Remote Access (Alastor x Vox)

Chapter 1

As nightfall descended upon Hell, the clock striking 10 P.M. signaled the onset of pandemonium. Demons, weary from their day's endeavors, surged in a frenzied rush through the streets. Cars careened recklessly, mowing down any pedestrian unfortunate enough to be in their path. This nightly chaos, a bizarre ritual in its own right, was fueled by a singular obsession: to reach home in time for the most riveting event of the evening – Vox 2nite.

Vox, the enigmatic demon overlord at the heart of this fervor, held a mesmerizing sway over his audience. Demons of every age and stature found themselves spellbound; eyes fixated on screens that flickered with his charismatic presence. This particular evening, Vox was in his element, weaving through the latest hellish gossip with the ease of a seasoned storyteller. His voice, a captivating blend of authority and allure, teased the viewers with hints of his latest endeavor - Angelic Security Protection. The project's name alone was an enigma, wrapped in Vox's signature style of tantalizing vagueness.

"Hehehe, stay tuned for more, and get those credit cards ready, denizens. This is only the beginning... of the future of Hell-kind," Vox announced to his audience, his smirk widening into a confident, almost sinister wink.

"Goodnight, everybody! Hehe, and remember, as always... ALASTOR'S A GODDAMNED ASSHOLE," he spat out, his voice dripping with contempt as he slammed an angry fist onto the table. The charming façade momentarily slipped, revealing a glimpse of raw fury, before he quickly recomposed himself.

"...Thank you! See ya next time! Have a hell of a time, hehe..." Vox concluded, holding onto his signature electric grin until he received the all-clear from his staff. As soon as the signal came, his smile twisted into a deep scowl of irritation, the mask of the charismatic host giving way to the real, seething Vox behind the screen.

"I asked for a damn drink during the last commercial break... where the fuck is it??" Vox barked out, his voice cutting through the post-show buzz like a knife. His staff, visibly shaken, scattered in all directions, desperate to appease his sudden outburst.

An assistant, trembling slightly, was the first to brave his wrath, cautiously offering him a bottle of water. Vox stared down at it with a mix of disbelief and disgust, his eyebrows knitting together in a clear signal of disdain.

"What is this? I asked for a drink. Do you not know what the fuck I mean by that, you fucking cunt.. Get out of my sight!" he growled, hurling the bottle back at her with such force that it struck her squarely in the face. The bottle burst open upon impact, sending a spray of water across the room. A few errant drops splattered onto his impeccably tailored suit jacket.

"Ugh... Dasani, really? Disgusting..." he muttered under his breath, his expression contorting into one of revulsion as he brushed off the droplets from his jacket, his mood souring further.

As the tense atmosphere hung heavy in the room, several other staff members approached, each carrying a different drink option. They stood rigidly before Vox, their smiles strained and forced, a silent plea in their eyes, hoping to be spared from his temper. The array of beverages seemed to be a desperate attempt to cater to any possible preference he might have.

Without a word, Vox's gaze swept over the selection with a critical eye, his impatience palpable. He reached for the nearest glass, which happened to be a rum and coke. Grasping it firmly, he tilted it back, downing the contents in mere seconds. The sharp intake of the strong drink did little to soften his mood, but it seemed to momentarily satisfy his immediate demand.

The tense atmosphere in Vox's studio took a sharp turn as Valentino and Velvet, his long-time business partners, sauntered in. They immediately took note of the chaotic energy that seemed to cling to the air, and Vox's uncharacteristically unhinged demeanor over the past few days didn't escape their observation.