seen The Lion King?!”

“No, he wouldn’t have! It came out in the 90s!”

“What’s The Lion King?”

“Only the best movie ever.”

“What’s it about?”

“Lions. But also royalty, betrayal and coming of age. It has some of the most iconic moments in all of movie history. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t seen it before.”

“...I see. I may have to watch it now.”

“C’mon loser, let’s go to my apartment, I have the biggest TV after…” She hesitated and skipped to her next thought. “Val, you’re on popcorn duty.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“I did it last time. Next time it was supposed to be Vox’s turn, but I doubt he’d know how to use his own microwave or mine now, they’ve got touch screens.”

“Ugh, fair enough. I’m using Vox’s stuff. He’s got the best popcorn seasonings.”

“Good idea. Meet you there!” She said, pulling out the small hand-held device she’d been using earlier as she led them to the door. It looked like a tiny version of his new TV head.

“What is that?”

Her eyes widened. “Fuck, you’re so old.”

“We’ve established that, thank you for the reminder. Again, what is it?”

“It’s a phone.”

“Okay, now you’ve confused me. Phones don’t look like that.”

“They do now. Here, try it out.” She handed him the tiny TV- sorry, phone- as she opened the door to the hallway.

“Where’s the buttons?”

She sighed far too dramatically for the situation. “It’s a touch screen.” He hummed in confusion. “You touch the screen. It moves.” She demonstrated for him while they stood in the empty hallway.

“This is cool, but shouldn’t we get to your apartment instead of just standing out here?”

“No, we own the building, no one will care if we stand here all day. Besides, my apartment is one of the three on the top floor. Yours and Val’s are the other two. No one but us three, our guests and our personal assistants come up here.” 

“Woah, we’re richer than I thought.”

“Hell yeah we are.” She paused while unlocking her door. “Oh, and you won’t like… teleport away if we hang out in my apartment right?”

“Why would I?” He asked, fully knowing why she was worried. If he’d been suicidal yesterday, then it made total sense they’d blocked off anything within range that he could use to teleport. But they wouldn’t have blocked off everything in their own rooms, purely out of convenience.

“I dunno know…” She said, fully lying through her teeth. “Just… Don’t run off, okay?”

“I won’t.” He wasn’t entirely sure he was going to uphold that promise, but he said it anyway.

She unlocked the door while staring him in the eyes. It was like she could see right through him and into his soul. Vincent was pretty sure she could tell he wasn’t making that promise in good faith.

They sat on the couch in her living room- just as expensive and fashionable as the one in the sitting room in his penthouse, but this one was purple instead- and she pulled out her phone again to show him more of its functions.

It could do something called ‘texting’, which she demonstrated with Valentino, who texted her back from the other apartment while he was making popcorn. She and Val also showed him that their phones could call each other with the click of a button, which was the only thing phones used to do in the 70s.

She showed him many different things, like that they could play arcade games and use a calculator in the same tiny machine.

“Hey voogle,” She said to the tiny machine. “Who is Velvette?”

Several tiny pictures of herself popped up and a small description saying she was the overlord of fashion and social media.

“And it can do all that without being plugged in?”

“Yep. As long as you charge them by pluggin’ ‘em in every night, then it can do all that from anywhere. Well, anywhere with signal, but you can get signal pretty much anywhere. As long as you’re not in the middle of nowhere, then all of those features should work.”

“Woah.” She picked up a remote and clicked a button, and what he’d thought was a black accent wall lit up. “That’s the TV?! It’s huge!”

“Yeah. You used to have a bigger one.” She said without elaboration.

“Used to…?”

He might already know why, but they didn’t know he knew yet, so it was best to act confused and ask questions.

She ignored him and pressed a few buttons, and the screen changed stations. Or well, it didn’t look like stations? It looked like the apps she used on her phone, but on a TV.

“When does it say The Lion King is going to be on?”

“Oh, we don’t have to wait for it to come on anymore. We can play anythin’ we want on command now.”

“How does that work?”

“I have no idea how to explain the internet to you, but I guess I can try.” She took a deep breath in. “Okay, so imagine a huge library. This library is full of every book ever written and every movie ever made. Anyone can access it, they just have to pay for it.”

“Okay, but how big would that library be?”

“That’s the best part. It’s not a physical library, it’s all digital. Zeros and ones and all that junk. You probably have a better understanding of that stuff than I do, you custom built my gamin’ PC, so you must.”

“What’s a PC?”

“Personal computer.”

“We have those?”

“It’s basically a more powerful version of a phone that’s stationary. Ooh, I should show you what video games look like now. You don’t even know what a video game is, do ya?”

“I know the basics. There was an arcade machine at the bar I used to go to with Alastor. It was fairly new back then though.”

“Tell me about this Alastor guy. I know some stuff about him, but I don’t know how you knew each other. You said you went to the bar with ‘im?”

“Yeah, every Friday. We’d have the place mostly to ourselves because everyone but me was scared of the big scary Radio Demon, but he really wasn’t that bad. Now you tell me about the internet.”

“Okay, fine. We can trade info. So… where was I…? Ah, so the library is digital, and anyone can access it if they have the right materials. Materials which you have to pay for- like a phone or TV or computer and wifi. You pay someone to let you use their signal or wifi most of the time, but we’re special because we supply the whole Pentagram with wifi, so we don’t have to pay. Anyway, combining a device with wifi means you have access to this library and you can see anything you want. Now tell me something about Alastor and I’ll tell you more.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“How did you two meet?”

“He tried to kill me.”

“Did you deserve it?”

“Velvette!”

“What?! Am I wrong?”

“Yes, you are! I very much did not deserve it! Mostly. Depends who you ask. Anyway… I met him in the bar. For some reason, I wasn’t scared of him like everyone else was, so I took a seat near him, where everyone else had been avoiding. I recognized his voice from the radio show when I was alive, but I didn’t know his reputation in hell as I’d only died a few months prior. I told him I loved his work. He asked if I would like to be on his show.”

“Oh, you mean the show where he plays the screams of his victims?”

“That would be the one. Anyway, I had no idea what that meant, so I said yes.” He paused so they could both laugh at his own stupidity. Even without knowing what the show was, you shouldn’t accept an offer when everyone else is avoiding the person who’s offering it. The younger him had very little social awareness. “Which was a first for him. People usually back down when their lives are threatened, but I just said ‘go ahead, kill me!’. He laughed at me, rightfully so, and went back to drinking.”

“So he didn’t try to kill you?”

“Be patient, that’s coming up. I followed him out the bar at the end of the night, and I told him I’d be visiting him so I could be on his show. He tried to stab me when I said that, but I dodged pretty well for how drunk I was.” He sighed, reminiscing happily. “I might still have a scar from where his knife nicked me.”

“So you were always a persistent bastard?” She asked, holding back a laugh.

He scoffed. “Well, that’s not what I would call it, but yeah. I showed up at his radio tower a few days later, like an idiot.”

“All I’m getting from this is that you really did deserve it.”

“I did not! But that was when he tried to kill me. While he was on air too! But I fought back and he said he’d never seen such a powerful sinner who still ‘smelled of life’- besides himself, of course. Apparently he can smell when you’ve only just died? It’s weird.” Vincent was still confused on how that worked. “Anyway, your turn.”

“That is weird. Okay, well, sections of this library are completely free and anyone can access ‘em, but there’s other sections that you have to pay for. Well, you pay either way because you’ll get ads on pretty much any free platform, but that’s more money for us, so that’s good.”

“What are the other sections you need to pay for?”

“That’d be stuff like Voxflix, which give you a service without ads, but you have to pay for it. In the human world some services you have to pay for and then you still get ads, but we’re not that evil, so we’ve never implemented that on any VoxTech services.”

“Oh, good. Paying to watch ads does sound evil. That’s basically cable television all over again.”

“Exactly. Anyway, there’s other sites- or sections of the library- where anyone can post things for free. Places like VoxTok, Sinstagram, Tumblr, Vitter, Vitch, VoxTube- those are just the ones I use often, but there’s plenty more. And while anyone can post, only a few people can manage to get famous off of the internet. I happen to be one of ‘em, because I’m awesome- and also an overlord… I can kill ‘em if they don’t follow me, so that probably helps quite a bit.”

“I imagine it would, yeah.”

“Your turn now.”

“Okay, fine. Well, Alastor was on air when he called me super powerful, so that immediately put a target on my back. Some people were trying to get me into a soul contract, and others were trying to kill me. Either way, I was not super happy about it. I ran into Alastor again, and he killed someone who was after me. I thanked him and bought him a drink. Then we kinda became friends?”

Without mentioning how he found Alastor killing someone for him really attractive, that was pretty much how they met.

“Uh-huh. So… what exactly caused the whole obsession shit?”

“The what now?”

“Your obsession with Alastor. As long as I’ve known you, you get fuckin’ pissed every time he’s mentioned. It’s weird to see you able to hold a normal conversation about him without flippin’ your shit.”

“Oh. Well, um… that must have happened sometime within the fifty years I can’t remember. We had a pretty normal relationship before. I’m guessing we don’t anymore?”

“No, you’ve been rivals longer than I’ve been down here. Fightin’ is what I usually picture when I think of you two. It’s hard to imagine you ever gettin’ along with him.”

For Vincent, it was hard to imagine himself ever wanting to hurt Alastor. He guessed that must have changed.

But why?

Velvette clearly didn’t know.

Valentino might, but if Vox had a hard time even holding a conversation about Alastor, then how likely was it that Val knew what had happened between them? Not very likely, but he would have to ask anyway.

“It’s hard for me to imagine ever wanting to hurt him.” He admitted. “I guess that must have changed. Would you happen to know why?”

“Not a clue. Valentino might, you’ve known him since before I was born.”

Just then, the door burst open to show Valentino with five popcorn bowls stacked on top of each other.

“Speak of the devil, Val.” She joked. “We were just talking about you!”

“Oh yeah? All good things I presume?”

“No, I was shit talking you. Vincent was agreeing with everything I said.”

“I was not!”

“Sure,” She rolled her eyes like he was lying, even though he wasn’t. Damn. She was a good actor. “Anyway, I’ve got The Lion King pulled up. Are ya ready?”

“Yep. I’ve got five flavours of popcorn ready for our taste buds’ enjoyment.”

“Ooh, what’d you get?”

“Regular butter, extra salted, white cheddar, dill pickle, and my spicy mix.”

“What’s your spicy mix?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” Both Vette and Val burst into laughter. Vincent didn’t get the joke. “You’re too white for it. It’s only for me and Vette.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’ll hurt. You can try it, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Vincent backed down after that, much to the other’s enjoyment.

They began to watch the movie, and Vincent was astounded by the quality of the animation the moment it started. The soundtrack was beautiful, and the starting song on its own must have been hugely popular when it first came out.

They laughed at him when he cried at Mufasa’s death. They went on to comfort him anyway, saying they knew what it was like. Or Valentino did. Velvette had only just been born when it came out, so she knew exactly what happened in it from her earliest memory.

While the movie wound to a close, he agreed that it was probably the best movie he’d ever seen, which earned a cheer from both Val and Vette.

Chapter Text

With their argument long forgotten, Valentino and Velvette spent the rest of the day showing Vincent various things that had changed in the fifty years he couldn’t remember.

They showed him more movies, various video games, computers, how to post online- although Velvette didn’t let him actually touch any of her social media, she made a post about watching a movie with her besties and showed him some of the replies.

Some were from other overlords, models and actors, while others were from people who ‘followed’ Velvette and were her fans. Well, she called them ‘stans’ but he didn’t know what that meant when she first said it. She went on to explain it was people who watched her livestreams and made fan art of her. 

She made a point not to let him see any reply that she hadn’t pre-approved, because apparently people were still being mean about something the Vees had done a while back. While he didn’t know the specifics, he imagined it was likely something about Vox being suicidal.

Or himself being suicidal, he guessed. 

That was still weird to think about.

He looked the same as Vox, had the same voice, same clothes, same everything- but he still considered himself a totally different person than Vox.

But he’d have plenty of time to dwell on that later.

For now, he was more concerned about the argument breaking out between Velvette and Valentino again. They argued a lot.

They seemed to have picked their argument from earlier back up, but now they weren’t hiding it from him. He supposed that this was better than hearing a muffled argument through a door and trying not to pay attention- but not by much.

Now that he was actually listening in, he knew what they were arguing about.

Valentino thought they should tell him about ‘it’ and that it was unfair for him not to know.

Velvette thought it was better for Vincent not to know about ‘it’ until he got his memories back.

What ‘it’ was was a question he didn’t have the answer to.

They spoke about ‘it’ like it was an event, so it wasn’t the fact that he was suicidal that they didn’t want him to know about.

“He doesn’t need to know! Let ‘im be happy until he gets his memories back!” Vette shouted angrily.

“He’s not an idiot, he’ll know people are treating him weirdly!” Val responded. “He should get to know why!”

“HE is also right here.” Vincent interjected.

“Well, we can’t damn well leave you alone here. You’ll teleport away, I know you were lying, you asshole.” Velvette snapped.

“What don’t you want me to know about?” He asked, blatantly ignoring her insult and the fact that she knew he had been lying at the door.

“Something that will only make you upset.” She replied. “I don’t like seeing you upset.”

“Well, don’t you think I should be able to choose?”

She looked at the floor in some mix of shame and agreement.

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” Valentino muttered. “But of-fucking-course she’ll listen to you and not me.”

“So, just tell me.” Vincent urged. “...Please?”

Velvette sighed. “Fuck it, fine. But this is only because I’ve never heard you say please before.”

“What, am I normally that mean?”

“You really are. But we love you anyway, mi vida.” Val said.

Velvette pulled up VoxTube on the massive TV and used the search bar.

A shaky video began playing, obviously recorded on a phone.

It showed a massive device- a cannon by the looks of it- pointed at heaven. Vox was standing on top of it, aiming it.

He had a huge smile when he spoke, looking up at the sky. “Can the angels come out to play?” The crowd beneath him, including the person recording, cheered.

It was uncanny. A video of himself- Vox, that is- that he doesn’t remember being taken. He doesn’t remember the context. The why or how were complete unknowns to him.

The weapon powered up, and a massive beam of light shot from the end of the cannon, headed directly for heaven itself.

The beam powered down, but only after it had struck heaven for several seconds straight.

Something fell from the sky and slammed into a golden clock tower Vincent didn’t recognize. When the dust from the initial blow cleared, the camera changed feeds to a golden gate in the dirt. The gates, the pearly gates themselves- had been blown straight off of their heavenly hinges.

The feed changed again, this time to a recording of Vox. 

“Hey there, heaven. It's about time we had a little chat. As you can see, we've been a bit busy down here since your last visit. You know, we've been hearing for so long about how the grass is greener on your side of the fence that we thought maybe we should come over and see for ourselves! And heck, if we like it enough, we might just decide to stay. Now, you might have some silly ideas about fighting this off. But don't forget, there are a lot more of us than there are of you. So, guess what, Seraphim? You have 24 hours to surrender the kingdom of heaven to me or you'll have a front row seat to the next extermination.”

The video ended with a cheer from the crowd and Vox smiling down at them.

Valentino and Velvette had been staring at him the whole time while he watched. He’s pretty sure his face only cycled through horror, confusion and shock, but they watched him like his reaction would determine the weight of the world.

Instead of shouting like he wanted to, he spoke calmly. “I need both of you to explain.”

“I think the video shows it well enough.” Velvette said, avoiding eye contact.

“Yeah, but… what? I don’t know what’s happening in the video. Why is it… Why am I… How… Why?”

“Because we wanted power. You were kinda… not all there. You weren’t thinking straight, and we were too power-hungry to see it was just an elaborate way to… well, you wanted to kill yourself.” Val explained.

He blinked. He already knew that. But he hadn’t known just how far the other version of himself had taken it. Wiping his own memories seemed like a much more reasonable thing to do all of a sudden. More reasonable than whatever that was, anyway.

“So… what? I was trying to get heaven to smite me just so I could die?”

“Pretty much.”

Vincent took a moment to process that before asking another question. “Why did people go along with it?”

“Because of the exterminations.”

“...The what?”

Velvette sighed. “Hell was getting too populated. Heaven thought of a solution to that- killing sinners.”

“But… But sinners can’t die. Not permanently.”

“That’s what it was like before. But angels brought their angelic steel, and well… if you die by it, you don’t regenerate. Half of sinners have died by the hands of angels.”

“Half?!”

“Not quite, but it’s close. People wanted revenge on heaven for the people they lost. You- we- used that to our advantage to gain power. You became the face of the revolution, and the most powerful sinner.”

“I’m guessing based on how you’re talking about it, this revolution didn’t end well?”

“You could say that again.” She sighed. “It’s not… it’s not pretty, but we can watch a video of how everything went down if you’d like. Keep in mind, you weren’t thinking right and you… weren’t being nice. To anyone, including us. And we didn’t see that as the lashing out that it was, so we responded in turn.”

Did he want to watch that video?

The video that showed him the lowest point in his life? The point that he can’t remember?

Not at all. He didn’t want to see that.

But he had to. He had to watch it, because he had to know.

“Okay. Put it on.” Vincent said.

“Are you sure? Cariño, it’s not good.” Val asked.

“Just play it. I need to know.”

Velvette hit play without another word.

The video opened on a shot of Vox on the cannon again, but in a different outfit this time, so likely a different day.

“Three for the price of one!” He exclaimed as he pointed the cannon at two women he didn’t recognize- was one of them an angel?- and Alastor. Was he about to watch himself kill Alastor? “You’ve just been fucking cancelled…” Vox trailed off.

“Vox, stop!” Carmilla Carmine shouted. He knew her. Sort of. He’d met her a few times at overlord meetings. “Firing any more will overload the weapon!”

“Then I’d better make this shot count!” He said, plugging his own cables into the machine. Vincent knew what that meant. It meant he would be the first to die when it overloaded. But he wouldn’t be the last.

“You idiot! If it overloads, it will blow, taking you, us and half the Pentagram with it!”

He only laughed in response. “Y’know what? Fuck hell! Fuck heaven! And fuck all of you!” His voice glitched halfway through each word. His voice only ever did that when he was really upset. Vincent couldn’t recall what he was feeling at that moment, but he knew it was intense. “As long as I wipe that smile off Alastor’s fucking face… I don’t care what happens…!” A tear ran down his digital cheek.

What could possibly have happened between them to cause such hatred in his voice? Vincent didn’t know and he wouldn’t find out if he watched Alastor die in this recording.

The weapon began firing as Vox laughed a proper villain laugh, and Velvette came shooting in from outside the frame, kicking him square in the stomach and knocking him off the cannon.

“FUCK!” He shouted as he landed, rolling several times before stopping.

The camera shifted angles to show Valentino grab him by the shirt and wave him around while yelling at him. “You are NOT fucking killing us over that stupid deer!”

Vox unlatched himself from Valentino’s grip and Velvette appeared behind the moth. “It’s over, you dumb fuck.”

“Fuck that! This is my moment! My fucking destiny! I’m a fucking god!”

Velvette paused the video. “You might not want to see what comes next.”

“Just play it.” He muttered. ‘Before I change my mind’ was left unsaid, but mutually understood.

“Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Valentino grabbed Vox by the sides of his screen and pulled. Something in his neck came loose, and it ripped apart. You could see the wires and arteries tear and become mangled as Val pulled Vox’s head from his body. 

Vox looked both pained and confused at the same time, like he’d been shocked that that had happened, but also in an incredible amount of pain. Subconsciously, Vincent’s hand went to his neck. No wonder he had a scar there. Even his dark blue skin had ripped in jagged chunks. How they managed to stitch it back together was beyond him.

“We’re leaving!” Valentino shouted, and the video cut off there.

They all sat in silence for a few minutes while Vincent thought about what he’d just seen.

Valentino was the first to speak. “I… I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what else to do, I was angry and it was a rash decision. That’s not an excuse, but-”

“No.” Vincent snapped.

“...What?”

“No. Don’t apologize. You don’t need to.”

“I ripped off your head. Your neck is going to cause you pain for the rest of your afterlife, and it’s because of me. There were better solutions that I could’ve-”

“Did we watch the same video? You couldn’t have said anything in that moment that would’ve stopped it. Even if it was violent, you did what you had to, and I don’t blame you.”

Valentino looked shocked. “You really mean that?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

Val looked at the floor. “Okay.”

They all went silent again, giving Vincent plenty of time to think about what he’d seen in the videos, and what they had both said.

He’d already known Vox had been suicidal, thanks to the notes, but seeing it was a whole different affair.

Seeing a future version of himself so ready to die was uncomfortable, to say the least.

And the exterminations? Nearly half of sinners killed by angelic hands…

If it was just people like Vincent in hell, then he might be able to excuse the mass killings- people like him would’ve (or should’ve) gotten the death sentence back on earth if they were caught after all- serial killers, rapists, terrorists and more. But more than half the people he knew in hell hadn’t even done anything particularly bad. Plenty of them did just as much good in their life, but did one big bad thing. Others didn’t even have anything criminal they’d done.

Extermination and killing half of those people… it wasn’t ‘justice’ or ‘population control’.

It was genocide.

He’d thought heaven was better than that.

Clearly, they weren’t.

If hell was too populated- which it definitely was, he knew that from the twenty years he’d spent in hell before the 70s- then there must have been other solutions.

Maybe God could create an in-between space. Like… somewhere that wasn’t heaven but wasn’t hell. Somewhere for the people who didn’t deserve either to go. Because he knew there were lots of people who just didn’t do any good in their life but didn’t do anything bad either who ended up in hell.

Or maybe some sinners who were just barely in hell could go to heaven if they proved they were good enough.

Or maybe they could’ve opened up the other six rings of hell to sinners. There weren’t that many hellborns, not nearly as many as sinners at least. He’d always thought that was a stupid rule. Why were sinners only allowed in the Pride ring? Sure, it was the largest ring, but not by much. 

He’s almost sure that the hellborns would be against that, but it would at least quadruple the space for sinners to live in. Over population problem solved.

“About the exterminations… Surely there’s another way to solve that other than killing people, right? Genocide is never the only choice. Not if you’re not straight up evil. Well, I mean, they are if they did that, but like… how did the general population of heaven not riot?”

“That little video of you talking to heaven? That was the first most of heaven heard of the exterminations. Only the high seraphim and the exorcist army knew before you announced it.” Vette said. “And there is technically another way, but it’s hardly proven.”

“What is it?”

“The princess had this idea- do you know the princess?”

“Um, she was still a little kid last I remember, but I know she exists.”

“Okay, well… She had this idea- if angels like her dad can fall from heaven, then surely demons can rise if they try hard enough. She set up this stupid hotel to try to redeem people, and it worked.”

“It… it worked?!”

“Yeah. Some guy- I think his name was serpent or somethin’?- got into heaven by sacrificing ‘imself during the last extermination to save someone else. But he’s the only one who’s ever been able to do it, so we don’t know if it was a fluke or not.”

“But he made it into heaven?”

“Apparently.”

“So… the princess’s hotel works?”

“Yes…? Where are you going with this?”

“Oh, nowhere. It just sounds interesting. And like a better idea than… Well, y’know, just killing people.”

He considered teleporting away to find this hotel. They sounded really interesting, and he wanted to know more… but he didn’t.

Teleporting away would make it so Valentino and Velvette never trusted him in their rooms or outside of his own penthouse again.

Better to play the long game and get some freedom back slowly rather than ruining his own chances.

“What, are you going to go support the hotel now? ‘Cause that would not go well.”

“Well, I’d have to know more about the situation. Politics and shit, but… it does sound like a good idea if it’s been proven possible.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘proven’, but I guess so.” She relented.

That night, they left him alone in his penthouse. Apparently he seemed stable enough to handle some alone time, and they needed rest.

Which… made a lot of sense. If it was only the two of them constantly watching over a suicidal Vox, that must get exhausting fast.

They told him they’d be back in the morning and left.

He easily found paper in another room that looked like a home office. Plenty of choices for pens in that home office, but he chose a random black one instead of a glittery pink one. Best to sound serious, not ‘girlypop’- which is a word he only knew because Vette called herself one when showing off some of her fashion lines to him earlier.

He carefully rewrote the notes, leaving all the sweet things behind and removing all the ‘you can kill him’ things from the letters.

The crossed out part was especially hard to replicate, because he had no idea what it said, but he did his best to make it look the same.

He also made it so they still had a choice. If they didn’t want him as a walking reminder, then all they had to do was let him leave and start over.

Once he was done, he carefully pulled out the old letters and put the new ones in their place.

He then promptly set the old ones on fire, only to hear a weird ringing sound coming from the roof.

Shit.

They had a smoke alarm.

Chapter Text

VoxTech chewed up young creatives- people just like she had been when Vox and Velvette first met- and spat them out like bubble gum the moment they started to lose their flavour.

Velvette should know, she’s a third of the reason it happens. She helps perpetuate this ruthless cycle, and she doesn’t regret it. Not for a second.

She had gone through similar things in life. For some people, that might mean that they’re sympathetic to people who’d been through similar things. But not her. She saw it as just a part of life. It sucks and it’s cruel, but it’s going to happen either way, so why can’t she be the perpetrator?

It felt good to not be the one on the receiving end anymore.

But Vox… Vox hadn’t treated her like that.

He hadn’t treated her like the million other models and movie stars he created.

He hadn’t treated her like her producers in life had treated her.

She didn’t know why, but he hadn’t.

He was the first person she’d met here in hell, and the one to teach her everything. Not that she’d needed help, that is. She could’ve done everything on her own and been just fine, but he volunteered to help her learn. Said he could see the potential in her.

A full decade later, and she’s still not sure what exactly set her apart from every other newly deceased soul he’d met. Of course, she was awesome and badass as hell itself was, but how could he see that so quickly?

She’d asked him before, of course she had- but he never gave her an answer. She doesn’t think he actually had ever had an answer either.

She was just… lucky.

Lucky that Vox had seen potential in her beyond just another pretty face.

She had no doubt that she could’ve climbed the ranks to overlord status by herself. It’s not like Vox had handed the position to her- far from it. She’d had to work to get there all by herself. Every single soul she owned and deal she struck was her own.

But Vox had been there at every step cheering her on. She kind of thinks that that’s what parents are supposed to do, but it’s not like she had anything to compare him to. Her parents had been closer to producers than anything familial. Vox was the closest thing to family she’d ever had.

Valentino had taken longer to warm up to her, and they only met after she’d proved herself to Vox, but he was still some sort of family. Maybe closer to a big brother or step parent than parental like Vox was, but he was still closer to family than anything she’d had in life.

She worked and became an overlord faster than even Vox himself had- three years after she died compared to his five.

And things were good.

That lasted until Vox’s stupid idea- that they could conquer heaven.

Yeah, what a load of bull.

It had taken her and Valentino far too long to realize that his plan wasn’t going to work. They’d ripped off his head and shoved him in a closet for a few weeks once they did, but by then it was too late to talk him down.

It was only during the media fire storm afterwards that she’d rewatched the video of Vox’s… ‘breaking point’- to put it nicely. More accurately, it was an episode. Or as the internet so kindly put it, a meltdown.

In the moment, she’d been so focused on everything else- on saving her and Val’s life, on the Vee’s ratings, on the city being destroyed- that she hadn’t seen just how ready Vox had been to die. Just how much he wanted it.

But rewatching the video… it was clear that Vox hadn’t cared what would happen to himself. All he wanted was to die, and he didn’t care how it happened. He’d fully expected to be gone, and if he took anyone with him, it didn’t matter. Not to him.

She’d spoken to Val about what she’d realized, and they had a very hard conversation with Vox- who at that point was still just a head- and told him what they’d realized.

He hadn’t admitted anything. He’d been very stubborn- as was the usual- and refused to say he was suicidal.

They never would have killed him, not even when they were really mad at him, but he seemed to think if he could convince them that he’d wanted to kill them, then they would end him. He’d gone as far as to call it justice. Justice as in he deserved to die after everything he’d done.

That had been confirmation for her.

If this was the Vox she knew, then he would’ve fought for his life. Even if he didn’t deserve to live, Vox would never have accepted punishment for his crimes- not that easily. He never would have even suggested it.

No, he didn’t think he deserved to die for his crimes- he wanted to die and committed the crimes so that he could.

Worse, she was pretty sure he’d only tried to kill them because then they wouldn’t mourn his death. He’d rather make them mad enough at him to kill him than let them be sad when he killed himself.

It was fucked up logic, but he sure as hell wasn’t thinking straight, and probably hadn’t been for quite some time if it had gotten to this point.

She hated that she hadn’t realized sooner. She should have known. She was his closest friend- practically his daughter!- and she hadn’t realized what he was doing.

Velvette had known he’d been acting weird.

She’d known he was pushing them away on purpose.

She’d known that the plan to take over heaven was risky.

She’d known, she’d known, she’d known!

But she hadn’t realized.

If he had told her he was suicidal before, would she have listened? No. She wouldn’t have realized what she could lose before seeing just how far he took it.

If he had told her that he’d been suicidal after it had all gone down, would she have listened? No. She would have seen it as an excuse to get out of everything he’d done.

It was the fact that he wasn’t the one to say it that made it real. The denial was only the nail in the coffin.

So they’d essentially child-proofed his penthouse. Or suicide-proofed it, which was basically the same thing in the end.

Anything that Vox could use to hurt himself- even though he didn’t have a history of self-harm (that they were aware of, at least)- was removed. The sharpest thing they left was a fork. They even took the butter knives (he didn’t need them, his claws could spread butter well enough). His claws were actually quite a problem, but they hadn’t wanted to remove them as that would just be torture. So they left them on his body, and there was never any blood when they cared for him, so he wasn’t hurting himself. Not bad enough to break skin, at least.

Anything that could access the internet was also a no-go. Seeing the negative posts about him wouldn’t exactly help his will to live, and the internet was currently full of posts like those. There were even some posts about Vox being suicidal too. She’d done her best to clamp down on the rumours, but she couldn’t delete every post without basically confirming it. She didn’t know how that information had leaked, but it was actually somewhat good that it did. Some people sympathised with him, and actually still supported him. Those people- combined with the people who still wanted to conquer heaven and saw Vox as their figurehead- actually kept his approval level somewhat high. He wasn’t the most powerful sinner anymore, but he had the powers of a weaker overlord. He was still technically considered an overlord too, even when he wasn’t allowed to leave his tower to attend the meetings.

They then gave him his body back- something Val felt really guilty about once he realized that Vox hadn’t actually been trying to kill them- and returned him to his penthouse. They gave him lots of books and spent the nights with him, but he clearly wasn’t happy.

She didn’t know what would make him happy either.

Valentino’s and her own love clearly wasn’t enough, but she didn’t want to blame him for that either. She might not have first hand experience with wanting to die, but she’d researched it and hired psychiatrists to talk to her about it. Said psychiatrists also helped prescribe Vox medicines that might help him feel better, but- like the stubborn asshole he is- he refused to take them.

Regardless, she knew suicide wasn’t particularly logical. Next to no one who wanted to die was doing it because they genuinely had nothing to live for. Most people had loved ones, or a future, or goals. Vox was one of those people. He had an eternity of afterlife ahead of him, friends- who were basically family- to spend it with, and plenty left to achieve.

There were moments where she thought she might not be enough for him, but she was quick to dismiss those thoughts. She was awesome and a badass bitch. She was plenty enough.

Val was too. They were loving and supportive- and if he couldn’t see that, then they would have to show him.

So they did.

For the next three months, they continuously showed up for him and took care of him at his lowest. There were moments when they got frustrated and left, but they always came back. They made a point for him to know that they would never permanently leave. That they cared, and he couldn’t get rid of them that easily.

He didn’t seem happy with that, but they didn’t care.

They would do whatever it took to keep him alive, because they loved him.

It had been three months since the incident when they finally felt ready to leave him alone for a night. They lied and said there was a mandatory overlord meeting that night- which there had been in the past, but that night was not one of them- and stayed within the building.

It had been her idea. She’d thought it would be a good way to get them some rest from taking care of him 24/7. The psychiatrist she talked to said it was also a good way to establish his independence again and show that they still trust him without actually letting him endanger himself.

She shouldn’t have left him alone.

Vox hadn’t been ready.

She had been trying to pay more attention to everything around her after she hadn’t noticed everything until it was too late, so she’d known the moment Vox opened his mouth that morning that something was different. Not wrong, just different.

Then he’d spoken and he didn’t know who either of them were, and that the last thing he remembered was in 1974.

But that wasn’t the concerning part. No, memory loss on its own wasn’t all that strange. Weirder things had happened to the Vees more than once.

What was the concerning part was when he said he could manually delete memories.

That was something that had slipped through the cracks. They hadn’t even thought of putting safe guards on his mental files. They should’ve- he was a tech demon for Satan’s sake!- but they hadn’t even considered it might have been an issue.

To her, it was obvious that he’d done it on purpose. That he had chosen to delete his own memories. She didn’t know how or why, and she’d have to investigate further, but it was clearly a loophole.

Killing your mind without killing your body.

Death without dying.

She almost wanted to call it cowardly. Almost.

But… she knew Vox wasn’t thinking straight. Well, he was bi, he only thought straight half the time- but that wasn’t what she meant. She meant he wasn’t in his right mind, and so he was only doing what he could to achieve his goal- the goal of dying.

And she had failed to protect him from himself.

Her first instinct was to find a way to restore his memories. It shouldn’t be hard- Vox always backed everything up. It couldn’t be any different with his memories, could it?

But first, she would need to spend the weekend with Vox’s past self- Vincent.

Vincent was… different from Vox.

It was interesting to see how Vox had changed over fifty years. Vincent was like Vox, but happier. More… innocent. Which, he obviously couldn’t be truly innocent- he was in hell. But, he still felt so much nicer than Vox ever was. What exactly had happened to change that?

She was almost sure it had something to do with Alastor. That bastard had a way of getting underneath Vox’s skin, so it made a lot of sense that they’d been friends before. Vincent seemed to still think they were still friends, so their falling out must have happened within the last fifty years. It must have been bad for it to cause Vox to have such an obsession with Alastor, even all these years later.

The difference hurt. The fact that Vox had gotten rid of that version of himself was only supported by how different Vincent was. He felt like an echo of her broken promise to keep Vox safe and alive.

He felt like Vox when she was first getting to know him, but different. Less pain hiding behind his eyes. And, fuck, if that didn’t hurt she didn’t know what did. The man she loved like a father was happier before she was ever born.

Every interaction with him was slightly painful after knowing he was a replacement of her version of Vox. But that felt bad, because it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t chosen this. He hadn’t wanted to be ripped out of 1974, it just happened to him.

He was a version of her dad who was happy, but he didn’t know her.

Deciding to distract herself from her thoughts, she suggested watching a movie. The Lion King was always a good one. It was one of her favorites, although Cruella usurped it in her personal opinion. She’d have to show Vincent it before they got his memories back. She wanted to see his reaction to the plot twists again.

But regardless, they spent the day showing Vincent things that had been invented or come out in the fifty years he’d missed. She figured that they could start working on getting his memories back in the morning, and so she started getting ready for bed.

That was when the smoke alarm went off.

The whole building’s alarms went off whenever there was smoke detected anywhere within the building, so she had no idea where the fire was. Her chem lab and Valentino’s studio lights were prone to starting fires, so it was likely one of their employees who had started it.

She had half a mind to crawl into bed anyway, because it would almost surely be dealt with. But unfortunately she couldn’t just do that, Vox / Vincent was locked in his penthouse and couldn’t get out without her or Val’s keys. If there were actually a fire, then he would be trapped on the top floor of a burning building.

Fuck, that would be bad.

So, in her pajamas, she ran out to the hallway. Valentino seemed to have had the same thought, as he was only steps behind her when she arrived at Vox’s penthouse front door. She unlocked it and threw open the door, rushing forward to the bedroom where Vincent likely was.

He stood there, holding a pair of papers in his clawed hands. “I… Uh…” He gaped. “Here.” He handed the first paper to Velvette, and the second to Valentino. “I found these… I’m sorry, I read them but I… Um… You’ll see.”

The paper landed in her hand, and her blood went cold. It was a letter in Vox’s handwriting. Shit. Is this his fucking suicide letter?

She began reading, bracing herself for the confirmation.

Dear Velvette,

I’m sorry.

By the time you find and read this note, I will be gone. Not dead, no, you did a good job with making sure I couldn’t kill myself, Vette.

But you couldn’t control my internal systems, and that’s where everything that makes me Vox is. Every once in a while, I had to erase my memories to keep my processor from backing up. It was just the unimportant memories that I erased.

Until now. I erased everything that made me, well, me.

It will leave another version of me behind, but he's basically just a younger me- before my whimsy was crushed lol- in my current body. You don’t have to care for him, but don’t kill him either.

I know you tried so fucking hard to keep me alive, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. 

I want you to know that I love you, and I will always be proud of you. I mean that, okay? No matter what you do, I will be proud and I will love you, even if I can’t say it. Hell, especially if I can’t say it.

I know you well enough to know that you’ll blame yourself, Vette. You’ll think you didn’t try hard enough, or that you could’ve done more.

And that is absolutely not true. You were one of the only reasons I lasted as long as I did, right alongside Valentino. Sweetheart, I would have died much sooner if it weren’t for you. Just because you failed once doesn’t mean all those other times you saved my life don’t count.

I trust that you will go so far, and we both know I was only holding you back.

Okay, that’s a little too mushy for me. Just know I love you, you’re my little girl, and my death/deletion has nothing to do with you.

Love Vox

P.S. Don’t try to get me back. I deleted my memories for a reason, I chose this. Don’t try to revive me or some shit. That’s my final request, and I expect you to honor it.

She’d already known… but reading his ‘last’ words made it feel so much more real.

So he really had deleted his own memories. ‘Fuck’ was all she could think for a good thirty seconds while Vincent stared at her and Valentino.

‘Him’... Vox considered Vincent another person. Different from himself. It was weird, but she guessed she understood. A lot could change in fifty years, so he wasn’t really the same person as he once was.

‘You don’t have to care for him, but don’t kill him either’ Well, duh. It’s not like she was going to kill Vincent for just not being Vox. Besides, she was going to get his memories back anyways, so it didn’t matter. Not in the long run. Maybe she’d think differently if they couldn’t get his memories back, but for now she would protect Vincent the same way she would protect Vox.

She felt her eyes well with tears when she read ‘I love you’. It wasn’t something they said lightly. They only ever said it when they were upset and needed comfort. He’d known reading this letter would upset her. Something in her chest cracked open at that realization. It was painful in a warm way. Not burning, but warm, fresh pain. Like love, but this time it only hurt instead of the comfort it usually brought.

‘I will always be proud of you’, he said. Her own parents had never once told her that. Vox told her it every time she did something new, whether or not she was good at it. 

‘No matter what you do, I will be proud and I will love you.’ That wasn’t true. What he was saying was love without conditions. Unconditional love wasn’t real. She’d been taught that from birth by everyone around her. Love was a transaction, not something you gave without expecting something in return. She knew that. Her own love for Vox was even somewhat transactional. He’d given her so much, so now she felt like she had to pay it back by taking care of him in return.

But she still loved him, even when he no longer had anything to give. Of course she did. She wouldn’t just abandon the man who cared for her like his own just because he couldn’t care for her anymore- but that didn’t mean she would have loved him without him giving her something first.

He only took her in because he’d seen the massive potential she held- not because he saw her as a daughter at first sight. Now she was paying back a debt that couldn’t be repaid by taking care of him the way he took care of her.

But potential didn’t equal unconditional love. She could have fucked up hard enough to where he would’ve thrown her away like a dirty towel. Just because she didn’t fuck it up didn’t mean she was wearing any sort of rose-tinted glasses. No, she was perfectly aware that it was luck that had gotten her where she was today.

She would have been able to climb the overlord ladder without Vox, she’s sure- it’s not like she was incapable- but becoming one of the most powerful overlords? Climbing to the top as fast as she did? That was because of Vox.

‘You’ll blame yourself, Vette. You’ll think you didn’t try hard enough, or that you could’ve done more.’ She could’ve. She could’ve. She didn’t have to leave him alone that night. She could’ve seen it sooner.

Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve- wasn’t that the saying?

The next few sentences caught her off guard. She had expected him to… blame her, maybe? Not that she expected that from Vox specifically- she just expected it from the whole world at this point.

But he didn’t blame her.

‘And that is absolutely not true. You were one of the only reasons I lasted as long as I did, right alongside Valentino. Sweetheart, I would have died much sooner if it weren’t for you.’

No, he didn’t only not blame her- he said she was one of the only things that kept him around.

She was one of the only things that kept him alive, and it hadn’t been enough. She hadn’t been enough.

‘Just because you failed once doesn’t mean all those other times you saved my life don’t count.’

But it does.

One failure would have been enough for Vox to discard her back then, so why was he now saying that her greatest failure- the failure to keep her father alive- wasn’t that bad?

Maybe he did truly love her unconditionally.

No. That… that wasn’t possible.

As much as she wished it was, it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

There was always something she could’ve done to fuck it up.

This failure was just another in the line of her failures to protect Vox. This one just happened to be the largest yet.

But she would get his memories back, because if she didn’t, then she hadn’t failed; she was a failure.

‘We both know I was only holding you back.’

That was never true.

Did he really think that?

She guessed he must.

But it wasn’t true. She would have to tell him that once his memories were restored.

‘You’re my little girl’.

Every second she stared at that line her eyes stung with something tear-adjacent. Crying was for babies, and she was a strong independent woman. So she wasn’t going to cry, but damn, it was close.

‘P.S. Don’t try to get me back.’

Not happening. She was going to get him back.

‘I chose this.’

Maybe he did. But she didn’t care.

He didn’t get to take the coward’s way out. Not on her watch.

‘That’s my final request, and I expect you to honor it.’

Fuck.

Was she really going to disrespect his final wishes? Or what he thought were his final wishes?

Maybe.

No, yeah- she was.

She was going to get his memories back.

Maybe she had some level of hesitation, but it wouldn’t last for long. She was sure about that. Respecting a dead person’s wishes mattered, but not if their only wish was to stay dead when you could revive them.

The smoke alarm pierced through her thoughts, reminding her of the situation. “C’mon, the fire fighters will be here soon.”

Valentino was still staring at his letter, and she quickly got a glimpse of the first few lines by accident.

Dear Valentino,

I love you.

No fucking wonder the moth demon hadn’t spoken yet.

Valentino had said those words to Vox so many times, but Vox had never said them back.

She’d asked Vox about it once, and he’d said that he did reciprocate Val’s feelings, but that he didn’t want to act on them. Something about mixing love and business having burned him in the past. She got the feeling that it was about Alastor. (Sometimes Velvette wished Vox had killed Alastor on The Might of Lilith. The Radio Demon would’ve deserved it.)

But now he acted on it?

He only would’ve done that if he truly never expected to live. He fully expected to die then and there.

“Valentino!” She said, grabbing the moth demon’s arm to shake him from his thoughts. “C’mon, we need to evacuate.”

He looked up (or down, she was like half his height) at her with a crestfallen expression on his face. “Vette… Did you not read it?”

“I did, but that’s not what’s important right now.”

“How can you say that?! Our best friend is dead!”

“No, we’ll find a way to get his memories back. It’s not over ‘til it’s over.”

“But he didn’t want that!”

“So? I’m not letting him die. Not on my watch!”

Valentino looked offended. “You want to bring him back?”

“Of course I do.” She snapped. “Don’t you?”

“I want him back, but not if it means he’ll be miserable again. He’d only be even more pissed at us if we revived him, and then he’d only get worse.”

“We’re not talking about this. Right now, we need to get out of the fucking burning building!”

“Fuck you! You’re just changing the subject because you know I make a good point!”

“So what? I’m changing the subject because this is not a good time to argue over this!”

“Um, guys??” Vincent spoke up. “I think I may have been the cause of the smoke.”

“What did you do?!” Velvette said in a scolding tone.

“The edges of the letters… I was reading them and I realized why I don’t have my memories and then I might have accidentally fried them?”

She hadn’t noticed before, but the edges of both of their letters were charred and burnt.

She sighed. “Okay. Well, then we still need to tell everyone it was a false alarm then. And check to make sure it actually was a false alarm and something else isn’t on fire.”

With that moderately settled, Valentino grabbed them both- each in two arms- and flew them out a window. None of the windows in Vox’s penthouse opened wide enough for that anymore, but the ones in Valentino’s room were designed to, expressly for the purpose of him flying out of them.

Valentino had given her both the letters to hold, and it gave her time while they were in the air to read the letter meant for Val. While she wouldn’t call herself a gossip, she did need to know everything about everyone around her. Really, if Val didn’t want her reading it, then he shouldn’t have given it to her to hold.

Dear Valentino,

I love you.

Take that however you want, because I’m not going to be around for you to act on it.

Not dead, you did a good job on making sure I couldn’t properly die.

But neither you nor Velvette could control my operating systems, and that’s where everything that makes me Vox is. I won’t bore you with the details, otherwise I know you won’t read this, but basically, I deleted myself.

It should leave another version of me behind. He’ll basically be a younger me, from before we even met. Hell, you probably weren’t even dead yet when Alasto… when you-know-what happened. Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that he’s not me, and I don’t expect you to love or take care of him like you did for me, but don’t kill him.

You did so much to keep me alive, and I’ll be forever sorry that I wasn’t man enough to stick around for you and Vette.

I just want you to know that I love you. I know I already said it, but take that however you want. If you want it to be romantic, then that’s fine by me. If it’s easier, then it can just be sexual or even familial.

I know you well enough to know you’ll be angry. You’ll lash out and hurt people the way you want to hurt me for leaving you alone.

But you’re not alone. Velvette is going through this alongside you. You were both the only reasons I lasted as long as I did, so treat her like it. Don’t let your anger hurt her.

I trust that you two will go so far. As long as you work together, there’s nothing you two can’t do. We all know that I was only holding our trio back. You’ll do better as a duo.

Love Vox

P.S. Don’t try to get me back. I deleted my memories on purpose, I chose this. Don’t try to revive or some shit. That’s my final ask- other than not to hurt Vette and the other me- and I expect you to honor it.

Overall, it had the same message as the one Vox had written for her, just personalized to Val.

But she was curious about the crossed out section. It was too scribbled over for her to read, but with the context of ‘when you-know-what happened’ it seemed likely that it was a traumatic event that Vox had never told her about. He’d known Val for longer, so it made sense that Val knew and she didn’t.

Other than that, it carried no new information for her.

Valentino landed on the ground outside of Vee tower, next to a crowd of their employees who had been either working late or living on their residential floor. Firetrucks pulled up, sirens blaring. The moment the smoke alarm went off, they had gotten a notification that Vee tower was on fire.

The crowd stared at Vincent, who they thought was Vox. He hadn’t even been outside since the incident, so no one but the doctors, Velvette and Valentino had seen him in months. Some of them looked on in pity, while others only looked angry. Some looked disgusted.

“Oh.” Vincent murmured, quiet enough that only they could hear. “Everyone probably hates me because of everything Vox did, huh?”

“Yes.” It was all Velvette could manage.

“I see. Should I… like, I dunno, say something?”

“No.” Velvette and Valentino both said in unison.

His antennae drooped. “Okay.” He muttered.

Most people were smart enough to hide their phones while they did it, but Velvette could feel pictures being taken all around her. The first sighting of ‘Vox’ after everything was going to be trending on Vitter.

She quickly talked to the firefighters, giving them an easy lie that they had set something on fire by accident, but that the rest of the building was probably okay. They told her they would need to check it out anyway, and that a quick scan of the building would take about an hour.

Which was plenty enough time for them to be sitting ducks. 

Thinking quickly, she broke down the front door to the building across the street and pulled Vincent and Valentino inside with her. She’d either get in a fight with some wanna-be overlord over the door, or she’d just pay for it, but either option was better than sitting in the open for an hour.

“What was that for?” Vincent asked.

“People aren’t exactly fond of you right now, and you never know who’s carrying an angelic weapon. Better to tuck you away so less people see you and get any ideas.”

“Good thinking, Vette.” Valentino praised. “We wouldn’t want any-”

The lights in the lobby flickered, effectively cutting off Valentino’s sentence.

The shadows seemed to grow darker, and group underneath the chandelier, where the light had been brightest only moments before.

A figure began to form from them, only for fucking Alastor to appear.

“Hello, Vox. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Chapter Text

Alastor appeared from the shadows in a way Vincent had seen a million times in the years when they were friends. It was quite a common way that he would threaten his enemies, but now it had been turned on Vincent. That alone was enough to give him a sinking feeling in his chest.

The moment from the video flashed in his head. The moment where Vox had been so ready to kill Alastor before he killed himself. He clearly deserved it to be turned on him now, but seeing a version of Alastor that wanted to hurt him was its own kind of pain.

If Alastor was here to take revenge for that moment, then Vincent wouldn’t stop him. Even though he couldn’t remember it, Alastor would have every right to kill him. His anger would be justified.

The last thing he remembered from before was Alastor, but now… it seemed like Alastor and him weren’t friends.

For far from the first time, he wished he could remember everything. But despite that, Vincent was still happy to see Alastor.

It was nice to see that Alastor hadn’t changed in the fifty years he couldn’t recall, even though their relationship had.

“Hello, Vox. It’s been a while hasn’t it?” Alastor said, with a tone he’d only ever used for Vincent. Maybe they weren’t as estranged as previously thought? “I never did get to thank you for all the help, my dear friend.” The word friend struck something inside him, something he hadn’t been aware of moments before. It hurt more than he’d thought a single phrase of endearment ever could.

Vincent was left confused. What had Vox helped Alastor with?

Beside him, both Velvette and Valentino tensed. He wasn’t sure what they were expecting, but he could tell it wasn’t good. “How dare you!” Velvette snarled. “You fuckin’ come here after everything you did?”

“Oh, I didn’t do anything, dear. That was all Vox.”

“¡Cierra la puta boca! You do not get to say that!” Val snapped.

“My, my, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, I see.” Alastor sneered.

“You couldn’t even begin to understand, asshole. That would require having something called empathy, and I know for a fact you’re lacking.” Velvette responded.

“Try me.” Alastor propositioned.

She scoffed. “As if.”

Vincent just stood there, confused. He had no clue what was happening. They were arguing, but about what?

“Vox, do you have anything to add before we get on with it?”

“...On with what, exactly?”

“Why, the fight of course!”

Vincent froze as shadows grouped at his feet.

He couldn’t fight Alastor!

Not only would he lose, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt his best friend.

Former.

Former best friend.

They weren’t friends anymore.

Even if he didn’t know why.

The shadows grouped at his feet, and the floor suddenly became much less solid, and he began sinking into the darkness below. It was similar to how he imagined quick sand worked, but much faster. One moment he was standing between Velvette and Valentino, and the next his head was level with Velvette’s hip, his legs completely absent.

The other Vees reached for him, hands attempting to grasp him, but to no avail. Travelling through shadows made the body non-physical, so their hands passed straight through him.

Suddenly, he was outside a building he didn’t recognize. A hotel, by the looks of it.

It looked almost like it had a cruise ship coming out of the side, and- just like everything else in hell- it was red. It was a very strange building overall.

The sign atop the building read Hazbin Hotel, with a giant key operating as the logo. The princess’s hotel, potentially? Velvette hadn’t mentioned the name of the princess’s hotel, but she hadn’t mentioned any other hotels, so it was convenient to assume this was the one she was talking about.

But regardless of whether it was or not, the hotel was not important at the moment. What was important was the angry radio demon staring down at him.

“What the fuck, Al?!” He shouted. “Where are we?!”

“The Hazbin Hotel, of course. You of all people should know that.” Alastor sneered.

That felt like a jab, but he didn’t have the context to be offended by it. Instead of asking for said context, he just shrugged it off. “Maybe I should, but I don’t.”

“I’m getting bored of this idle chit-chat. I think we ought to get to the fight now, don’t you agree?”

“I’d really rather not…” Vincent muttered.

“Don’t get discouraged just because last time was your biggest loss yet. There’s lots more where that comes from.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re great at inspirational speeches?”

“No, actually.”

“Ever wonder why?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“That's because you’re dogshit at them.”

“Okay, that’s quite enough from you.” Alastor snapped, summoning a tentacle made of shadow and launching it towards Vincent. It would’ve hit him square in the chest if he didn’t dodge; Alastor was not holding back or pulling his punches in the slightest.

In response, Vincent lifted himself upwards with his wires. It gave him much more manoeuvrability to be able to dodge any attacks, and it made him almost look like he was flying.

Another tentacle launched upwards, flying straight for him. He dodged, a rush of air in his microphones as his wires moved his body around faster than he could manage on his own. But it wasn’t fast enough, a shallow cut swelling on his arm, a light flow of his own blood trickling out from a wire that had been severed inside his arm. That would need to regenerate, and his wires always took a long time to do so.

Alastor knew that. Alastor was trying to hurt him.

Did… Did Alastor want to kill him?

He wouldn’t blame Al for wanting to, but… did their friendship mean nothing to him?

The mere thought of hurting Alastor made Vincent nauseous. Why wasn’t it the same for Al? He didn’t know, but there was no answer there that he would want to hear.

“Al, stop!” Vincent shouted down at his former friend. “Just wait a minute, I don’t want to fight you!”

“Oh? And where was that spirit when you tried to kill me just a few months ago?”

“Look, I don’t remember that, but I’m sorry. I don’t even know why we’re fighting.”

Alastor tilted his head, leaning on his microphone staff. “Playing the fool now, are we?”

“I’m not playing anything, I swear!” Vincent insisted. “I don’t remember, Al. My memories of the last fifty years…” He hesitated. “-got deleted.” Alastor didn’t need to know Vox had killed himself. Or the modern version of himself at least. “I don’t know what Vox did to you, or why we’re not friends anymore, but I am sorry, okay?”

The area around the two went silent, radio static absent from the air. Alastor stared up at him, his iconic smile unreadably still.

For a brief second, Vincent thought Alastor might actually believe him.

Then a harsh, mocking laugh split across the air.

“Do you take me for an idiot, old friend?” Alastor’s voice was nearly imperceptible underneath the static. “A selective bout of amnesia? Right when you’re finally getting the consequences of your actions? You always did have a flair for the dramatic, but I’m afraid I’m uninterested in playing your games today.”

Vincent’s heart plummeted. “Al, I’m telling the truth. I can’t-”

“Quiet now.” Alastor snapped.

Before Vincent could react, a shadow materialized in his blind spot, solidifying into a massive tendril of darkness. It swung towards Vincent’s chest like a battering ram. Maybe he could’ve dodged it if he’d known it was there, but as it was, he only discovered its existence when it hit him.

The tentacle hit the left side of his torso, crushing the delicate gills that lay against his ribs. The blunt force smashed the air out of his chest.

At the same time, smaller tentacles reached down and grabbed his wires, ripping them from his body. Without their support, he fell from the sky like a rock, crashing hard on the concrete parking lot outside the hotel.

Worse, he landed on his left side too, only further crushing his gills. He dreaded breathing, because he knew each exhale would be painful. Despite that, he knew he couldn’t hold his breath forever.

Every shallow breath he managed to drag into his lungs through his mouth sent a white hot snap of agony that radiated across his entire chest when it came out of his gills. Exhaling through his left gill burned worse than he thought possible, nearly whiting out his vision with pain.

His clawed fingers gently touched the membranes of his gills, assessing the damage. They came away wet; stained with a dark, warm, blue substance he barely recognized as his own blood.

Through a blur of held back tears and pain, he looked up at Alastor, who now stood above him. His cane sat in his hands casually, like it hadn’t just hurled him from the sky with the tentacles it summoned.

Alastor looked down at him, some mix of disgust and disinterest in his eyes. Whatever it was, it looked nothing like the fondness Vincent was used to seeing. Again, he wondered what had changed between them.

Everything. Everything had changed between them. Alastor was no longer someone Vincent could trust.

Alastor took a step forward and put the tip of his microphone cane underneath Vincent’s chin, lifting his face skywards. He seemed to scan Vincent up and down, looking at the pooling blue blood and broken wires. He almost looked like he was admiring his work.

He wanted to say that this wasn’t the man Vincent had wanted all those years ago- although for him, it’d only been last night- but it was. Alastor had always been this cruel, and it had never mattered to him until it had been turned on him.

“Look at what you’ve become, old friend. So weak. So pathetic. No wonder you tried to make that deal. It’s so obvious how much you need me.”

The words stung just as much as his bleeding gills did.

Need him? Is that what Alastor thought the deal was about?

Power?

Status?

Vincent swallowed hard, the metallic taste of his own blue blood coating his tongue. When he’d bitten it was a mystery to him. He pushed himself up just a fraction to face Alastor head on. The movement sent a fresh, blinding flash of pain straight through his bruised ribs. His left gill convulsed, refusing to open to exhale.

But in that moment, he couldn’t have cared less.

He didn’t look at the cane. He didn’t look at the shadows. He didn’t look at the sky. He looked straight into the eyes of the man who had once been his friend and spoke.

“No.” He choked out, making himself sound as forceful as possible despite his injury. “I didn’t need you. I never needed you.”

Alastor seemed to stiffen, even if only a fraction. Vincent doubted anyone but himself- and maybe Mimzy- could’ve picked up on that tiny movement.

Vincent let himself drop, his strength giving out in favour of the pain. He collapsed back into the blue stain on the pavement, leaving himself entirely defenseless.

“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want you.”

Chapter Text

Being the most powerful sinner had plenty of perks.

Alastor almost never had to try in a fight, only the most fool-hardy people tried to challenge him, and no one but Rosie could punish him for his actions.

It was nice, and exactly why he’d wanted to be the most powerful sinner in the first place.

But, as with anything, there was a downside. There was always a downside.

Every single time someone tried to get close to him, they only wanted to use him.

It started when he was alive. People saw a mixed black man who’d risen above his ‘station’ and wanted to use that for their own gain. It wasn’t even necessarily malicious, but it still hurt every time he found out they’d only been using him.

Then it was Rosie- she may have given him power, but that had relied on making the deal while he was alive, and it drained her powers too. He’d thought they were friends at first- partners as Vincent had later put it- but Rosie had quickly shown him that she was the one in control. 

Then it was the older sinner who’d saved him from an overlord battle during his first week in hell and taught him how to use his powers. He’d thought that man was a kind one, but then he overheard him with his wife saying how he’d saved a newly deceased sinner with powers beyond what he’d ever seen and how this could be so useful if he could trick Alastor into a soul contract. Alastor hadn’t had the heart to kill the old man back then, but he’d come back a few years later and finished the job for his past self.

After that, it was the first overlord he’d met other than Rosie- the man who ran the newspapers and magazines for all of hell. He’d seen Alastor’s potential almost instantly and tried to trap him in a business contract. Alastor had played along for a while, but quickly realized that he could do so much more on his own and left.

Then it was another powerful newly deceased sinner who wanted to date him. She’d been kind, but he was more powerful than her, and after a few years, it became clear she wanted the power more than she wanted him, so he left. If she was a man, he’d have killed her, but his mother had taught him to respect women, so he didn’t end up hunting her for sport like he did to the old man.

Every time.

It was every single time that he got close to someone that they tried to use him for their own gain.

It went on like that for too long. He met someone, grew close, and then they asked him for something.

Same pattern every time.

Even Mimzy, once she died, used him too. He chose not to push her away though. He liked her company, and he did enjoy it when she brought him people to kill- he just would prefer it if she did it voluntarily instead of doing it only when it was necessary for her survival.

But one day, in the fifties, he met someone.

This someone was… strange, to say the least.

With a picture box for a head, Alastor had been intrigued the moment they met. The man had said he loved Alastor’s work, and Alastor had thought this was yet another person who wanted to use him for his power. He had to be, if he wasn’t scared but still knew who he was.

So Alastor offered for him to come on his show. That was usually a pretty good method to get people to back off. But to his shock, the picture box had accepted. That was a first for him.

Alastor had laughed off the ridiculous sinner, but he’d kept thinking about it for the rest of the night.

When Alastor left the bar that night, the man followed him and told him he’d be visiting so he could be on Alastor’s show. Naturally, Alastor had tried to kill him when he said that, but the picture box dodged. The man was entertaining, so Alastor let him go.

A few days later, the same sinner showed up at his radio tower while he was on air. The ensuing fight almost winded Alastor. The man was surprisingly strong for someone who still smelled of life. He’d never had such a tough time fighting someone who wasn’t an overlord. He said as much, and didn’t think anything more of it.

Alastor had nearly forgotten about the little sinner when they ran into each other again. Quite literally too. Vincent, as he introduced himself, had been sprinting away from a minor overlord and ran directly into Alastor when he turned a corner.

Alastor was intrigued, and that never happened, so he killed the other overlord without so much of a second thought. He didn’t tell Vincent this, but the overlord had almost been dead already. It only took a single hit to incapacitate them.

That’s what really got his attention. Vincent had nearly killed an overlord only months after dying.

That wasn’t just impressive; it was near impossible. Alastor had never heard of anyone but himself doing something like that.

Vincent, unlike everyone else, didn’t need anything from him. They would be the same power level eventually. If Vincent had the drive for it, that is.

So Alastor let Vincent buy him a drink. After that, they kind of became friends.

And for the first time since his mother had died, his smile was genuine more often than not.

Vincent was good to him. He was kind. He had a bit of an issue with boundaries, but their shared laughter was more than enough to compensate for the brief discomfort he felt when he was touched without permission.

Over the years, they got closer and closer until Alastor was seeing him multiple times a week. Not because he needed to, but because they chose to meet up and hang out.

Alastor hadn’t wanted to put a label on it, because friends had only hurt him in the past, but if anyone was his friend, then it was Vincent. He didn’t even consider anyone else an option- it was just Vincent.

Vincent became an overlord just a few years after they met.

And that wasn’t a problem.

Alastor had known Vincent was strong before even knowing his name.

If there was anyone he considered an equal, it was Vincent.

If there was anyone he trusted with his life, it was Vincent.

If there was anyone who didn’t want to use him, it was Vincent.

But then, Vincent did something.

He proposed a business deal.

And Vincent used the same words that they all had.

He sounded just like the people that he didn’t want to compare to the one person he truly cared for.

He should’ve seen it in Vincent; the hunger for power, the desire to be the best in the room through any means necessary. That’s what every sinner was like- and not even Alastor was exempt from that. He’d made a deal for power, so why did it hurt so badly each time someone else tried to do the same?

Vincent himself had admitted he’d killed to get ahead in life, why would it be any different now? Because they were friends? No. That was never enough- not for any of these miserable people.

And it hurt.

It hurt because he’d thought Vincent was an exception to the rule of his life.

And Vincent had proven that Alastor was wrong.

So he reacted in the only way he knew how- by lashing out.

He insulted Vincent, when only moments before he’d been laughing at his jokes.

He really didn’t mean any of the things he’d called Vincent. The man was far from pathetic or weak- he was one of the strongest sinners he’d met with such little time in hell- but Alastor spat each word with as much vitriol as he could summon.

Alastor knew he was lashing out at someone who hardly deserved the amount of hatred he was getting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Vincent had then had the audacity to call himself Alastor’s friend, which only pissed Alastor off even more. Friends shouldn’t use each other the way Vincent had wanted to use him, and yet he dared to call them friends?

No; there were no friends in hell. Vincent had just proved that.

Vincent had begun to cry, but Alastor couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Maybe he’d been a little harsh. Maybe lashing out with every bit of anger he’d felt while being taken advantage of in the previous forty years was unfair. But nothing was fair. Not in life, and certainly not in hell.

After that, he swore to never trust another person ever again. Especially if they’d been the one to approach him. It was better that way.

Maybe he would be lonely, but he wouldn’t be used again.

That was enough for him, but only because it had to be.

From then on, he and Vincent were rivals. They hated each other, and they fought at every opportunity.

Looking back on it decades later, Alastor doesn’t think Vincent ever truly wanted him. Not in the way he wanted Vincent, at least.

That was easily shown by how Vincent- Vox now- had planned to take over heaven. He wanted power, and Alastor had been just an opportunity to gain it. And Alastor, like the idiot he is, fell for it for over twenty years. Vox was good at the long game, Alastor would give him that much.

Unlike everyone else, Vox had made him care before breaking his heart, and that instilled a sense of dread for all future relationships, as they might only do the same.

And yet… he did miss Vincent. He missed back before the deal, when he’d been ignorant to Vox’s true intentions. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

He missed what their relationship had been, but he didn’t regret ruining it; Vincent had been the one to ruin it first after all.

Vox had managed to hurt him worse than anyone else had really been able to, because he’d made Alastor trust him first. Having his trust broken hurt worse than loneliness, so loneliness it was.

That was why he’d chosen to stay at the hotel, even after Rosie’s orders had faded. Because loneliness hurt, and the people of the hotel weren’t going to break his trust- like Vox did all those years ago- as the trust wasn’t there in the first place.

It was one random night, about three months after the Might of Lilith incident, when Cherri Bomb started ranting about how much she hated Vox for what he did to Angel. Alastor really couldn’t care less, but why she’d gotten started did intrigue him.

“What exactly started this tangent?” Alastor asked Husk, who was polishing a glass that definitely didn’t need polishing behind the bar.

“First sighting of Vox outside Vee tower since everything went down. She saw it on Vitter. Apparently Vee Tower is on fire and they had to evacuate.”

“My, is everyone okay?” Alastor asked, feigning interest. Really, the only thing mildly interesting about the whole ordeal was Vox himself.

“I sure fucking hope not!” Cherri exclaimed. “Bastards deserve everything that’s coming to them.”

Yeah, he wasn’t getting anywhere with this conversation. Deciding to go give his former friend a visit, he disappeared into the shadows.

Spying from the shadows for a moment, he quickly spotted Vox; it was hard to miss him with how the crowd stared.

He watched Velvette break down the door to the building across the street from the tower and listened to her explanation as to why they shouldn’t stand out in the open. That was strange. Vox should really know that people would try to attack him after everything he did, so why was Velvette acting like Vox didn’t know?

But that didn’t matter. He wasn’t here to spy on his enemies; he was here to fight.

He stepped out from the shadows in a theatrical way he reserved for his enemies. He let his form materialize slowly, shadows pooling around him like dripping blood.

He tilted his head, smiling at Vox across the lobby.

Alastor had grown to expect the immediate aggressive position Vox would slip into when they saw each other, but Vox didn’t prepare himself for a fight.

His screen didn’t flare with panicked static. He didn’t summon his wires. He didn’t get ready to fight.

He just stood there.

If anything, Alastor could see the small movement of his shoulders, how they dropped in some form of… was it relief? That couldn’t be it. Vox wouldn’t do that. Relaxation? No, that couldn’t be it either. It was something, but Alastor couldn’t quite read what it actually was.

Whatever it was, it looked vulnerable, and not like something Vox had done in his presence since that fateful night in the bar.

An act. It had to be. Alastor didn’t know what game Vox was playing, but he was playing something.

“Hello Vox. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Alastor said, using a tone he had reserved for Vincent. He wanted to remind Vox of everything he’d lost that night. “I never did get to thank you for all the help, my dear friend.” He added, twisting the knife.

Usually, using that word would’ve been enough to make Vox quite literally short circuit for a moment, reminding him of that night in the bar. Alastor had used that very tactic when they’d last seen each other to stop Vox from thinking for a moment.

And it had worked; only shortly after was when Vox broke their deal.

But now, Vox barely seemed to notice. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He didn’t grind his teeth. He didn’t frown.

His teammates seemed more affected by the word than Vox himself did, both tensing, getting ready for a fight. “How dare you!” Velvette snarled. “You fuckin’ come here? After everything you did?”

“Oh, I didn’t do anything, dear. That was all Vox.” He replied. He knew that would piss them off.

“¡Cierra la puta boca! You do not get to say that!” Valentino snapped.

“My, my, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, I see.” Alastor sneered.

“You couldn’t even begin to understand, asshole. That would require having something called empathy, and I know for a fact you’re lacking.” Velvette responded.

“Try me.” Alastor propositioned. He was actually curious, they were more agitated than they usually were- but he wasn’t going to genuinely ask. That was too much like caring for his tastes.

She scoffed. “As if.”

He was practically begging for them to swing first. He much preferred to have an excuse when Charlie would scold him for getting into another fight later, and it had been too long since he’d had a good fight.

He ignored her, his attention drifting back to Vox, who had been unusually quiet for the whole conversation, seemingly taking in as much information he could, like he needed it to understand.

His patience was wearing thin. He wanted Vox’s reaction. He wanted the explosion of anger and curses that he knew would always come from Vox.

But it didn’t come. There was no calculated malice in Vox’s stance. No wires had been summoned. No power had begun to build up in the air space around him.

“Vox, do you have anything to add before we get on with it?”

Vox looked even more confused.

“On with what, exactly?”

He said it like he wasn’t perfectly aware that this was always how their fights started.

He said it without the strength of an overlord behind it.

He said it like Vincent would’ve.

He felt his eyes narrow. It was a good act, but Vox had always been a good actor. He’d fooled Alastor for the twenty years they’d been friends, after all.

“Why, the fight of course!” Alastor said, summoning a portal beneath Vox’s feet with a flick of his wrist.

He expected Vox to fight back. To dodge. To… anything.

But he didn’t even try to counter the magical attack. He just stood there, letting himself sink into the shadows.

Alastor watched the other Vees lunge for Vox, their hands passing through him like smoke and they tried to pull him away from the portal. Ah, the wonders of shadow travel; it allowed him to turn things and people non-physical.

In a blink, the shadows dissipated, Vox disappearing with them.

Alastor let himself sink into the floor at the same time, but slower; he wanted to watch the other Vees freak out as their companion was taken from their side with nothing they could do to stop it. As expected, it was massively entertaining.

Valentino scrambled against the tiled floor, searching for purchase that might allow him to reach Vox; purchase that would never come.

Velvette gasped and glared at him viciously. If looks could kill, he would be dead. She pulled out her phone almost instantly. She would be able to scan every camera in the city for where he’d taken Vox. Luckily for him, neither she nor Valentino had teleportation. It would take them far too long to get anywhere, and that time was exactly what Alastor needed to rough Vox up a little. If he wanted to, he could even kill Vox before the other Vees could arrive to save him. The look of horror on her face as it dawned on her was priceless.

Alastor allowed himself to disappear just the way Vox had and reappeared outside the hotel. He only chose the hotel because it was his land, and he was at an advantage in a place he knew well.

Vox had managed to scramble to his feet in the extra time Alastor had taken to teleport and was looking around at the strange architecture of the princess’s hotel.

Then, his eyes landed on Alastor. His screen flashed in a chaotic manner, closer to panic than any other emotion that Alastor could identify.

“What the fuck, Al?!” He shouted, voice cracking. “Where are we?”

Al. Another demeaning nickname that had once been a term of endearment, but now only stung.

“The Hazbin Hotel of course. You of all people should know that.”

After the months-long slander campaign against the hotel that Vox had executed, Vox should recognize the princess’s hotel. He’d been here before, hadn’t he?

He expected Vox to launch into a corporate tirade about Charlie’s awful business practices, or maybe to snap that he already knew.

Instead, Vox just shrugged; a bizarre gesture that implied total neutrality. “Maybe I should, but I don’t.” He said simply.

Alastor’s grip on his cane tightened. This act was getting tedious. Vox was a man who lived and breathed information. For him to pretend like he didn’t know what the most famous and controversial establishment in all of hell was was an insulting lie that felt like a slap in Charlie’s face. A very entertaining slap, mind you. But still. Vox should know all this.

“I’m getting bored of this idle chit-chat.” Alastor snapped. “I think we ought to get to the fight now, don’t you agree?”

“I’d really rather not…” Vox muttered.

There was no fighting spirit in his words.

No aggression.

No anger.

Nothing.

It didn’t sound like Vox at all.

Had Vox given up?

No. He couldn’t have that.

Vox was a wonderful source of entertainment. He would hate it if he lost his sense of fight.

“Don’t get discouraged just because last time was your biggest loss yet. There’s lots more where that comes from.”

Vox almost laughed, a small smile infecting his screen. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re great at inspirational speeches?”

“No, actually.”

“Ever wonder why?”

“Can’t say I have.” He clipped back.

“That’s because you’re dogshit at them.”

The insult didn’t hurt Alastor’s pride- he’d been called much worse by much better sinners- but the sheer audacity of Vox standing there, refusing to fight, and trading sarcastic banter like they were still friends sitting in a bar in 1970 blew his patience entirely.

“Okay, that’s quite enough from you.” He snapped. Alastor threw a shadowy tentacle directly at Vox’s chest.

As expected, Vox dodged.

Alastor felt a familiar sense of triumph- the satisfaction of getting what he wanted- as Vox finally moved. There he is. There’s the overlord Alastor wanted to fight.

He watched Vox lift himself upwards with the wires that sprouted from underneath his sleep clothes. Suspended in the air, Vox moved faster than his legs could carry him. From below, it almost looked like he was flying, however artificial it was.

But Alastor knew how to track prey in motion. With a casual flick of his cane, he launched another mass of shadow at Vox. Vox twisted mid-air to avoid it, but he wasn’t fast enough, the sharp edge slicing into his exposed arm.

Vox grasped at his arm, clutching it with a clear sense of annoyance. A cleanly severed internal wire like that would take days, if not weeks, to regenerate.

Alastor only knew that because he’d been there for Vincent during a similar injury. He remembered helping his friend stitch up a torn wire after a skirmish with a rival overlord in the sixties. Vincent had complained that those specific cables took extra long to mend.

Vox hovered in the air, his screen flickering with an emotion Alastor couldn’t call anything but confusion and hurt. Not physical hurt. Emotional.

He didn’t summon more wires or do anything to retaliate. He just spoke.

“Al, stop!” Vox shouted down. “Just wait a minute, I don’t want to fight you!”

Vox was many things- arrogant, loud, manipulative, and desperate for validation- but he was not a coward. In every battle they had fought across the decades, Vox had met Alastor's shadows with a blinding, furious storm of neon blue lightning. He had never once accepted a single strike without trying to burn Alastor to a crisp in return.

“Oh?” Alastor asked. “And where was that spirit when you tried to kill me just a few months ago?”

“Look, I don’t remember that, but I’m sorry. I don’t even know why we’re fighting.”

An apology? What game was he playing? Did he seriously think Alastor would fall for that? “Playing the fool now, are we?”

“I’m not playing anything, I swear!” Vox insisted, his voice desperate and frantic in a way he hadn’t let Alastor hear for fifty years. Why was he allowing Alastor to see that vulnerability now?

A game of sorts, obviously. But what was his end goal?

“I don’t remember, Al. My memories of the last fifty years-” He paused. “-got deleted. I don’t know what Vox did to you, or why we’re not friends anymore, but I am sorry, okay?”

The explanation was so utterly ridiculous, so completely absurd, that it shouldn’t have carried an ounce of weight. It should have been another lie to add to the growing pile of falsehoods that was their relationship.

But it did add up.

Vox not knowing about the hotel?

Velvette telling him that people weren’t fond of him at the moment when he should’ve already been aware of that?

The different behaviour?

Not being scared of Alastor?

It all made sense if Vox had lost his memories, but not if he hadn’t.

Vox wasn’t acting.

Alastor felt the air around him go still; radio waves absent for a sharp moment. No one but himself and Vox would have been able to feel the difference in the air as they were the only demons in all of hell that were attuned to radio frequencies, but Vox was exactly who he didn’t want witnessing a moment of doubt.

Vox genuinely didn’t know.

The realization didn’t soften him whatsoever. If anything, it made him even more furious.

Vox had spent decades building his tech empire, breaking Alastor’s trust, and making all of hell hate him- and now he simply got to forget?

How blissful that must be. It sounded nice, and that was exactly why Alastor didn’t want Vox to have it.

To forget everything they went through together… It was so convenient for Vox. It left everyone else carrying the burden of his life while he got to go free and weightless.

How had Vox even lost his memories?

Was it intentional?

Did the Vees do it?

Was it an accident?

Was he trying to fix it?

If he wasn’t trying to get his memories back, then what would happen?

Was this current version of him a version that remembered their friendship, but not what Alastor had said?

If so… was this the version of Vincent that he missed? The version he had mourned for the last fifty years while Vox wore his body?

He was struck with a sudden sense of yearning to rekindle their old friendship, but it was quickly crushed by the realization that Vincent and Vox were the same person.

Vincent hadn’t died; he had betrayed Alastor.

Why would Alastor want to become friends again? Because he had fond memories of their time together? While true, every fond memory of their shared past was now tainted by the knowledge that Vincent had been using him.

Regardless of how much he wished it could be so, they couldn’t be friends again, because Alastor now knew Vincent’s true intentions. His rose-tinted glasses had been firmly removed, and he could not see Vincent as the man he’d once cared for any longer.

He forced his smile back onto his face. It hadn’t fallen completely, but it had gotten smaller, and that was unacceptable. He forced a laugh. “Do you take me for an idiot, old friend?” His voice was nearly imperceptible underneath the wall of static noise. “A selective bout of amnesia? Right when you’re finally getting the consequences of your actions? You always did have a flair for the dramatic, but I’m afraid I’m uninterested in playing your games today.”

While he did believe that Vox had lost his memories, he didn’t let it show. He wanted Vox- Vincent- to hurt. And if pretending he didn’t believe him made him hurt, then that’s what he would do.

He could see the heartbreak in Vox’s eyes when he finished speaking. The traitor was getting what he deserved, and it was delicious.

“Al, I’m telling the truth.” Yes, he was. But that only made it worse. “I can’t-”

“Quiet now.” Alastor snapped.

He didn’t want to hear any more excuses.

He wanted to make Vox hurt, just the way Vox had made him hurt.

Alastor summoned a giant tentacle, bigger than the ones before, in Vox’s blind spot. It was a dirty tactic, and not one he used frequently. But for Vox and his memory loss, he could make an exception.

He swung the tendril like a battering ram, aiming directly for Vox’s torso. It hit with a sickening thud. Alastor found a cruel sense of pleasure in the moment of Vox’s screen flashing a pained, blinding white.

Not yet satisfied with the pain he’d caused, he grabbed the wires supporting Vox’s false flight and ripped them away, forcing him to plummet towards the unforgiving concrete. Vox landed on his left side, the same one Alastor had hit. It wasn’t intentional, but Alastor was thankful to whatever divine force had made it happen.

Alastor took a step forward and placed the end of his staff beneath Vox’s chin, lifting his face towards the sky. He scanned Vox up and down, looking at the pain and injury he’d caused. The pooling blue blood and broken wires were like a gold star rewarding Alastor for his actions.

“Look what you’ve become, old friend.” He spat. “So weak. So pathetic. No wonder you tried to make that deal. It’s so obvious how much you need me.”

He expected Vox to get angry.

He expected Vox to yell.

He expected Vox to try to attack him.

He expected anything but the quiet, forced words that Vox produced.

“No,” He said, pushing himself up to face Alastor. Alastor could see the pain in the movement, and it sent a fresh wave of satisfaction through him. “I didn’t need you. I never needed you.”

Just for a second, Alastor froze.

Everyone needed him.

Vincent had been the first person who hadn’t.

Vincent had been the one person he’d seen as an equal; someone who didn’t need him.

But why bring that up now?

To prove some sick, twisted point?

If anything, it only highlighted Vox’s failure.

The one person who Alastor had considered his equal was now a failure, lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

To say he didn’t need Alastor shows that Vox did this all by himself. It claimed his failure as his own instead of blaming it on Alastor.

And Vox could think that as much as he wanted. That he built his life alone and he failed alone; but Alastor would know the truth.

That need that he claimed he didn’t have was exactly what had been his downfall.

He expected that that spat declaration of independence would be the last thing Vox said, but- after an all too long pause- Vox finished his sentence.

“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want you.”

Want him?

No, Vincent never wanted him.

He wanted his power.

There was a difference.

But as Alastor stared into those wide eyes at the end of his cane, he found no lie.

Could… Could Vincent have been genuine?

Could he have been telling the truth?

Could someone have actually wanted Alastor?

The static in the air- the one thing that only they could tap into- went quiet. No, not just quiet. Deathly silent. A silence that Alastor couldn’t handle. His static was his shield; to have it fall was unacceptable.

He forced it back up, but any protection it had once provided felt null and void in the face of this new truth.

The truth that Alastor had been wanted.

Not needed, but wanted.

It was something he’d never really had.

No one, not even in life, had ever chosen him.

Even his mother, whom he loved dearly, was not a person who had chosen him. She loved him before he was a full individual, but that meant that she hadn’t chosen him either.

So if Vincent had been being genuine all those years ago…

If Vincent hadn’t been using him… 

If that business proposal in the seventies had just been a friend’s clumsy attempt to build a future together…

Then Alastor hadn’t survived betrayal.

He had created it.

He hadn’t been defending himself; he had been hurting the one person who actually wanted him.

Every mocking broadcast, every ounce of sadistic joy he took in Vox’s pain over the last five decades- it hadn’t been a righteous punishment. It had been a slow, horrific execution of a man whose only crime had been wanting to stand beside him.

Every victory he’d ever had against Vox that had once been his pride and joy was now sickeningly tainted by the knowledge that he’d been the one to cause their falling out.

Alastor looked down at his cane. The tip was wet with the blood of the only man who had ever chosen to love him. He wanted to rip the staff away, to step back, to vanish into the shadows and never look at a television screen again. But his legs didn’t move; they were more so traitors than Vincent had ever been.

For the first time since his arrival in the pride ring, he was entirely untethered from his own narrative.

His narrative was a type of shield; something he’d built to protect himself. It saw him as a survivor; someone who protected himself at all costs, regardless of what others thought.

But now?

Now he was a violent perpetrator who had hurt the only person who had ever cared for him.

He had never cared before. People could see him as evil and he wouldn’t have cared. But this? This was different.

Vincent had been innocent- and while innocence wasn’t enough to protect any random person from Alastor’s wrath- Vincent wasn’t a random person. He was the only one who had chosen him; not for his power, but for him.

Violence against a random person was something Alastor could excuse.

But violence against the one person who truly valued you?

It was unacceptable. It was one of the few things that truly broke his loose moral code.

He had spent his entire afterlife running from a knife in the dark, and now the light turned on and he realized that he’d been the one holding the blade. Other people had managed to stab him, it was true; but Vincent had been weaponless all along.

Vincent hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but he’d assumed he did.

Paranoia. 

That’s what this was. He was paranoid that Vincent would hurt him like everyone else, so he swung first and justified it in his head that it was for his own safety.

He’d astronomically screwed this one up and a simple ‘sorry’ could never be enough to fix it.

Then again, did he have to fix it?

Vox had lost his memories of their fights. Vincent was here now, and he thought they were still friends. Or he had, before Alastor had assaulted him when he wasn’t even trying to fight back.

Maybe they could be friends again… if Vincent never recovered his memories.

The heavy silence that hung between the two overlords was broken by the rhythmic clicking of claws on pavement. Husk stepped into the parking lot from the gate, his wings slightly flared. His eyes scanned over the scene- the bleeding media overlord on the ground and Alastor standing over him, cane bloody- and stopped.

Husk didn’t panic. He didn’t even look surprised.

His gold eyes locked onto Vincent’s curled body and a cruel smirk tugged at the corner of his jaw. “Well,” Husk tilted his head, his rough voice cutting through the still silence like a dull knife. “Can’t say he didn’t have it coming. You really did a number on him, boss.”

Vincent only looked more confused. Of course he did; he didn’t have the context as to why Husk hated him. He might not even know who Husk is, depending on how far back his memories had been deleted.

Worse, he might know Husk from when the pair were allies when Husk was an overlord.

Husk walked over, his heavy footsteps deliberate. He didn’t offer a helping hand. Instead, he stood over Vincent and looked down with a chilling lack of empathy. To Husk, this was the man who had hypnotized Angel, stripped his lover of his free will, and allowed decades of abuse. Seeing Vincent on the ground, bleeding out; it must feel like a long overdue debt being paid.

“Cherri’s gonna love hearing about this.” Husk muttered, kicking a stray wire that was still attached to Vincent. Vincent flinched, and seemingly instantly regretted that decision, his screen flaring a bright white in pain. “The bastard deserves a hell of a lot worse for everything he put Angel through.”

The words hit Alastor like the shot that had ended his life.

Husk was speaking with the exact narrative that Alastor had lived by for fifty years- that Vox was a parasitic, cruel monster who deserved to be broken.

But hearing it out loud from someone else now made Alastor feel physically sick.

Husk was right about Vox. Vox was a monster.

But the man bleeding out on the concrete wasn’t that monster. He had the potential to become it, but he wasn’t yet a monster.

No; he was the weaponless Vincent who had only ever wanted Alastor’s love.

Husk looked up from Vincent’s broken form, his eyes tracking Alastor’s bloody microphone cane all the way up to his face. Alastor wasn’t sure what expression laid there, but whatever it was, it made Husk freeze and pin his ears back to his head.

“Alastor? You look like you just saw your own ghost.” Husk’s vision flickered back to Vincent for a moment. “Wait… Do you… Do you actually feel bad for this piece of shit?”

Alastor couldn’t answer that question. He couldn’t defend himself. He was trapped between Husk’s righteous anger at the monster Vox had been and his own suffocating guilt over the innocent man he had just destroyed.

“Husk, I heard your voice. Glad to see you’re back-” Charlie said as the heavy front door of the hotel swung open. She was holding a stack of welcome pamphlets, but her expression shifted from casual to mortified in an instant as she spotted Vincent. The pamphlets slipped from her grasp, scattering across the front steps like dead leaves in autumn. “Vox?!”

Charlie didn’t hesitate. She sprinted down the steps, her protective, compassionate instincts fully overriding the fact that the man on the ground was a ruthless overlord who had spent months slandering her life’s work. She dropped to her knees beside Vincent, her hands hovering over his bruised and bleeding form in a panic.

“What happened? Husk, what did you do?!”

“I didn’t do a damn thing, princess.” Husk replied, stepping back and crossing his arms. He shot a warning look at Alastor, silently daring his boss to explain the blood to an all too compassionate woman. “The Radio Demon on the other hand…”

“Alastor!” Charlie gasped, looking up at him with a devastating mix of shock, confusion, and profound disappointment. Fortunately for Alastor, she quickly turned her attention back to Vincent, gently reaching out to him. “Vox, can you hear me?”

Vincent flinched, pulling away from her touch. “Stay… stay back…!” He gasped. Each word was clearly a struggle with how damaged his gills were. “Al… why did you do this…?”

“Alastor… What did you do? He didn’t even fight back, you don’t have a scratch on you! Why would you do this?”

Alastor stood completely frozen.

He had always taken a twisted amusement in Charlie’s naive view of the world. He mocked her belief that anyone could be redeemed on the regular.

But right now, her horrified glare felt like a spotlight, revealing exactly what he was; a violent perpetrator who had brutally assaulted a man who hadn’t fought back.

He wanted to laugh. 

He wanted to deliver a sharp, theatrical line about how Vox deserved it.

But, with the tip of his cane still dripping the blood of the only person who’d ever chosen him, the words died on his tongue.

For the first time, he couldn’t face the princess of hell’s idealism, because he finally agreed with her judgement.

He was the monster here.

There was no doubt about it.

Chapter Text

Vincent didn’t know what to think of Alastor anymore.

They’d once been friends, but that was clearly no longer the case. The Alastor he’d known as his friend wasn’t the person who now stood before him.

This Alastor had brutally beaten him without Vincent ever raising a hand to defend himself.

But Alastor wasn’t celebrating.

He looked ill.

Vincent watched Alastor’s posture stiffen. He watched the grip on his microphone grow sharper. He watched Alastor’s gaze flick around his broken body. He watched as Alastor took uneven breaths.

It looked like regret.

But that couldn’t be it.

Alastor wasn’t the sort of person to feel things like remorse. Alastor was a predator, a cold-blooded executioner who broadcasted the screams of his victims across the city for entertainment.

Vincent had always known that. He just hadn’t cared until it was turned on him.

So why did Alastor now look like he was barely keeping up his smile?

He was trapped in a nightmare where his oldest and closest friend had become his executioner, so why did his executioner look like he was about to lose his mind over what he’d done?

A cat sinner with wings stepped into the parking lot, shattering the heavy silence between Vincent and Alastor.

Vincent couldn’t claim to know who the cat sinner was, but it was evident that the sinner knew who Vox was purely based on his expression. He looked disgusted, just like everyone in the crowd outside Vee tower had.

Vincent knew the broad strokes of what Vox had done, but he didn’t know what he’d done to this specific sinner, so he couldn’t even begin to apologize. 

“Well,” The cat sinner’s rough voice cut through the silence. “Can’t say he didn’t have it coming. You really did a number on him, boss.”

To be fair, Vox did have it coming. But it was still confusing to hear it from a stranger’s lips.

“Cherri’s gonna love hearing about this.” The man muttered, his foot sharply kicking a loose wire that had partially detached from Vincent’s chest. It was far from a lethal blow, but it still hurt and he felt his screen flare white in pain. The flinch Vincent involuntarily made only hurt even more. “The bastard deserves a hell of a lot worse for everything he put Angel through.”

Angel. The name meant nothing to him, and yet it carried so much weight in that sentence. Whatever Vox had done to this ‘Angel’, it was the reason the sinner hated him. Through the haze, Vincent saw the winged man look up at Alastor.

“Alastor? You look like you just saw your own ghost.” The stranger’s tone shifted slightly. He glanced back down at Vincent’s broken form and seemed to realize something. “Wait… Do you… Do you actually feel bad for this piece of shit?”

Vincent stared up at Alastor. He had the same question.

But Alastor only stood there, completely frozen, regret clear on his face.

Suddenly, a loud bang erupted from the hotel; the front doors had swung open. A vaguely familiar woman stepped out, carrying a stack of papers.

Where had he seen her before…?

Oh.

Right.

She’d been one of the ‘three for the price of one’ in the video of him trying to commit mass-murder-suicide alongside an angel and Alastor.

“Husk, I heard your voice, glad to see you’re back-” Even in the casualness of the sentence, her voice sounded bright and cheery. Her eyes landed on him and the stack of papers fluttered to the ground around her. “Vox?!”

To Vincent’s shock, she didn’t hesitate or look disgusted when she saw him. She should’ve, if she was one of the people he’d nearly killed in the video, but she didn’t. Instead, she sprinted down the stairs towards him and fell to her knees beside his broken body. Her hands hovered over his injury frantically, her face twisting into pure panic.

“What happened? Husk, what did you do?!”

“I didn’t do a damn thing, princess.” The cat sinner- Husk- replied, crossing his arms and stepping away. He shot a warning look at Alastor. “The Radio Demon on the other hand…”

“Alastor!” The woman- the princess?- gasped. The weight of her shock and pure disappointment echoed in the space between them. She reached out, her touch gentle, warm and entirely unthreatening. “Vox, can you hear me?”

The sudden proximity, the warmth, and the overwhelming state of his emotions snapped something inside of Vincent. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know if her kindness was a trap or not. He flinched away from her hand, the movement causing even more pain.

“Stay… stay back…!” He snapped. Or, well, he meant for it to be a snap. It was more of a gasping plea than an assertive statement. Each word caught painfully against his damaged gills. He turned his face towards the only person he actually, truly knew here and spoke. “Al… why did you do this…?”

Above him, the woman’s voice rose in fierce defense of the man she should’ve hated. “Alastor… What did you do? He didn’t even fight back, you don’t have a scratch on you! Why would you do this?”

Vincent lay there, waiting for a cruel response to wipe away any doubt he may have had that Alastor was heartless, but it never came.

The woman ordered Husk to help lift him, and they carried him away from Alastor, who still stood frozen in the parking lot.

They laid him on something soft in the lobby, presumably a couch or lounge chair, and the woman barked orders around him as his consciousness faded in and out. If he had to guess, he’d say he had lost too much blood.

A soft, golden warmth began to leak into his chest, dulling the agony in his gills. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt like relief. In brief moments of consciousness, he saw the woman’s glowing golden hands carefully touching his wounds. Weirdly enough, it didn’t hurt.

What could’ve been seconds or days passed with Vincent slipping in and out of awareness.

When he finally woke up his chest didn’t hurt anymore. He blinked in shock and felt his gills with a clawed hand. They were still damaged and bruised, but they didn’t hurt to breathe through anymore. How that was possible was a complete mystery to him.

Vincent looked around, only to find he’d been left alone in the large lobby of the hotel. He was laid on a couch, and someone had given him a blanket to keep him warm.

He heard voices from just outside the front door.

“-don’t care if the princess is playing doctor.” An explosive and heavily accented voice hissed. “This guy is a parasite, Husk. It makes me sick that we’re even keeping him under our roof after everything he’s done.”

“I’m not asking you to get along with him, Cherri.” Husk’s rough growl replied. “But we both know Charlie isn’t going to let him bleed out on the front porch, and she’s the princess. Orders are orders. And personally,” He added, “I think it’s hilarious. The big, powerful media demon gets his teeth kicked in by the Radio Demon and comes crying to the redemption hotel? It’s pathetic!”

“I don’t care how pathetic it is or isn’t. If he thinks he can hide here until his screen stops glitching, then he’s got another thing coming. Let’s not forget who the fuck we’re talking about. It’s Vox.” He could hear the distaste in her voice at his future self’s name. She said it with so much hatred it felt like a slur. “Angel is still stuck over there in that corporate hellhole because of Vox.” She paused.

It sounded like Angel was their friend and his employee.

And sure, he knew he wasn’t the greatest boss in the world, but they were in hell. People were cutthroat; business was ruthless. That was to be expected, so what exactly had Vox done to make them hate him so much? Besides attempting mass murder, that is?

But then she continued speaking.

“We’ve both seen the bruises. We know what happens to people who don’t fall in line at VoxTech. He owns Angel. Body and soul. He destroys everything he touches, and now we’re just supposed to… to what? Let him rest on a fluffy couch? I don’t think so.”

The world felt like it stopped.

Bruises.

He’d never… he’d never hurt an employee of his. He’d run a tight ship in the 70s, sure. He’d yelled, he’d fired people, he’d been an arrogant bastard who cared way too much about his profit margins- but he’d never laid hands on another soul.

Not before 1974.

But after…?

He didn’t know.

And that was terrifying. It was a black, hollow void in his mind, and the longer he stared into it, the more sickening the shapes became.

He’d known Vox was a bad person. Hell, he knew he was a bad person. You didn't end up in the fiery pits of the afterlife for being a saint.

But bruises…?

That was a line he’d never crossed before. He never would have done that. No matter how angry he got, no matter how much his ego demanded satisfaction, he wouldn't have broken a person's body just to force them to fall in line.

But would Vox have done it?

Based on what Cherri and Husk were saying, the answer was a resounding, devastating yes.

Vincent looked down at his own hands. Had they left bruises on someone? Was his face attached to someone’s worst trauma?

He didn’t do that. He wouldn’t have done any of that.

But the cold, logical side of his mind said that, even if his soul was from 1974 and had never committed those crimes, his body had. To the rest of the world, there was no difference between Vincent and Vox.

Vox might have been dead, but his body wasn’t.

Vincent was still around, but people didn’t see the difference. To them, the monster wasn’t a memory. The monster was sitting right there on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, breathing their air.

Just then, the heavy wood of the front door slammed open aggressively.

Vincent felt his screen flicker, and his focus snapped to the entry way just as Cherri stepped in. Her single eye was alight with rage and malice. In her hand, she held a pinkish red sphere, the ball’s fuse sparkling dangerously.

“Cherri, wait.” Husk said. He didn’t sound urgent or rushed at all, despite the fact that Cherri was actively wielding an explosive. He made zero move to physically stop her either. “Charlie said-”

“I don’t give a shit what the princess said.” Cherri interrupted, her voice dropping into a lower, more dangerous, tone. “She’s upstairs getting bandages. She isn’t looking, and the Radio Demon already did half the work for us.”

Vincent almost didn’t want to stop her. Vox would deserve the death she was handing him. But regardless, he scrambled backwards on the couch, aggravating his injuries. 

She cocked her arm back, getting ready to throw the bomb.

“Wait! Please, wait!” Vincent shouted, his gills having recovered drastically since he’d last spoken. The princess must have had some sort of healing magic with how fast she’d been able to make him recover from such an injury. “I don’t even know who Angel is! I’m not Vox!”

“Oh, that is a new fucking low, even for you.” Cherri spat. A harsh, disgusted laugh escaped her lips. “Forgetting who your top earner is? Pretending you’re not him? You think a little acting is gonna save your skin?”

“I’m not pretending!” Tears of pure panic pricked at the edges of his eyes. “Look at me! If I were him, would I be cowering on a couch? Would I be begging for my life? My name is Vincent! The last thing I remember besides today was in 1974. I woke up in this- this nightmare this morning!”

Cherri didn’t so much as blink. “Nice try, asshole. Tell it to the angelic steel in this bomb.”

She whipped her arm back, getting ready to hurl the explosive straight at his chest.

He wondered if there was an after-afterlife. He didn’t believe it, but he hadn’t believed in the afterlife while he was alive either. Maybe after he was blown up, he’d wake up in double-hell. He sure wouldn’t deserve heaven, not after what Vox did.

Vincent squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the impact.

But then the air in the lobby turned heavy with an oppressive, ancient energy.

The woman from before- Charlie, the princess, he assumed- bolted down the stairs carrying the bandages. Her eyes burned a dangerous red and two dark horns sprouted from her brow as her demonic form bled through.

She didn’t hesitate, instead throwing herself directly between Cherri and Vincent. She spread her arms wide, shielding him from the blow with her own body. Once again, he was forced to ask why. Why would she defend him after everything she thought he did?

"Charlie, move!" Cherri yelled. "He's faking it! He's putting on a pathetic little show so you won't end him like he deserves!"

"I don't care!" Charlie’s voice carried the absolute, unyielding weight of a royal decree. "We do not execute defenseless, injured people under my roof! Not now, not ever! Lower the weapon, Cherri. Consider that an order.”

“Fuck!” Cherri snapped, but being unable to defy a direct order from hell’s heir, she defused the bomb by putting out the fuse. She began to march toward the door, Husk following behind her.

Husk didn’t say a word. He didn’t offer a defense for Cherri’s actions, but he didn’t look particularly pleased that the execution had been stopped either. He simply gave Vincent’s trembling hands one last look before turning to follow Cherri.

“No. You’re not leaving.” Charlie announced. “Neither of you are. We’re all sitting down and talking this out like adults. Get over here.”

“Is that an order, princess?” Cherri asked sarcastically, clearly still angry.

“It’s a request between friends. Now, come sit. Don’t make me force you.”

After a few reluctant glances the pair shared, they relented and sat down on the couch across from Vincent. Charlie stationed herself between the two couches, not blocking anyone’s view of each other, but able to intervene if things got violent again.

“Now, first thing’s first.” She said, “Is everyone okay?”

"I'm alright, Charlie," Husk muttered, his gold eyes flicking briefly to Vincent before landing squarely back on the floor.

“Cherri?”

“I’m fine.” She snapped.

Charlie nodded slowly, then turned her focus entirely to the media demon. Her demonic features had completely faded, leaving her looking tired and deeply anxious as she tightly held the roll of medical bandages in her hands.

“Okay. That’s good to know. What about you… Vincent?” she asked softly, testing the name on her tongue. “I heard what you shouted at Cherri before I came down. About 1974. About waking up in a nightmare.”

He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, feeling three distinct people staring at him, evaluating every slight movement he made to see if he was telling the truth.

“It’s the truth. I swear to you, it’s the truth.” He said, almost pleading. “I don’t know why everyone hates me.”

“Oh, give me a break!” Cherri exclaimed, leaning forward and slamming a fist on the coffee table. “This is your play? You think you can spout some sob story where you’re the victim and have us believe you?”

“Cherri, let him finish.” Charlie interrupted. “Now, start from the beginning, Vincent.”

“Okay… Well, this morning I woke up in a room I didn’t recognize with people I didn’t know. Velvette and Valentino. They’re supposedly my best friends, but I don’t know them. The last thing I could remember was a bar in 1974 with Alastor. They told me it was 2025 and showed me some things that I’d missed out on in the last fifty years. They told me they’d work on getting my memories back in the morning and sent me to bed. Then… well. We found out why I’m missing my memories.”

“And? How did you lose them?” Charlie gently asked.

Did he want to tell her that Vox killed himself? Not really. But he’d kind of talked himself into a corner. He couldn’t lie about it; they would see any lie in his story as proof that the whole thing was a lie.

“Vox… erased them on purpose. He… Well, he basically killed himself and left me behind.”

The room went quiet.

Cherri’s jaw slackened for just a moment before her face twisted into pure disgust.

Husk slowly lifted his gaze from the floor, sharp, analytical gears turning behind his eyes.

Charlie just looked bewildered. “He… he erased himself? On purpose?”

"Oh, that is the most pathetic, cowardly load of corporate horseshit I have ever heard in my life!" Cherri roared, standing up so fast her knees slammed against the edge of the coffee table. She pointed a tattooed finger at Vincent's chest. "You hear this, Charlie?! He got his ass handed to him, realized his little empire was crumbling, and instead of taking his medicine like a man, he hit the factory reset button! If any of that is true, then he just ran away like a coward!”

“Cherri, please sit down.” Charlie muttered, though her voice lacked its usual certainty. She looked at Vincent. “Vincent… if Vox is gone, then why are you here? Why’d he leave you behind?”

“I don’t fully know. I think it’s just because Velvette and Valentino knew he was suicidal and didn’t let him get near angelic steel. It was the next best compromise he could think of.”

“A compromise. Right.” Husk huffed. “Listen to yourself. You’re telling us that the most paranoid, power-hungry overlord in all of hell just decided to kill himself because he was sad? Overlords don’t make compromises. They make contingency plans.”

Vincent flinched. “I’m not lying to you.”

“Maybe you’re not, that’s still being determined. But Vox was.” Husk countered coldly. “Charlie, think about it. He was losing his grip. If his partners wouldn’t let him die, then what’s the next best way to avoid losing a war? You wipe the drive. You roll the system back to a version before everything got messy.” He turned his gaze back to Vincent. “You aren’t a new person, Vincent. You’re just the foundation that Vox built his empire on, and the second his partners figure out how to restore his data, the king of media wakes back up.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” Vincent admitted. “I don’t want to be him again. I don’t want to hurt people, but if I become him again, then I will.”

Husk’s mouth snapped shut. The analytical confidence on his face fell, replaced with doubt. Whatever he’d been expecting, Vincent’s reply was not it.

Cherri let out a sharp, frustrated breath. “So now you’re a tragic movie monster? Is that the new angle? Poor little old me, cursed to turn into a monster when the full moon rises?” Her voice now lacked the bite from before. She looked away and crossed her arms tightly, clearly annoyed that he was making it hard to fully hate him.

Charlie looked entirely devastated. “Vincent,” She said, ignoring Cherri’s accusations. “You really think he’s still in there?”

“I don’t know.” He confessed. “I really don’t. I don’t think he would’ve killed himself without checking if there was a back-up drive or something beforehand, but I can also see him not thinking of it. I’ve never uploaded my memories before, but I’m not exactly him, so he might’ve. But from the little I know of what he did, I know I don’t want to be like that again.”

Just then, the squeak of tires coming to a stop sounded out in the parking lot, and Vincent could hear the doors of a car open and slam shut.

The Vees. They were here.

“There’s something I need to do before they take me back to Vee tower. Do you have a computer around that I can use quickly?” He asked. Charlie looked confused, but her eyes flicked over to the front desk and the computer sitting on it before she could process what he was asking. “Great.” He said, getting up.

It was a struggle to get up, his injuries still slowing him down, but he managed to limp over to the computer before anyone could stop him.

Velvette had shown him how to search things up earlier, and he quickly typed in VoxTech’s sign-in website using her knowledge from before. Sure enough, not much had changed. It looked totally different, but his sign-in information was exactly the same as it had been five decades ago on the massive computer he used to have in his old headquarters.

“The hell are you doing?” Husk snapped, having followed him and looking over his shoulder.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Cherri asked. “He’s hacking us or something. Stop him!”

“No, he’s… I don’t know what he’s doing.”

The monitor was a map of Vox’s empire; thousands of soul contracts, thousands of names, all under Vox, Valentino and Velvette. Production staff, network engineers; thousands of minor sinners who had traded away their eternity for a job.

He pulled up the soul ledgers and searched for Angel.

The screen blinked, and a single contract appeared on the monitor under Valentino’s distinctive hot pink seal. Angel Dust.

“This is him, right?” Husk just stared at Vincent. “I need an answer, Husk.”

“Yeah… that’s Angel.”

Vincent slammed his mouse down on the TERMINATE button.

The computer emitted a sharp, final chime.

The golden contract that had been on the screen disintegrated into digital dust and was replaced by two flashing red words: CONTRACT TERMINATED.

Cherri and Husk stared at the confirmation on the screen like they couldn’t believe their eyes, both going speechless.

But there wasn’t a moment to breathe as the door itself was blown off its hinges. Splinters and pink smoke flooded inside, right onto the carpet of the lobby.

Valentino and Velvette stepped through the pink haze and ruined entryway. Valentino’s wings twitched with rage and Velvette already had her phone out, scanning the room.

“Alright, losers.” Velvette announced through the smoke. “Give us back our guy.”

Chapter Text

Dust from the broken doors mixed with Valentino’s familiar sweet smoke, filling the lobby with unbreatheable air.

Vincent’s screen glitched from pure overstimulation. He subconsciously shrank against the front counter; not because he was scared, but because there was simply too much happening in such a short span of time.

“Alright, losers.” Velvette announced through the smoke. “Give us back our guy.”

Ever since Alastor had separated him from the Vees, both Alastor and Cherri had attempted to kill him. Well, Alastor hadn’t tried to kill him as much as just inflict pain, but it was still a malicious attack.

So to Vincent, hearing Velvette’s voice felt like relief. She wouldn’t hurt him, and neither would Valentino; with them, he was safe.

“Get out of my hotel!” Charlie’s voice rang out, stepping firmly in front of the counter- and by proxy- Vincent. Beside her, Husk bared his fangs and Cherri unzipped her bag and pulled out a fresh explosive.

“Step away from him.” Velvette snapped, waving away some of the smoke and ignoring Charlie’s demands. Her usual media-ready snark was gone, replaced by an uncharacteristic panic as her eyes locked onto Vincent’s injured frame. She whispered something to Valentino, quiet enough that none of the others, including Vincent, heard it. “Vox, what did they do to you?” She asked, volume returning to normal.

“Voxxie…” Valentino growled, stepping in front of Velvette. His massive wings flared open suddenly, his towering silhouette casting a large shadow across the carpeted floor. “Who hurt you? Was it the radio bastard? I’ll tear this piece of shit building down to the studs if-”

Husk’s gaze flicked back to the computer screen- to the red flashing words CONTRACT TERMINATED- and snarled. “He can’t be moved, he’s injured. He isn’t going anywhere unless the princess says so.”

“And I say he’s not leaving.” Charlie added. Cherri still looked angry, but even she nodded in agreement, adjusting her grip on her bomb.

Velvette let out a sharp, mocking laugh and took a step forward. “Oh, are we supposed to care what a washed up gambler, an explosive arsonist, and a princess who runs a charity think? He’s our partner. He’s coming with us.”

“I may not know why he came here, but he is injured. Moving him would not be in his best interest right now. You cannot drag him away while he’s in this condition!” Charlie declared.

“Watch me, bitch.” Valentino snarled, all four of his hands clenching into tight fists as he loomed over Velvette’s shoulder. “You think because you’ve got a crown you can keep him? He’s a Vee. He belongs in Vee Tower, not some pathetic, dusty charity ward. Move out of the way before I force you.”

“Try it.” Cherri dared. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to blow a hole right through that fuzzy chest of yours.”

“Cherri, don’t-” Charlie started before Husk stepped up too.

“You want a piece of us, mothman?” Husk growled, flaring his wings in front of Vincent defensively. “Come and get it. But you aren’t touching him.”

The lobby exploded into a wall of insults and overlapping shouts.

Vincent just stared, not participating.

He looked at Charlie, who was desperately trying to calm everyone down while still saying that Vincent should stay at the hotel.

He looked at Cherri, who was actively threatening to blow the room to pieces.

He looked at Husk, who looked ready to tear someone apart with his bare claws.

He looked back at Velvette and Valentino.

They were screaming, they were furious, but they were furious for him. They were the only familiar faces he had in this nightmare. He couldn't stay in this hotel. He couldn't survive another attack like the one Alastor had inflicted on him. He needed to get his head fixed. He needed to be normal again.

Before anyone could throw a punch or light a fuse, Vincent finally found his voice. “I’m going back to Vee Tower.” He announced.

The room went silent again as he pushed himself away from the check-in desk and stepped towards the Vees.

“Vincent? You don’t have to leave.” Charlie offered. “You’re safe here, we can protect you from Alastor and the Vees.”

“No, no, it’s alright. Thank you, your highness, but they’re my friends.” He gave a weak smile, one that probably looked nothing like himself.

“No.” Husk said. “They’re not your friends. They were Vox’s friends.”

“And I am Vox.” Vincent insisted. “They won’t hurt me.”

“They already did. Where do you think you got that scar on your neck?” Husk asked.

Vincent winced, thinking of the video Velvette and Valentino had shown him. He swallowed hard, the talking beginning to take a toll on his injuries. “I already know, you don’t need to remind me. Val only did it because he had to, and he’s already apologized; I don’t blame him. And I feel safer with them than I do here, so I’m leaving.”

Valentino’s massive silhouette seemed to shrink just a fraction. The defensive snarl he’d worn seconds prior was replaced with a raw sense of relief. He didn’t look triumphant, he looked grounded by the fact that Vincent trusted him.

“Voxxie…” Valentino murmured as he stepped past Husk and Cherri’s raised weapons, completely ignoring the active threat to his life. He reached out, his large hands hovering around Vincent without touching, likely in fear of aggravating any injuries.

Velvette stepped up right beside him, her phone forgotten in her pocket. Her eyes darted around his bruised body. Her teeth gritted in protective fury, she whispered, “We’re gettin’ you outta this dump. We’re going home, and then we’ll figure out a way to get your memories back, ‘kay?” as her small hands hovered around his body, not touching.

“Okay.” He whispered back, initiating the hug the other Vees were too scared to start. They still hardly touched him, being careful not to bump anything that was bloody or visibly painful, but it was sort of a hug.

Interrupting their not-quite-a-hug, Charlie stepped forward. “I won’t stop you from leaving, but if you ever need anything, then I’m here to help.”

“C’mon, Vincent.” Velvette said, ignoring the princess. “The limo is right outside, and we’ve got our top engineering team waiting in our private lab. They’ll fix you up quicker than you can say ‘ow’, promise.”

“Ow.” He said, just to be snarky. “I’m still hurt.”

“I didn’t mean it literally, you idiot.”

Velvette and Valentino led him out the broken door, and he looked back at the hotel crew. “Thanks for the offer princess, but I think I’m good.”

He climbed into the armoured car, the door swinging shut behind him.

The air-conditioned cabin swept away all the smoke and dust, replacing it with the scent of expensive leather and Valentino’s flowery perfume.

Vincent let his head fall back into the headrest, sighing softly. Everything burned. The princess’s magic must have only been a painkiller. That explained why she’d been getting the bandages that never ended up getting applied to his injuries because of everything that was going on.

Velvette snatched a wire from somewhere he didn’t see and reached for his head and the ports on the back. “This is a diagnostic cable, and your screen is dropping frames like crazy.” She explained when he dodged her hands. “It tells us which of your internal systems are damaged or need replacing to fix it. That way, the doctors can prepare any new parts you might need before we arrive.”

He went still and allowed her to plug the wire into his head.

“Okay…” She muttered, reading the display the wire connected to. “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been. Looks like most of the damage is organic stuff like your gills. It’ll take a while to heal, but there’s only one minor thing that actually needs to be replaced to fix the frames issue and it can be done without surgery. The rest will heal on its own over time.”

“Oh, good.” Val sighed. Then he turned to Vincent. “Now, are you going to tell us what happened?”

“Yeah, I’d also like to know that. I saw your blood in the parking lot. There was like… a lot of it. Are you lightheaded? Did you pass out?”

“Yes, I’ve been feeling a little dizzy, and yes, I passed out earlier. I was in and out for a while there. Not sure how long, I didn’t ask. Though, how long has it been? It feels like about ten-ish minutes to me since I’ve last seen you.”

“It’s been a little over an hour. We got here as fast as we could, but that required making sure the building wasn’t on fire so we could get the car from the garage, getting a driver, and actually driving here.” Velvette said.

“So I was out for quite a while then.” He said, beginning to notice the strain talking took on his gills as the painkilling magic wore off. “Also, why couldn’t either of you drive here?”

“We don’t know how. You’re usually the designated driver between the three of us. Normally we wouldn’t care, but we couldn’t risk getting into an accident while we were trying to save you. Now, start talking.”

“Well, Alastor and I talked a little bit, and then he slashed my arm after I teased him.”

“Typical. He can’t handle teasing.” Valentino commented.

“Your teasing, maybe.” Velvette replied. “He’s usually fine with it when it’s not sexual, and yours mostly is. Vincent, what did you say exactly?”

“I told him he was dogshit at inspirational speeches because he told me not to get discouraged over my last loss, which I assume is the time I got decapitated.”

“That would be correct.” Velvette said, Valentino flinching at the mention of the decapitation. “Now, continue.”

“I told him I didn’t want to fight him, but he kept trying to hit me, so I might’ve told him that I’d lost my memories.”

“Of course you told him. Why am I surprised?” Vette shook her head.

“What?! It was that or let him kill me!”

“He was already going to kill you, why would you tell him that you’re extra vulnerable?"

“Well, we used to be friends. I thought he might not want to hurt me if I was still mentally his friend.”

“Oh yeah, and where did that lead you?”

“Okay… maybe he didn’t believe it and still attacked me. But still! I had no way of knowing he wouldn’t believe me. Anyways, he hit me from behind. I couldn’t see the tentacle until it had already hit my side.”

“Cheater. That’s not fair.” Val muttered.

“But anyway. I fell and landed on my gills, which was where he’d hit me in the first place.”

“Oh, ouch.” Vette inhaled through her teeth sharply, making a hissing sound.

“Yeahhh, that’s why my gills are damaged so badly. But hey, it could’ve been worse. Once I was on the floor, that was when the princess came out of the hotel, and when I passed out.” He chose not to mention Alastor’s look of regret and guilt, nor what he’d said before Husk arrived. They didn’t seem like things they needed to know. And despite everything, Vincent didn’t want to expose Alastor for feeling regret. It felt personal, and not like something he should share. “I think I might’ve lost too much blood.”

“Will you need a transplant when we get back?” Velvette asked, manager mode activated.

“Not sure, I don’t know quite how much I lost.”

“I’ll text them to get supplies ready anyway.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“Of course it is, it’s mine.”

“Right. Anyways… Then I woke up and talked with the princess and her friends for a while. Then you arrived.” He said, purposely avoiding what he’d done to Angel’s contract and how Cherri had tried to kill him. They didn’t need to know that, they’d just go back and kill Cherri and / or himself for freeing what Cherri had called their ‘top earner’; Angel Dust.

The driver dropped them off at the front doors of Vee Tower and drove off to park in the underground garage Velvette had mentioned during the car ride.

The fire fighters were still there, talking to various people who were still standing around, but the crowd outside the tower had mostly dissipated. Whether people had chosen to go home or went back into the tower once it was determined to be a false alarm, it didn’t really matter to Vincent. All it meant for him was that there were less people there to stare at him.

Either way, his picture would still be online within minutes. It was impressive how quickly information travelled now, but he did wish it wasn’t being used against him.

Val rushed him into the building, covering him up as much as he could with his wings, and calling the elevator the moment he could reach the buttons. Velvette followed behind, phone in hand, glaring at everyone who dared to even glance at the odd trio of overlords.

Once the elevator arrived, all three overlords squeezed in. It wasn’t that tight of a fit, but the elevator’s ceiling was a little shorter than Val was.

The ride was quiet. Not awkwardly so, but not peaceful either. Velvette had her phone out, tapping away. Probably managing the immediate PR fallout of the first sighting of ‘Vox’ in months. Valentino was muttering curses under his breath, something about Alastor, from what Vincent managed to catch while he hovered around Vincent and stared at his injuries.

Halfway through the ride, standing was getting difficult with how much blood he’d lost, so he leaned against the vibrating walls of the elevator, his own blue blood on him smearing on the walls. He hoped that that steel really was stainless, otherwise someone would have a hard time cleaning that.

Valentino quickly offered to hold him, but Vincent declined. That was a little too infantilizing for him, even while he was actively losing blood.

After that, Val pulled out his phone too and began scrolling what Velvette had called ‘VoxTok’ before. He had the volume all the way up, and he showed Vincent the occasional video, which Vincent had, of course, already heard. Velvette seemed annoyed by the noise, but she didn’t say anything, so he assumed this was a regular occurrence. Typical.

Suddenly, Val’s phone beeped with a noise that Vincent assumed meant he got a notification. He froze for a fraction of a second before his wings flared out, knocking over Vincent and Velvette who stood beside him moments before. Velvette only looked more annoyed, one hand shielding her phone while the other helped her stand up. “Val, control your wings.” She said, “You’re hurting Vincent and you know I hate it when you do stuff like that.”

Vincent lifted himself up after she did, but the movement caused a fresh wave of pain throughout his torso.

“He’s gone.” Valentino whispered. He turned the phone screen to Vincent and Velvette, and a red message flashed on the screen:

CONTRACT: ANTHONY / ANGEL_DUST
STATUS: TERMINATED
OVERRIDE: VOX

Vincent’s heart dropped into his stomach. Velvette looked confused.

“At the desk in the hotel… You weren’t hiding…?” Valentino said it like a question, but it was a statement.

A lie about Cherri forcing him to do it rose in his throat, a survival instinct to blame someone- anyone- else, to look weak, to play the victim card. But as he looked at Valentino, he knew that lying would be worse for him.

Lying would make them think he was weak- that he could be forced into things he didn’t want- when he’d actually made the choice all by himself. 

“I wasn’t.” He confirmed.

“You did this?” Valentino asked.

“I did it.” Vincent’s voice cracked under the weight of Valentino and Velvette’s gaze, but he said it as confidently as he could.

“What…? Why?”

He looked Valentino dead in the eyes. “Because it was the least I could do after everything Vox did to him. After what I did to him.”

“What do you mean by that?” Velvette asked, actually looking up from her phone and speaking for the first time since they’d arrived at Vee Tower.

“Cherri and Husk told me some of what happened to Angel here at VoxTech. I didn’t know the details, but I knew I couldn’t let it continue.”

“So you freed him because of pity? You chose him over us?!” Valentino asked, almost screaming.

“I didn’t choose anyone. I chose to stop abuse when I could.”

Valentino stared at him for a second, before he grabbed Vincent by the screen and scoffed. “You took away my top earner because he was sad? You did that to me? For a spider?”

“For a person, Val.” Vincent corrected. “No one deserves that.”

After a heavy moment of silence, Velvette gasped. “You’re not Vox.” She realized. “You really aren’t.”

“Of course I am. I’m just a younger version.”

“No… Well, yes, but you’ve changed so much since 1974. You’re practically different people. Vox would never have sacrificed a multi-million dollar asset for morality, but you did.”

Just then, the elevator chimed and the doors slid open to a floor with matching white walls and tiled floors.

People in pale blue lab coats grabbed him and fussed over every little injury while Velvette and Valentino looked at each other in horror. They laid him on a table and stuck something sharp in his arm.

He didn’t really pay attention to what they were doing- he had other things on his mind as he watched Velvette and Valentino talk about him just far enough away that he couldn’t hear them, Velvette check the logs, and Valentino smash things in anger- but he knew they opened up his screen from the back and replaced something inside while he was still awake. Whatever it was, it made his mind feel much fuzzier when it was taken out, and sharper when it was replaced.

After giving him some painkillers and telling him that he’d be fully recovered within the week, the doctors left. It still meant a few days of every movement hurting, but it was much quicker than a human or even the average sinner would regenerate- that is, if they even survived the injuries he’d sustained- so he wasn’t complaining.

Once the room was empty besides the three overlords, Velvette and Valentino approached him. They looked calmer, which was a good sign, but they also looked determined, which could honestly go either way. At least Valentino had stopped smashing highly expensive medical equipment. That was probably another good sign.

“We looked at the logs, Vincent.” Velvette started. “You fully terminated a multi-million dollar contract.”

“I didn’t-”

“Let me speak.” She snapped. “Do you realize what you’ve done? Not only did you release an incredibly valuable soul without talking to us about it first, but you also told people that you are vulnerable right now. If the other overlords find out about this, what will they think? They’ll think that we- not just you- are weak. They’ll see us as easy pickings and our empire will be dismantled by morning. VoxTech can’t have a CEO who dismantles the company matrix because of a morality crisis. You’re a liability to the empire, to us and to your own safety.”

Once she finished, Valentino spoke up, his chemical, floral, perfume infecting the air around him. “You’re too soft like this, Voxxie. Hell will chew you up and spit you out. Look what the radio bastard did the second you were left alone with him. You being like this puts all of us in danger.”

Vincent stayed silent.

“So here’s how it’s going to go.” Velvette said. “You’re not going to leave your room until we figure out how to get your memories back. You’re not going to have access to the internet. You’re going to be locked in your room for your own safety. Our tech team is going to work around the clock to dig up any old data back-ups. We’re going to fix you. We’re going to protect you from yourself until Vox can come back.”

Vincent didn’t argue. He couldn’t.

Chapter Text

Vincent didn’t argue with them as they led him back to Vox’s bedroom, told him to get some sleep, and promised to fix him.

He didn’t argue, but not because he couldn’t; it was because he agreed with them.

He was a liability.

While he didn’t regret freeing Angel- it was a good deed- he still felt some level of guilt over it. He had essentially betrayed the only people who hadn’t tried to hurt him since he woke up in this nightmare.

A danger to everything his future self had built- that’s what he was.

And worse, he was a danger to the people who had saved him. They were right. By telling others that he was vulnerable, he had endangered his own life and theirs. He may not know how the modern world worked, but he knew how overlords functioned, and Velvette was right. Any perceived weakness would be taken advantage of as soon as it was discovered.

Even if it was against what Vox wanted, getting his memories back was the only viable solution to keep the Vees safe.

He let himself sink into the mattress, the movement drawing a whine of pain from his gills. The painkillers the doctors had given him worked, but they were not nearly as strong as the princess’s concentrated numbing magic.

The silence was absolute until a faint crackle of static hissed from the bookshelf across the room.

The radio’s speaker powered up, turning on without being touched.

“Good evening… Vincent.” Alastor said, his voice having twice the radio filter it usually did. “I believe we left our last conversation on rather… violent terms. An oversight on my part, I do confess.”

Despite how it was phrased, Vincent knew how Alastor operated. This was as close as he could get to saying ‘sorry’. He shifted slightly on the mattress, a low whine of pain catching in his throat as the movement pulled at his damaged side, where every wire still felt like it was weeping raw voltage.

“You’re… apologizing?” Vincent asked, his own voice sounding small, cracking slightly under the strain of his mangled gills.

“I am. I imagine it’s difficult for you to believe.”

The radio's speaker gave a light, crackling pop of static, mimicking a wry chuckle.

“The Radio Demon apologising… Yeah, that’s a little tough to wrap my head around,” Vincent murmured, his screen flickering weakly in the shadows. “What exactly are you apologising for?”

“When I encountered you at the hotel-”

“What a lovely way to say kidnapped.” Vincent commented, a flicker of his old, dry 1974 pragmatism cutting through his exhaustion.

Alastor ignored him, though a brief, sharp whine of frequency feedback signaled his mild amusement. “-I was operating under a series of… outdated assumptions. For decades, Vox and I were enemies. We only ever hurt each other, and I could not fathom him trying to do anything but that. But then you said that you weren’t him.” Alastor paused. “And I almost didn’t believe you.”

“Almost?” Vincent’s display glitched momentarily.

“Almost. But I did. I saw you in who I thought was Vox.”

Vincent’s fingers gripped the edge of the sheets. The memory of the physical toll Alastor had inflicted on him was still fresh, rendering the soft tone of the broadcast deeply surreal. “And you still attacked me?”

“I did.”

“Why?” The question left Vincent’s throat as a painful whisper, demanding an answer.

“Because even while I had fond memories of Vincent… Vincent still turned into Vox,” Alastor explained, the tone smooth. “I could not separate the two in my mind.”

Vincent let his head sink back into the pillow, staring up into the dark. The logic was inescapable, a cruel mirror to his own internal guilt. “That’s fair. I’m Vincent, but I’m Vox too. We aren’t entirely separate.”

“But you are.” Alastor corrected, his voice gentle but firm in a way Vincent had never heard before. The crushing weight of the radio filter seemed to soften, drawing the static down to a whisper that made the demon feel entirely too close. “Vox wouldn’t have freed Angel, and you did. You’re not Vox. I never wanted to hurt Vincent. Vincent was my friend. You were my friend.”

The word friend echoed strangely in the sterile containment of the room. It felt like a lifetime ago, a fragment of humanity he had desperately tried to cling to since waking up in this modern nightmare.

“Am I still your friend?” Vincent asked, his screen dimming as he waited.

“I would like to think so, but that depends on what you want.”

Vincent thought for a moment before speaking. He tracked the warm, pulsing green light cast against the bookshelf, feeling the immense moral divide between his past self and the digital monster his future self became. “Would you want to be friends with Vox?”

“No.” The answer was instantaneous, cold and absolute.

“But I am Vox,” Vincent insisted, his voice cracking again.

“No, you’re not,” Alastor countered, the analogue hum vibrating with a sudden, protective sharpness. “Vox was devoid of every good thing about you.”

Maybe he was, but Vincent couldn’t escape the structural reality of his own mind. He was the foundation. “And yet I turned into him.”

“The future version of you did. But you never made those choices, did you?”

“I suppose not,” Vincent conceded, his fingers tightening against the mattress as he fought the drug-induced fuzziness of his thoughts, “but a version of me still did.”

“And that version is not you.”

The reassurance was a double-edged sword, carving a deep, terrifying canyon down the center of his identity. Vincent swallowed hard, a sudden spark of existential dread chilling his chest. “And what happens when I get my memories back? Do I go back to hating you?”

Alastor didn’t answer immediately. Vincent could feel the careful consideration from across the radio waves. The silence stretched between them, long and suffocating, punctuated only by the faint, low-power hum of Vincent’s monitor cycling through a forced diagnostic routine.

“You’re trying to regain your memories?” Alastor finally asked, his cadence stripping away a fraction of its theatricality.

“Yes. Velvette and Valentino are trying to find a back-up.”

“And what happens if they do find it?”

“Vox comes back.”

“Yes, but…” Alastor’s voice dropped entirely, the radio filter slipping away for a single, devastating second of absolute clarity. It was soft, stripped of its pristine cadence, and striking with the force of a psychological bomb. “What happens to you?”

Vincent hadn’t thought that far ahead.

What would happen to him when they input his new memories?

“If Vincent and Vox are separate people- which they are- then what happens when one of them overtakes the other?” Alastor pressed, his voice carrying the smooth, rhythmic cadence of a late-night host. “When you took over from Vox, did Vox die?”

“Well, yeah… Vox isn’t me, so he did die when I replaced him…” Vincent’s display flickered, a cold dread pooling in his stomach. “Are you saying that in order to get my memories back, I would have to die?”

“I am, yes.” The radio dial glowed a fraction brighter, casting long shadows against the wall. “Vox isn’t you, and you aren’t Vox. If only one of you can occupy that frame, then you will cease to exist the moment they click 'restore.' And those memories aren’t even yours anymore, are they? They belong to the media empire. They are Vox’s memories, Vincent. Not yours.”

His chest felt tight at those words, because Alastor was right. By saying that Vox died, it meant that- if they reuploaded those backups- Vincent would be erased the exact same way.

“And why do you care?” Vincent asked, his voice cracking slightly under the strain. “Is it just because you don’t want Vox back?”

“I certainly have no desire to see that nuisance return to his airwaves, you’re right. But only because I find the man sitting in that dark room right now to be a thousand times more interesting.”

Vincent went quiet for a moment, the silence of the locked bedroom pressing heavily against him. When he finally spoke, the question was small, almost fragile. “Are you happy he erased our history together? That I can’t remember what happened?”

The static smoothed out, dropping into a rare, velvety, lower register that felt entirely too close. “I find myself reviewing the past fifty years with a bit of regret.” He paused like the word was too much for him, but he recovered quickly. “I am glad Vox is dead because I utterly loathed him, Vincent. But never mistake my hatred for the monster with a hatred for the man he used to be.”

“And if I die and he comes back, then what?”

“I won’t let that happen,” Alastor delivered the promise smoothly, though the faint, underlying screech of feedback suggested something far more dangerous.

“But if it did happen,” Vincent insisted, leaning closer to the shelf. “What then?”

For a single, fleeting second, the radio filter dropped entirely, leaving Alastor's genuine, unamplified voice hanging in the pressurized room. “Then hell would become a tedious bore once again.”

“A tedious bore.” Vincent repeated, staring at his own claws. “You did always hate being bored, didn’t you? Did you miss me for me, or for the entertainment value I provided?”

“Can’t two things be true at once?”

Despite himself, Vincent smiled at that. “So you did miss me.”

“Now, now, don’t get too full of yourself, Vincent.”

They both laughed a little, and then the line went quiet for so long that Vincent thought Alastor had hung up on him.

Unsure if he’d even get an answer, he spoke again. “Do you think Velvette and Valentino will care that it’s going to kill me if they find a back-up?”

Alastor hummed in response, showing he was still there while he thought. “Before today, I would’ve said no.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m not so sure. They seemed to care about Vox- and by extension, you- more than I thought they did when they came to get you from the hotel. But that doesn’t mean that they’ll respect what you want.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then feel free to call me. I will help if you ever need it. After all, we are friends.”

“Friends.” Vincent repeated, too quietly for the radio’s microphones to pick up on. “We’re friends.”

“Well, Vincent, I think it’s time to call it a night, don’t you?” Alastor said, his cheery, theatrical voice returning. Vincent didn’t respond. Alastor sighed. “Do try to get some rest.”

“You too.” Vincent muttered half-heartedly.

“Goodnight, old friend.”

The radio clicked off, and Vincent found himself alone again. Isolated.

He let his head drop heavily against the pillows, the movement pulling at his damaged gills.

Alastor’s warning spiraled through his thoughts in an agonizing loop.

‘You will cease to exist the moment they click ‘restore’.’ He’d said.

He felt his display glitch violently. The sheer irony of his situation was suffocating.

Velvette and Valentino weren’t going to kill him out of malice. They weren’t doing this to punish him. When they had looked at him earlier, promised to ‘fix’ him, and told him they were hunting for a back-up, they had done it out of love.

They loved Vox.

They wanted their business partner and best friend back.

And Vincent’s life might just be the cost of his return.

They wouldn’t even know they’d killed him until it was too late unless he told them. Vincent would be wiped away and replaced with a man who would look at Velvette and Valentino and never even remember that Vincent had given his life so he could live again.

Vox wouldn’t even want to be alive either.

If he got the opportunity, what were the chances he just deleted his memories again and created another Vincent that the Vees would kill to bring back the Vox they loved?

The chances were uncomfortably high, and Vincent knew for a fact that any safe guards they tried to establish on his mental files wouldn’t work. Vox would know his own technology better than they did, and he would break through them eventually.

Vincent curled his knees up to his chest, shivering despite the warmth of the room.

Chapter Text

Velvette didn’t do ‘impossible’. It simply wasn’t her.

If a dress didn’t look good, she restarted it.

If a supplier didn’t want to cooperate, she replaced them.

If someone wouldn’t listen, she forced them to.

She didn’t care if it was ‘impossible’; no matter how many tries or how long it took, she would do it. If she wanted something, she would get it. End of story.

That was why she was so sure that she’d find a back-up for Vox. Not because she knew where it was, but because there had to be one.

It was unlikely that there was one, but that wouldn’t stop her.

She would search every file Vox had ever touched by hand if it meant she got her- whatever Vox was to her, business partner, father, best friend, loudmouthed asshole who mattered to her more than she could ever bring herself to admit- back.

Velvette almost didn’t sleep that night, but she knew she was more likely to miss a file if she was sleep deprived, so she forced herself to rest for a few fitful hours.

But the moment she woke up, she was back to searching every single computer in the building that Vox might’ve touched.

And she came up with nothing.

She had searched every computer Vox regularly used, and there was nothing.

She’d checked every file Vox had ever created. She’d seen things that made her wish she could delete her memories too.

And there was nothing she could use.

No memory files.

Nothing.

She wanted to scream.

It had been over a day since she’d started looking- longer since the false fire alarm- and she still hadn’t found a single thing.

She was so, so done with this.

Vox had been so paranoid that he’d safe-guarded every file individually. Once she broke into the computer itself, she still had so much work to do. By now she’d spent the whole day breaking into and looking through them, and she still hadn’t found a single memory file.

Would Vox have even left a memory file?

No.

He wouldn’t have.

He wouldn’t have deleted his memories unless he was sure that there was no back-up.

Which meant Vox had never created one.

But that couldn’t be right.

There had to be a back-up.

There just had to be.

There was no way Vox could be dead, because he wasn’t dead.

He was still sitting in his bedroom, reading books about sharks. She knew; she checked on Vincent every few hours.

But Vincent wasn’t Vox.

Every time she walked past his room, it felt like a sick joke. The screen was the same, the clothes were the same, but the man inside them was entirely wrong.

Vox didn't slouch. 

Vox didn't speak in that soft, hesitant whisper that made her want to shake him until he was dizzy.

And Vox certainly didn’t look at her with that wide, lost expression like a stray dog waiting to be kicked.

It made her stomach turn. It made her furious. She hated seeing him like this; vulnerable, broken, a walking target for every bottom-feeding demon in Pentagram city.

Yesterday he’d let Angel Dust go- a massive, catastrophic liability, and he had said it was the ‘right thing to do’.

Like it was simple. To him, maybe it was.

Like he’d suddenly grown a conscience. Or maybe he just hadn’t lost it yet.

But regardless, if she didn't find a way to drag the real Vox back to the surface soon, someone was going to notice the media empire was being run by an amnesiac glitch. And then they would all be dead.

So she kept looking, even as she began to lose hope. She was truly beginning to think that there was no back-up when a thought hit her.

If Vox had never made a back-up, then maybe someone else had.

Someone else…

Like someone who had access to his files while he was unable to argue…

Someone like a doctor.

Every update to his hardware or software they made, the doctors would always create a short-term back-up to ensure that if the procedure went wrong they could reverse it.

The back-ups they made were like life-support during a risky procedure, and they took up a lot of space on their files so they likely got rid of them shortly after, but surely they had made a back-up before they had re-attached his head, right?

Maybe that most recent back-up hadn’t been deleted yet.

Maybe was carrying so much weight in that sentence, and she could only hope that it could eventually be removed.

Sure enough, only hours later, she was staring at a file in the trash bin of a computer in the medical lab. It had only a few days until it would be permanently deleted, but she quickly extracted it.

It was a complete consciousness. A full snapshot of Vox.

It was missing the last few months as it was taken just before his head was stitched back on, but it was a Vox she knew.

Not awake. Just… resting.

Waiting.

Waiting to be woken up.

She could feel tears of relief prick at the sides of her eyes.

He could come back.

She could see him again.

It wasn’t too late.

She transferred the file onto a secure external drive, the heavy silver casing feeling cold and unnervingly solid in her hand. This wasn't something she could just inject over the network; a remote upload risked a network drop or a firewall corruption that could fry his core processors. If she was going to restore his consciousness, it had to be a direct, hardwired injection into his primary data port.

But she didn't care about the extra work. She had the key. She could feel tears of genuine relief prick at the corners of her eyes, a massive weight lifting off her chest.

He could come back.

Velvette threw open the doors to Valentino’s lounge, her boots clicking sharply against the floorboards. Valentino was slouched on a leather sofa, surrounded by a heavy, miserable haze of pink smoke from his cigar, looking thoroughly defeated.

“Velvette, do not start with me.” He snapped, throwing a drink in her general direction. It missed horribly; she didn’t even have to dodge. “I am not in the mood for your tantrums. If it’s about the studio schedules, figure it out yourself.”

Ignoring the casual act of violence, she slammed the silver drive down onto the glass table right in front of him. “Forget the schedules. Get up." Velvette said, a breathless, triumphant laugh catching in her throat. “We're fixin’ him, Val. I found it.”

“You found it?!” He asked, staring at the little drive, then up at her face.

“I fuckin’ found it!” She said, smiling wider and more genuinely than she had in a while. 

“But you said that it was looking like there wasn’t a back-up, didn’t you? That Vox had never saved himself before?”

“He never did. The file wasn’t his. The doctors make a back-up every time they change his hardware or update his software. This is the most recent one from when they stitched his head back on. It had a deletion timer on it, if I hadn’t gotten there today it would’ve been gone.”

“But he’s in that file? The real him?”

“The one and only.” She beamed, crossing her arms. For the first time since she’d left Vox alone for the night, the anxiety in her stomach was lighter. Not completely gone, but lighter. “The file’s missin’ the past few months, but it’s the Vox we know. We can end this nightmare now.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” Val softly laughed in relief. He stood up, holding the drive like it was a winning lottery ticket; like it was precious. Because it was. It was Vox’s life and existence. “He’s gonna be ecstatic. Let’s go tell him.”

They walked down the hallway together, their shared energy lighter and more hopeful than it had been since the fire alarm. They weren't sneaking around or hiding the drive; Valentino was practically bouncing on his heels, and Velvette had a genuine smile on her face.

As they approached the bedroom, she could see him through the doorway, looking small as he read some random marine biology book he’d found on the shelf. The quiet atmosphere didn't last long; Valentino swung the door open and burst right in, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Hey, babe!” Val nearly shouted, stepping forward with the silver flash drive gleaming in one of his four hands. “Good news; we found it!”

“I found it, you mean?” Velvette snapped back, though she couldn’t hide her triumphant smile.

“Yeah, yeah, Vette found it, whatever. But it’s been found!” Val dismissed with a wave of his other hand.

Vincent looked up from the pages, his expression tightening. “What exactly has been found?” he asked. He looked guarded, like he was ninety percent sure he already knew the answer.

“The back-up! The real you.” Val said, putting heavy emphasis on ‘real’ as he flaunted the drive. “We can finally fix this whole mess!”

Velvette watched Vincent closely, expecting a wave of relief to wash over him. Instead, he just froze. He didn't panic, but she could see the immediate deflection in his eyes when he spoke again.

“Where’d you find it?”

“The medical lab,” Velvette replied, proud of her own digital tracking skills. “System back-up from when they re-attached your head. They hadn’t wiped it yet, but it was in the bin.”

She figured he was doing the mental math- knowing it would be missing the last few months of data, but it was still Vox. Not whatever glitchy, passive version of him was sitting on the mattress right now.

He gave a slow nod. “Okay.”

Val stepped closer to the bed, holding out the key to getting their business partner back. “So we just plug it in, and boom, you’re all better!”

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that,” Velvette added, wanting to manage expectations regarding the system overwrite. “But it’ll fix you, yeah.”

She waited for him to reach out for the drive, to thank them, to show some semblance of the arrogant Overlord they desperately needed. Instead, Vincent just stared at them, the silence suddenly turning heavy.

“No.” He said quietly, his voice entirely devoid of the excitement they’d brought into the room. “No, that won’t fix me."

Chapter Text

It had been three days since he’d woken up in 2025, and two days since he’d spoken to Alastor on the radio for the first time.

They’d spoken more since then, but not about anything important.

Just small things; catching up. Talking.

It was… nice. Yeah, that was a good word for it. It was nice.

Alastor was the only familiar thing in this new, modern world Vincent had been thrust into, so his very presence was comforting.

Of course, Velvette and Valentino didn’t know that they were talking to each other. Vincent didn’t think they even realized that the radio could be manipulated from the outside; if they had, then they would’ve taken it away from Vox just like everything else.

Although, he didn’t know why Vox hadn’t told them about the radio. With how Alastor talked about Vox and how the Vees talked about Alastor, he would’ve thought that Vox would’ve wanted to get rid of every reminder of Alastor.

And yet, he had kept that radio.

Not only for fifty years- although that was a long time- but also when everything else was taken from him.

Velvette and Valentino took every other method of communication with the outside world, but they didn’t take the radio. Even if that was because they didn’t know it could be used that way, what was Vox thinking? Everything else was gone, but he chose not to tell them that Alastor could still reach him.

Maybe Vox secretly wanted Alastor to reach out.

Even though Vox and Vincent weren’t the same, Vincent was still Vox’s past. Maybe Vox missed the days when he was Vincent and when he was friends with Alastor.

That was a nice thought. That maybe the future version of himself wasn’t so different.

Even so, Alastor never did reach out.

Not until ‘Vox’ was out in the open and able to be attacked.

Alastor saw Vox and Vincent as totally different people- that was why he wasn’t comfortable hurting Vincent- but Velvette and Valentino didn’t seem to see him as different. At least, not completely.

As for Vincent, he wasn’t sure where he stood on the issue.

Vox was what he would become if nothing was changed about his 1974 life. But Vox wasn’t what he was now, and the trajectory of his life had changed.

Maybe he never would become like Vox now that things had changed, and he certainly didn’t want to.

Vox had done things that Vincent would never do.

No, that wasn’t true; Vincent had done them, just in a time and state of mind he couldn’t remember.

He was responsible for those actions because- even if he wasn’t the man who committed them- he was going to be the one who committed them if nothing had changed.

But now that things had changed, he wasn’t going to be Vox; he was going to be Vincent.

If the world allowed him to, that is. And by the looks of things, it wasn’t going to.

He was going to die.

Vincent was going to die.

And he didn’t want that.

Vox wanted to die, but Vincent didn’t.

Vox may have had nothing to live for, but Vincent did.

He could so easily call Alastor and have the Radio Demon take him away from the Vees and to safety.

But every single time Alastor offered to do so, he declined.

Vox may have chosen to leave the Vees, but Vincent wasn’t going to.

They were his friends. Or they would be, if they had enough time to get to know each other.

Someday, they would be his friends. He just had to figure out how to avoid them accidentally killing him first.

Which was a struggle.

He didn’t want to just straight up tell them that a back-up would kill him. Either they wouldn’t believe him, or they wouldn’t care.

But either way, it was not good. He had to make them care about him- not Vox, but Vincent- and then make them realize that they’d be killing Vincent by bringing back Vox.

Again, that was difficult to do.

They’d known Vox for years, how could he manage to get them to care more about him than Vox? Not easily, and he’d already screwed up by freeing Angel. While he didn’t regret that course of action, it did mean that they saw his very existence as a risk to their company.

He needed to prove that he wasn’t a liability, while making himself a distinct individual, while also making them care about that distinct individual.

All of which was nearly impossible to do in the little time he had before they found a back-up.

Assuming that there was a back-up, that is. But that was simply the safest course of action- he couldn’t assume that there wasn’t one, as that put himself at risk of being blindsided if one was found. So, even though he doubted there was a back-up in the first place, he had to act as if there was one and it was moments from being found.

Which there probably wasn’t. Velvette had been searching every file under Vox’s name for over a day now, and she still hadn’t found anything- but that was far from a guarantee; he wouldn’t dare to bet his life on it.

And that was just the problem; his life was on the line of a bet that he was likely to lose.

He wasn’t even the one who had chosen to make that bet; Vox was. And Vox probably hadn’t even thought this far ahead before he killed himself.

Just as he was reading some random marine biology book he’d found on the shelf, the door swung open and Valentino burst in.

“Hey, babe!” Val nearly shouted, stepping forward with something silver in one of his four hands. “Good news; we found it!”

“I found it, you mean?” Velvette snapped back, though she was smiling.

“Yeah, yeah, Vette found it, whatever. But it’s been found!”

“What exactly has been found?” He asked, though he was ninety percent sure he knew the answer.

“The back-up! The real you.” Val said, putting emphasis on ‘real’, which stung. “We can finally fix this whole mess!”

Shit.

That wasn’t good.

They’d already found it, and he had not convinced them that he was different from Vox or that he deserved to live.

Instead of panicking, he deflected. “Where’d you find it?”

“The medical lab.” Velvette replied. “System back-up from when they re-attached your head. They hadn’t wiped it yet, but it was in the bin.”

So it would be missing the last few months, but it was still Vox. Not Vincent.

He nodded. “Okay.”

Val stepped closer to the bed. “So we just plug it in, and boom, you’re all better!”

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that.” Vette added. “But it’ll fix you, yeah.”

“No.” He said quietly. “No, it won’t.”

Val blinked. “What?”

Vincent took a slow breath. “It won't fix me.”

“Yes, it will.” Valentino laughed nervously. “That's literally what it's for.”

“No.”

The smile slowly disappeared from Valentino's face.

Velvette frowned. “What do you mean, no?”

Vincent looked between them.

Neither of them looked angry.

Neither of them looked cruel.

Why did that make this so much harder?

“You keep saying it'll fix me.” Vincent said carefully. “But I'm not broken.”

Val stared at him.

“Okay, but-”

“And I'm not Vox.”

The room went silent.

For a second, nobody spoke.

Then Valentino barked out a short laugh. “Oh, for fuck's sake. Vincent-”

“I’m not joking. I am not Vox. If things hadn’t changed, then I would’ve become him, but things did change and I can’t ignore that and act like I’m him. I’m sorry, but he isn’t me and I can’t be him.”

“I never said you were joking, but you are Vox. Or you will be.” Val insisted.

“I would’ve been. But ‘would’ve’, ‘will’ and ‘are’ are not the same thing.”

Velvette stared at him, evaluating. Unlike Val, she didn’t seem confused by his explanation. She looked like she understood what he was saying and hated him for it. “And what do you mean by that?” She finally asked after a moment of heavy silence.

He glanced at the silver drive in Val’s hand again. Instead of answering, he responded with a question.

“Did Vox die by erasing his memories?” Both of their brows furrowed, and neither of them answered. “Because he wanted to die and I don’t. I don’t have his memories. I don’t know the things he knew. I am not him. He is not with me in my mind right now. He might be in that drive, but I am not. He died when he erased his memories.”

“But you’re still here.” Val muttered.

He nodded. “And I’m not Vox.”

Velvette’s eye twitched. “What are you trying to say?”

Again, he didn’t answer her directly.

“If someone made a clone of you with all of your memories and then killed the original, would you still be alive?” He paused, but didn’t let them answer before he kept talking. “Because I don’t think you would. You’d still be around- nobody would know the difference- but that you wouldn’t be… you. So if that clone didn’t have all the same memories, then it definitely wouldn’t be you, would it?”

He watched Velvette struggle for words and Valentino tilt his head in confusion.

“Okay.” Velvette finally settled on. “You’re not Vox. But what does that matter? He’s not dead. We have a back-up right here.”

“He may not be truly dead, but he did die, didn’t he? If he didn’t, then you wouldn’t be trying to restore him.”

“Okay, fine, he died. But we can bring him back, so why does it matter?”

“It matters because I’m not him.” He allowed that to sit in the air for a moment. “If he died and I took his place, then I have to die for him to take mine.”

The room was silent for far too long after he said that.

“You’re saying uploading the back-up would kill you.” Velvette said, far too calmly.

“Yes.”

“Completely?”

“Yes. I will die if you upload that file.”

Valentino stared at Vincent like he was a puzzle with a missing piece. Really, that’s exactly what he was. Only he didn’t want the missing piece back. “What?”

“Uploading that file is going to kill me.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Valentino repeated. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Velvette hadn’t moved. She was still staring at him.

Not shocked.

Not horrified.

Just… thinking.

That was somehow significantly worse.

“Shut up, Val.” Velvette said, her voice dropping its usual sharp, fast-paced rhythm, replaced by something dangerously flat.

Valentino blinked at her, insulted. “What? Vette, he's talking crazy, he’s just-”

“I said shut up.” She snapped, crossing her arms tighter against her chest as she took a slow step toward the bed. She kept her gaze fixed entirely on Vincent. “He’s right.”

Val’s jaw dropped. “He's what?”

“He’s right.” Velvette repeated. She gestured sharply toward the silver drive in Val’s leather grip. “It’s a total system overwrite. The drive holds a completely separate snapshot of his consciousness from months ago. It doesn't partition data. It doesn't save a backup of the current runtime environment. If we plug that in... it flushes the active cache. Everything he’s thought, felt, or done since gets completely wiped.”

She stopped a few feet from Vincent, staring down at him.

“So yeah, it's an execution.” She said quietly. “You die, and Vox takes the hardware back.”

The room fell silent.

Valentino looked horrified.

Velvette looked furious.

Not at him.

At the situation.

At Vox.

At herself.

At all of it.

“You knew.”

Vincent froze.

“You figured this out before we found the file.”

He didn't answer.

“You knew exactly what would happen.”

Still nothing.

Velvette laughed once; a sharp, humorless sound.

“That's why you kept asking whether you were a different person. That's why you kept asking all those stupid philosophical questions.” Her hands clenched into fists. “You knew we'd have to choose.”

He looked at the floor. “Yeah. I knew. And I know what I’m asking you to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m asking you to choose who between me and Vox gets to live. And I know that can’t be easy.”

For the first time in the whole conversation, Velvette looked shocked.

Because he wasn't arguing that he deserved to live.

He wasn't pretending the choice was fair.

He was asking them to make it anyway.

“What?”

“I said-”

“No, I know what you said. I just… Fuck.” She laughed again. “You couldn’t just make this easy, could you?” Her laughing turned almost hysterical. “Vox really did leave us with the world’s shittiest problem, didn’t he?”

“I don’t think he meant to.” Vincent said, trying to comfort her.

“That’s worse.”

Chapter Text

The hotel was quieter in the mornings.

Never silent- Charlie was incapable of allowing silence to exist for long- but quieter.

In the kitchen, dishes clanked together.

Niffty was humming as she scrubbed something that almost surely didn’t need scrubbing.

Charlie was trying to organize a new therapy session with everyone around the lobby. Though most people were ignoring her, it didn’t seem to dampen her spirits.

Baxter was trailing Charlie and seeing how she went about trying to redeem people.

Vaggi was interviewing a new hire; someone to run the front desk while she was busy.

Even Angel had returned from Vee Tower now that his contract had been terminated. He could hear the trio of Husk, Cherri and Angel laughing at some joke he wasn’t privy to.

It was pleasant.

Predictable, though it had been louder since Angel’s return.

Normally, he enjoyed the quiet chaos.

Today, instead of listening in to conversations, he found himself listening to something else.

The radio on his desk crackled softly with nothing more than a distant static.

He glanced at it.

Nothing.

Ridiculous.

Vincent had spoken to him only the evening before. There was no reason to expect another conversation so soon.

And yet he kept glancing at the radio like it might light up at any moment.

His fingers tapped idly against the arm of his chair.

Last night, Vincent had sounded…

No, not frightened.

He had been remarkably composed, all things considered.

But there had been something beneath that composure.

Something strained.

Stressed.

Alastor reached for the morning paper, intending to distract himself.

Several minutes later, he realized that he’d read the first paragraph seven times and still couldn’t say what it was about if asked.

He set it back down.

His mind wandered back to the night prior whether he wished it to or not. They had spent two evenings discussing sharks, radios, modern music, and books.

Yet somehow the only things Alastor could remember word for word were the questions Vincent hadn't wanted answered.

“Do you think I’m a different person?”

Such an odd question.

Still, Alastor had answered truthfully.

“Of course you are.”

It struck him how readily he’d separated the two.

Vincent had asked whether or not he was a different person than Vox.

Alastor had answered ‘yes’ without a moment of hesitation. The answer had come as naturally as breathing.

Of course Vincent wasn’t Vox.

Vincent was the man he’d hurt all those years ago, and that hurt had turned him into Vox.

But this Vincent had never felt that hurt, and Alastor intended to keep it that way, because Vox wasn’t someone he would choose as a friend. Vincent was.

It wasn’t that he regretted the hurt he’d caused.

No, Alastor didn’t feel regret. Regret had nothing to do with it.

But he’d still take the moment back if he could.

So now that he had Vincent back and the moment had been taken back, he didn’t intend to lose Vincent like he had the first time around.

There had been more questions after that.

“If someone forgets everything they've ever done… If they become someone else… Does the old person still exist?”

Alastor leaned back in his chair.

Those questions hadn’t been the questions of a man seeking comfort.

They’d been… specific.

As if Vincent had been trying to see whether Alastor would reach the same conclusion to those questions that he already had.

And then there was that strange sentence he’d said.

“If the world lets me.”

At the time, Alastor had taken it for melodrama. Hell was full of dramatic people. But now the words sat strangely in his memory.

‘If the world lets me.’

Not ‘If I survive’.

Not ‘If the Vees don’t kill me’.

‘If the world lets me.’

As though it was entirely outside of his own control.

“What aren’t you telling me, Vincent?” Alastor muttered to himself.

The radio didn’t respond with anything but a small hiss of static.

He felt his smile tighten.

Vincent had insisted several times now that he couldn’t leave Vee Tower. That he wouldn’t.

Even when Alastor had offered. His rejection was especially strong whenever Alastor offered.

Which all made precious little sense.

Vincent had admitted he feared the Vees bringing Vox back.

Yet fleeing the tower wasn't a solution in his mind.

Which meant...

Whatever frightened him wasn't the Vees themselves.

They were merely part of the problem.

And yet, every offer of escape had been refused immediately.

Not because Vincent disliked him.

Not even because Vincent didn’t trust him, though that would be a fair stance.

Because…

His brow furrowed.

Because leaving wouldn’t solve whatever he thought the problem actually was.

So there was a problem.

It just wasn’t one that Vincent wanted to share with Alastor.

No; he had tried to share it by asking all those questions. He’d danced around it for every single one of their conversations without ever saying it outright.

Alastor sighed. “Well done, Vincent.”

He’d spent decades priding himself on hearing what people didn’t say, yet somehow he’d listened to an entire conversation and missed the most important part.

The radio crackled.

His eyes snapped toward it.

Static.

Only static.

He looked away again with an annoyed click of his tongue.

“I am not worried.” He told the radio. “...at all.”

The radio didn’t answer.

Somewhere downstairs, Charlie shouted for something to stop.

Niffty shrieked happily about something. It was likely the same thing Charlie was upset about.

Husk scoffed.

Cherri and Angel laughed.

Life continued.

Normal.

Routine.

Yet, the quiet in his room had begun to feel wrong.

As though he was waiting for something.

Someone.

The radio burst to life.

“Alastor?”

Vincent’s voice was small.

Thin with exhaustion.

And, worst of all, unmistakably afraid.

Alastor was already reaching for the microphone before he finished the word.

“I’m here.” Alastor confirmed.

For several seconds, Vincent didn’t speak. When he finally did, his voice was shaking. “...They found it.”

“The back-up?”

“Yeah.”

“I see.” Alastor went quiet for a moment before he continued. “They know what it does to you?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“They’re thinking.”

“...Thinking?”

“They haven’t decided…” Alastor’s fingers tightened around the microphone. “Whether I get to live.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

Vincent took a slow, shaky breath. “They found the backup in one of the medical computers.”

“I see.”

“It was made before... before I erased the memories, but a few months back. When they reattached my head.” Alastor remained silent. “They wanted to restore it. They thought…” Vincent laughed weakly. “They thought they'd fixed everything.”

“And then?”

“I told them they hadn't.”

“...Go on.”

“I tried to explain that Vox isn't me.”

“With the same questions you've been asking me?”

“...Yeah. I asked whether they'd still be alive if someone made a perfect copy of them.” Vincent's voice grew quieter. “Whether the copy would really be them.”

Alastor closed his eyes. “And?”

"Velvette understood.”

“...Immediately?”

“Almost immediately.”

Alastor felt something unpleasant settle in his stomach.

"She realized what the restoration actually does.”

Silence stretched between them.

"It overwrites me.”

Another pause.

“It doesn't merge us.”

“...No.”

"It doesn't give me back my memories.”

“...No.”

“It… it replaces me.”

The static hissed softly between them.

“So they know.” Alastor said at last.

“...Yeah.”

“They know restoring Vox kills you.”

“...Yeah."

“And you've known this since before they found the backup.”

Vincent didn't answer immediately. “...Yeah.”

Alastor let out a slow breath.

“So that's why.”

“...Why what?”

“Those questions.”

Silence.

“‘Am I a different person?’”

Vincent said nothing.

“‘Does the old person still exist?’”

Nothing.

“‘If the world lets me.’”

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.

It was guilty.

Alastor finally understood.

“...Vincent.”

“...Yes?”

“Is this what you've been trying to ask me all along?”

A long pause.

“...What do you mean?”

“Not whether you're different from Vox.”

Another pause.

“...Whether anyone would think you died if he came back.”

The radio crackled softly.

For several seconds, Vincent didn't speak.

When he finally did, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“...Would they?”

“They might not.” Alastor admitted. “But Vincent, if they do restore Vox… I would mourn you. Even if no one else understands it.”

That seemed to crack Vincent’s facade. He heard a sniffle from the other end of the line.

“I… I thought I might just be being dramatic…” Vincent fought for each hushed word through quiet tears.

“You’re not.”

“...Or selfish.”

“No.”

“...Or maybe that I didn’t really count.”

“You do.”

Vincent was an innocent soul. Well, as innocent as a sinner could possibly be.

But in this case specifically, he was innocent.

Not figuratively- literally.

He was a man who had committed no crime beyond existing in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they intended to erase him for it.

Not out of cruelty.

Not even intentionally.

Simply because they believed they could bring back their friend by killing him.

His smile tightened.

Then his thoughts drifted, as they inevitably did, back to Vox.

Not with hatred. No… that ship had sailed. He didn’t hate Vox.

But there was still a bitterness that he now carried towards the man his Vincent had turned into.

Vox was a selfish fool who couldn’t even kill himself properly.

Whatever despair that had driven Vox to erase himself no longer mattered, because he’d left behind something infinitely worse than a corpse.

A choice.

Alastor let the silence settle.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was almost conversational.

“...Vincent.”

“...Yes?”

“Have you asked them not to do it?”

There was a long pause.

“...Yeah.”

“And?”

“They said they were thinking.”

“I see."

Another pause.

“They haven't decided yet.”

“No.”

“So they're trying to make the correct choice.”

“...I suppose.”

Alastor's smile slowly returned.

Only this time, there was nothing warm about it.

“They cannot.”

Alastor couldn’t see it, but he could almost feel Vincent blink.

“...What?”

“They're attempting to make an informed decision.”

“...Yes?”

“They lack the information necessary to do so.”

“...I don't understand.”

“They believe they're choosing between restoring Vox and leaving him dead.” The static hissed softly. “They are not.”

Another pause.

“They're choosing which innocent man dies.” Vincent said nothing. “They simply haven't realized it yet.”

“...Alastor…”

“They deserve the opportunity to make that choice with all of the relevant facts before them.”

Vincent's voice grew tight. “You can't be thinking about coming here.”

“I am.”

“They'll attack you.”

“They usually do.”

“You could die.”

“I could.”

“You shouldn't do this because of me.”

Alastor chuckled quietly.

“My dear Vincent…” His voice softened just enough to lose its edge. “You asked a question yesterday.” Silence. “‘Are you a different person?’”

“...Yeah?”

“I answered yes.” The smile in his voice returned. “I have no intention of standing by while someone I consider alive is erased.”

The other end of the radio fell completely silent.

When Vincent finally spoke, he sounded smaller than before. “...Thank you.” Alastor leaned back in his chair. “But no.”

His smile faltered slightly. “No?”

“I can’t leave.”

“You most certainly can.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Those are two entirely different statements.”

“I know.” Vincent let out a tired breath. “But if I leave now… If you come here… They'll think you're trying to steal Vox.”

Alastor said nothing.

“They've already lost him once. If you attack them now…” He swallowed audibly. “...they'll lose him twice.”

Alastor stayed silent.

“And then they never have to choose.”

Alastor said nothing.

“They’ll tell themselves they would’ve picked me. Every time I see them, they’ll say they would’ve picked me.” Vincent continued quietly. “Maybe they even would have.”

A pause.

“But they’ll never know, and they’ll think they lost Vox for a second time.”

Alastor closed his eyes. “Vincent.”

Vincent didn’t acknowledge that Alastor had spoken. “If I run away, then I make the choice for them.”

“You’re placing an extraordinary amount of faith in people who have given you very little reason to deserve it.”

“I know.”

“They have threatened you.”

“I know.”

“They have confined you.”

“I know.”

“They are currently debating whether or not to kill you.”

“I know.” Every answer came just as softly as the last. “And despite all that… I still want to give them the chance to do the right thing.”

Alastor was quiet for a while.

“You truly are nothing like Vox.”

Vincent gave a weak, watery laugh. “...I hope not.”

“No, he never would’ve entrusted his life to anyone else’s conscience.”

Another quiet laugh. “I don’t know if it’s trust.”

“No?”

“No, I think…” Vincent searched for the words. “I think everyone deserves a chance to choose who they want to be.”

Because that was exactly what Vincent had been denied.

Everyone around him had been asking whether Vox deserved another chance.

No one had asked what Vincent deserved before asking about Vox.

“...Very well.” Alastor finally said.

“You’re not going to argue with me?” Vincent sounded surprised.

“Oh, I assure you, I still think you're making a spectacularly reckless decision.” That earned another tiny laugh. “But it’s yours.”

Not Vox’s… Vincent’s.

It wasn’t quiet at all- the sounds of the hotel and the sounds of Velvette and Valentino arguing could be heard in the background- but they fell quiet together in a world that was loud.

“If they choose you…” Alastor said after minutes of not-quiet silence. “Then I shall be delighted to be proven wrong.”

“And if they don’t?”

“...Then they will make that choice while knowing that at least one soul in hell understands exactly what they’re doing.”

Vincent didn’t answer instantly, and when he finally did, his voice was almost inaudible. “I think… I think that’s all I really wanted.”

Even though Vincent couldn’t see it, Alastor smiled softly. “For someone who isn’t Vox, you’ve inherited an infuriating talent for making impossible decisions."

Chapter Text

The bedroom was quiet.

Not peaceful.

Just quiet.

Vincent had learned there was a difference.

Peace meant certainty.

Quiet simply meant nobody had made a decision yet.

The marine biology book still rested open in his lap, turned to a chapter on orcas. He'd been staring at the same paragraph for nearly twenty minutes without absorbing a single word.

Outside, Vee Tower carried on as though nothing had changed.

Electricity buzzed through the walls.

Employees talked in the hallways.

Someone laughed at a joke that wasn’t funny.

Soft music played on the speakers in the elevators and lobby.

The world kept spinning while his friends debated whether he should be allowed to remain part of it.

The thought sat strangely with him.

He wondered if executions were always this… ordinary.

There was no dramatic countdown.

No final meal.

No prison cell.

Just waiting in the bedroom of a man who had already died once. Twice, if he counted the TV incident.

And yet, he waited for the news of whether he would get to see the next day.

His eyes drifted towards the door.

It remained closed.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stay that way.

Every minute it remained shut meant he was still alive.

But every minute still meant that they hadn’t made their choice.

He wasn’t sure which possibility frightened him more.

A quiet knock sounded against the wood.

His heart lurched painfully into his throat.

For one impossible moment, he considered pretending he hadn't heard it. As though that could postpone whatever came next.

The knock came again.

Lighter this time.

Not impatient.

Almost... hesitant.

“Come in.”

The handle turned and Valentino stepped inside.

He wasn't carrying the silver drive.

Vincent hadn't realized he'd been looking for it until relief washed over him so suddenly that his shoulders nearly sagged.

Valentino noticed. “You thought I’d brought it.”

It wasn’t a question. Vincent looked away. Not quite in shame, but something close. “Yeah.”

Val closed the door behind him, lingering awkwardly near it.

Normally he filled every room he entered. Today he looked strangely unsure where to stand.

For nearly half a minute, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Valentino sighed. “...Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What do you like?”

“...Sorry?”

“I mean…” Val gestured vaguely. “What do you like? Food. Music. Hobbies. Anything.”

Vincent blinked. “I don’t really know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Whatever Vox liked, I’ll probably like too.”

“...Right.”

Another silence stretched between them.

“I realized something.”

Vincent waited.

“I don’t know anything about you.”

“Oh?”

“I know Vox.” His voice caught on the name. “I knew exactly how he’d react if I brought him coffee instead of energy drinks.” A faint, half-hearted laugh. “I knew which movies he’d pretend not to cry at. I knew what kind of insults meant he was actually pissed and not teasing.”

He looked at Vincent.

“But I don’t know how similar you two are.”

Vincent thought for a second. “How would he react if you brought him coffee instead of energy drinks?” He finally asked.

“...Seriously?”

“Answer the question.”

“He’d get annoyed and say he doesn’t like coffee. It would usually just get poured down the sink and he’d open another can of those god awful things.”

“That sounds like such a waste.”

“We’re in hell. It doesn’t matter.”

“I guess you’re right.”

Another silence.

But it felt different this time.

Less strained.

Val glanced towards the book on his lap. “So… you like sharks?”

“I do, yeah. I’ve read seven of these books already.”

“...Seven?”

“There’s not much else to do in here and it’s been three days.”

“I guess so…” Val trailed off. “‘Apex Predators of Earth’s Oceans’.” He said, reading the title of the closed book in Vincent’s lap. “You actually read this?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“They’re fascinating."

“They’re fish.”

“‘Fish’ is an enormous category. Sharks are cartilaginous fish, not bony fish. They're actually more closely related to rays than to most fish people picture.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I took it as one, so don’t ruin it.”

Val looked back at the cover, smiling a little. “So what’s your favorite one?”

“Thresher sharks.” Vincent answered immediately.

“Not the great white?”

Vincent shook his head. “No, great whites are cool, but I like thresher sharks better. Their tails are remarkable.”

“Their tails?”

“They use them to stun schools of fish and then they eat them while they’re in shock. Most species just evolved stronger jaws, but thresher sharks evolved to use their tails as weapons.”

Val stared. “You know that off the top of your head?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Val looked at the floor for a minute. “You know…” He hesitated. “I think there’s someone you should meet.”

“Someone?”

“Yeah.” For just a heartbeat, sadness flickered across Valentino's face before he buried it beneath another grin. “C'mon.” He jerked his head toward the hallway. “I think he’ll like you.”

Valentino led him to the elevator and swiped a special card on the scanner. He explained that it would take them to an off-limits level, but avoided all other questions while they descended.

Once the elevator stopped moving and the doors slid open, the first thing Vincent noticed was the smell of salt and fish. The air itself was different too- wetter and colder.

But it was the room they stepped out into that really caught Vincent’s attention.

It was the area above a large aquarium, with catwalks hanging just a few inches above the water and railings to keep people from falling in. The room itself was enormous- easily the size of a high school gym- and Valentino had called it the feeding area. Which meant this was only a tiny part of whatever lay beneath them.

Automatic lights flickered on as they entered. A moment earlier, the room had been completely dark.

A shadow passed beneath the surface.

It was enormous.

Vincent stopped walking.

Before he could even make out what it was, he found himself staring.

The head of the creature surfaced, and it was metal instead of scales or skin. Blue lights glowed beneath armoured plating, and one glowing eye clicked and adjusted like the lens of a camera, fixing on him and Valentino. A single one of the shark’s teeth was about as tall as Vincent himself was.

Vincent instantly recognized it as the mechanical shark that had a painting in his room. (Vox’s room? Was it still his if he wasn’t Vox?)

“Woah. You’re a big guy, aren’t ya?” He said, amazed by the pure size of the shark. 

The water beneath the catwalk rippled again.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Vincent leaned forward without thinking, gripping the railing just lightly enough to steady himself.

“…He’s looking at me.” He said. Valentino didn’t answer right away.

“Yeah.” He murmured. “He does that.”

The massive head drifted closer, rising just enough for the mechanical eye to break the surface line. It clicked once, adjusting focus.

Not aggressive.

Not distant.

Just… observing.

Vincent tilted his head slightly, as if that might help.

“Hi.”

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then the shark moved.

Not back.

Not away.

Forward.

Until the water lapped against the edge of the platform directly beneath them.

Vincent held still.

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

A sound. A reaction. Anything.

Instead, the shark let out a low, distorted hum- something between machinery and life- so deep it vibrated through the metal under Vincent’s feet.

Vincent blinked.

“…Is that-”

“It’s him.” Val said quietly.

Vincent let out a short laugh under his breath.

“Okay. That’s… really cool.”

He shifted slightly closer to the edge, lowering himself into a crouch so he wasn’t looming over the water.

The shark followed the movement.

Always just enough to keep him centered in that glowing eye.

Vincent’s expression softened into something almost thoughtful.

“You’re really curious, aren’t you?”

The shark paused.

Then slowly, impossibly gently, one of its fins broke the surface and skimmed the water like a slow wave.

Vincent watched it like he was trying to memorize the motion.

“…I wonder what you eat,” he said, almost to himself.

Val gave a quiet, almost absent sound of amusement behind him.

That pulled Vincent out of his focus.

He glanced back. “How much does a shark this size eat?”

“Hell if I know. You’re usually the one who feeds him.”

Vincent just stared at Valentino for a moment.

Valentino’s expression fell.

“Oh. Right. Uhm… Vox.” He corrected himself quietly. “Vox usually fed him personally. But since the incident, we’ve had a trusted employee take over.”

Vincent tried not to let the mistake show on his face. He wasn’t sure if he was successful. “Did Vox like feeding him?”

“Yeah. He’d take a break around lunch just to get food and share it with Shock.Wav.” Val sighed. “Other than that, he hardly ate. But if it was Shock.Wav’s feeding time, then they always ate together.”

“Shame we didn’t bring anything to share then. Maybe next time.”

“Right.” Valentino hesitated, and then softly smiled. Finally, he whispered: “Next time.”

Chapter Text

The bedroom was quiet.

Just quiet.

Vincent had stopped trying to decide whether that was a good thing.

Another marine biology book rested open across his lap, though this time he was actually reading it.

“...Hammerhead sharks possess nearly three hundred and sixty degrees of vision due to the lateral placement of their eyes…”

He hadn't known that.

He reached for the pencil resting on the bedside table and underlined the sentence before scribbling a note in the margin.

Ask if this applies to bonnetheads too.

The thought made him smile.

He wasn't entirely sure who he expected to ask.

Shock.Wav probably wasn't much of a conversationalist.

Closing the book just enough to keep his place, Vincent glanced toward the bedroom door.

Still closed.

He stared at it for a moment before catching himself.

Old habits.

His attention drifted back to the page.

Outside, Vee Tower buzzed with its usual rhythm.

Phones rang somewhere several floors below.

An elevator chimed.

Someone argued loudly in the hallway before being told to ‘take it somewhere else’.

Life.

Normal life.

It was strange how quickly he'd begun recognizing the building's little sounds.

The realization should have unsettled him.

Instead, it was oddly comforting.

A knock sounded against the door.

Vincent looked up.

His heart still jumped.

Not as violently as yesterday.

Just enough to remind him that fear didn't disappear overnight.

“Come in.”

The handle turned.

This time, when the door opened, he didn't instinctively look for a silver drive.

He realized that only after the thought had already passed.

Funny.

Yesterday, that would've been the first thing he'd searched for.

Today, he'd looked at the person standing in the doorway first.

He still looked for the drive, but only after checking who it was.

Velvette leaned against the doorway instead of instantly coming inside. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Her gaze wandered around the room before settling on the stack of books on his bedside table. “Jesus.” She muttered.

Vincent followed her eyes. “What?”

“You’ve nearly emptied the library.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“I didn’t mean it literally, dumbass.”

“Oh.”

“How many have you read?”

“So far, it’d be nine. I’m just starting the tenth.”

“How do you not get bored?”

“Because it’s sharks?”

She rolled her eyes. “Nevermind. Stupid question.” She smiled. “Pop quiz; give me a fun fact about sharks from… this book.” She said, pointing to one of the ones on the bottom of the pile.

He smirked. “Easy. Sharks are older than trees.”

“Is that actually true, or did you just make it up?”

“I’d never make something up about sharks! They’re cool enough without bullshit ‘facts’.”

“Okay… then what’s another thing they’re older than?”

“Saturn’s rings.”

“Oh, you’re shitting me!” She laughed. “There’s no way that’s true!”

“It is! I’ll find it, give me a moment!” He said, pulling out the books.

“Don’t bother, I can voogle it.” She said, pulling out her phone. “Hey voogle, are sharks older than trees and Saturn’s rings?”

“Yes, sharks are older than both trees and Saturn’s rings.” The automated voice replied. “Sharks appeared around 450 million years ago while the earliest known trees evolved around 385 million years ago. Current evidence suggests that Saturn’s rings may be as young as 10 million-”

Velvette swiped her phone’s screen while smiling. “Okay, okay, I get it, I was wrong.”

“See?” Vincent smiled in victory.

“Don’t.”

“You doubted the sharks!” He sing-songed.

“No, I doubted you.”

Vincent leaned back against the bedframe, still smiling faintly.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn't heavy anymore.

Just... there.

Velvette exhaled through her nose and slipped her phone back into her pocket.

“…Okay.”

Vincent tilted his head. “Okay?”

“I can't believe I just got humbled by a shark fact.”

“You were doubting the sharks.”

“I was doubting you.”

“Still counts.”

“It really doesn't.”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “It kind of does.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no heat behind it.

Then she looked around the room again, like she was remembering why she had come here in the first place. “…You always just sit here reading?”

Vincent glanced at the book in his lap. “Mostly.”

“Do you ever do anything else?”

“I walked to the window yesterday.”

“That’s not a hobby, that’s basic movement.”

“I also blink.”

“Wow. Multitalented.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

Velvette let out a small huff of laughter, then moved toward the bed and flopped down on the edge of it without asking.

The mattress dipped.

Vincent looked at her, then at the spot she had claimed.

“Are you going to leave?”

“No.”

That seemed to settle it.

Velvette leaned back on her hands, staring at the ceiling for half a second before declaring: “This is boring. C’mon, let’s go watch a movie at my place.”

“Sure. What movie?”

Her face lit up. “Oh, I have a good one in mind.”

They ended up watching Cruella, which was apparently one of Velvette’s all time favourite movies.

Halfway through the film, he wasn’t sure why. Beyond the fact that the main character was a fashion designer, he didn’t really see why she liked it.

Then came the fire scene, and… well. Yeah, he liked the movie after that.

He knew it wasn’t intentional on Velvette’s part, but he really enjoyed the theme of becoming a different person.

More specifically, he liked that it was a choice for both Estella and Cruella. Vincent may not have gotten that choice, but he was glad that Estella, Cruella, and Vox did.

He wasn’t sure if it was the same thing- Estella didn’t actually die like Vox did- but the thought lingered anyway.

All he could do was hope that he wasn’t becoming a worse version like Estella did.

Just as the movie ended, the doorbell rang. Velvette opened it, and Valentino stepped in with a gift bag in his hand.

“Vinny!” Val said as he walked in. “Velvette and I got you something.”

“Oh?”

For a moment, he was scared of it being the drive.

But something in him knew that that wasn’t the case.

He opened the bag slowly anyways.

But instead of a silver drive, there was a cyan box with a picture of a phone on it.

“Surprise!” Velvette practically shouted. “We got you a phone!”

Vincent stared at the box for a second longer than he meant to.

A phone.

Not the drive.

Not anything sealed, or locked, or hidden.

Just… a phone.

He reached in carefully and lifted it out of the packaging.

It was new. Clean. The screen was dark and untouched.

He turned it slightly in his hands, expecting something to be written on it. “…Why?”

Velvette leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “Because you need one.”

Vincent looked down at it again.

It felt strange holding something that wasn’t tied to Vox. Not scratched from years of use. Not already filled with someone else’s habits.

Just empty.

“…Shouldn’t I just use Vox’s phone?”

The words left him before he could really decide to say them.

The room went quiet.

Not the comfortable kind.

Valentino straightened immediately. “No.”

Velvette spoke at the same time. “Absolutely not.”

Vincent blinked. “…Okay.”

Val exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to push the reaction back down. “That’s not.. no. That’s not happening.”

Velvette pushed off the doorframe and walked closer, grabbing the box and forcing it shut a little too firmly. “That’s not even a question.”

Valentino’s voice softened, but there was no hesitation in it. “That stays with Vox.”

The name landed heavier than usual.

Vincent lowered his gaze back to the phone in his hands. “…Right.”

A pause.

Velvette sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re not using anything that still has his life sitting in it, okay?”

Vincent nodded slowly. “Okay.”

That seemed to settle it for them, but not quite for him.

He turned the phone over once more.

“…What do I do with it, then?”

Velvette snatched the manual out of the box and tossed it onto the bed beside him. “Start with turning it on.”

“We’ll set it up. It’s yours.” Val added, a little more gently.

Vincent pressed the power button.

The screen lit up.

Blank.

Not someone else’s history.

Just… possibility.

It felt almost intimidating after four days of living in someone else’s shadow.

But it also felt freeing, in a strange way. Good, but strange.

The phone chimed softly and a setup screen appeared.

“Okay, first thing’s first.” Velvette said, reaching over and grabbing it from him. “Language. Obviously English, unless you want something else.”

“I only speak English.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

She tapped the screen quickly.

Vincent watched the motion carefully. “Is that how you control it?”

“It’s one way.”

“There are more?”

Valentino snorted quietly from the other side of the couch. “You’re in for a long afternoon.”

Vincent processed that without looking up. “Noted.”

Velvette flicked through another screen. “Wi-Fi… Don’t worry about that, I’ll handle it later. You don’t need to think about routers.”

“I think about most things I interact with.”

“That’s your first mistake.”

Vincent tilted his head slightly. “Mistake?”

“Forget I said that.”

Another screen appeared, this one asking if he already had an account associated with VoxTech.

Velvette leaned over and clicked ‘no’. He tried not to think about that too much. 

Then it asked for a name.

He quietly put in ‘Vincent’ while they watched over his shoulders. He glanced at them for approval, and Val smiled at him slightly while Velvette nodded.

He typed in a password that he trusted he wouldn’t forget. It was his birthday. Something Vox and him still shared.

He didn’t let Velvette or Valentino see what he’d put. They still didn’t need to know how old he was.

Finally, it opened to the homescreen. 

He tapped the screen once.

A ripple of motion.

Then several icons appeared.

He didn’t recognize most of them.

“They’re… all different things?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Velvette looked at him like he’d asked why water was wet. “Because it’s a phone.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“It explains everything, actually.”

Vincent stared at it longer.

Then carefully tapped one icon.

It opened immediately.

Bright. Loud. Moving.

He watched the screen.

Something about it felt like standing too close to an aquarium again. Like something large existed behind the glass of it, except this time the glass was a screen.

He closed the app.

Velvette helped him set a background, and he chose a coral reef with a tiger shark in the background.

Then, slowly, more carefully, he tapped a different icon.

This one didn’t play sound immediately.

It opened to a blank field.

“...What is this one?”

“Messages. Here, let me add our numbers.” Velvette said, snatching the phone from his hand again.

“Numbers?”

“Yeah. Everyone is assigned a number when they make an account, and if you have someone’s number, then you can message their phone directly.”

“Privately?”

“Unless it’s a group chat, then yeah. Here I’ll make a new group chat between the three of us.”

Part of him wanted to ask why they didn’t just add him to the old group chat that Vox would’ve been in- surely they would have one- but another part of him was grateful that they’d made a new one instead. He wasn’t sure why either part felt the way it did.

Vincent looked back down at the phone.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He didn’t press anything for a moment.

Then, slowly, he typed:

Hello.

He paused, then added:

This is Vincent.

The message was sent immediately.

A small sound chimed from Velvette’s phone. She pulled it out, glanced at it, then smiled. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You type like a ransom note.”

Vincent frowned slightly. “It’s grammatically correct.”

“That’s not the problem.”

Valentino checked his own phone, then gave a small, approving hum. “At least he doesn’t abbreviate everything.”

“I could abbreviate.” Vincent said.

“Don’t.” Velvette replied instantly.

He nodded. “Okay.”

He typed again.

What do I do now?

It took him far too long to find the question mark, and they both stared at him awkwardly while he fiddled with the phone.

Velvette leaned over, read it, and sighed like the question was physically exhausting. “You stop holding it like it’s going to explode.”

“I’m not holding it like that.”

“You are emotionally holding it like that.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Val interrupted. “Just mess around with it. It’s not going to hurt you.”

Vincent looked at him. Then at Velvette. Then back at the phone.

Slowly, he nodded. “Alright.”

He opened another app.

Closed it.

Opened the camera.

Stared at his own reflection on the screen for a long moment without speaking.

“…It shows me.”

“Yep.” Velvette said.

“That’s… very immediate.”

“You’re gonna hate selfies.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“You will.”

He tilted the phone slightly and watched how the image shifted with him. It felt less like a mirror and more like a version of himself that had learned to flatten into light.

Eventually, Velvette took the phone from him. “Okay. That’s enough brain expansion for today.”

“I didn’t feel expansion.”

“That’s because it’s happening internally.”

“That sounds unsafe.”

“It’s not.”

Valentino checked the time on his own phone. “You should get some rest.”

Vincent glanced at the time on his own phone. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You’ll get used to it.” She said.

Vincent looked down at it. “…It doesn’t feel like Vox’s.”

“Good.”

Velvette just nodded once. “Yeah.” She looked a little sad about it, but not entirely so.

They brought him back to his bedroom, gave him a charging cable, and said good night.

The bedroom was still quiet.

But it didn’t feel paused anymore.

It felt… ongoing.

Outside, Vee Tower kept moving.

Somewhere below, something rang.

Somewhere else, something laughed.

And on the table beside him, the phone waited.

Not for Vox.

Not for a past that didn’t belong to him.

Just for tomorrow.