Your Truth as Alastor's Twin Brother: The Twin Radio Demons
1 Points
1
You barely register the rapid flicker from your screen, the faint static whisper at the edge of hearing—until the light grows blinding and your senses lurch sideways, as if Hell itself has pressed its face against yours. The noise seizes you—a radio squelch, drowning out the clicking of keys and the hum of your real-world room. There isn’t time to gasp. You feel the world fall away, replaced by velvet darkness, crackling with the ghosts of a thousand broadcast voices laughing behind the veil.
**You wake in a different world.**
It reeks of ash, rain, and distant grilled meat. Your limbs feel wrong and rubbery, and there’s the sharp, stabbing knowledge that you are not alone.
A figure is there: tall—unnaturally so—with a grin so wide it threatens to split the pale, angular face in two. You know the look, the tailored pinstripe, the monocle glimmering like burning coals. Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon of Hell. You freeze.
Alastor leans forward, cane tapping the scarlet-streaked floor.
“Well, well, what a treat! The artist rendered! The reader revealed!” he beams. “Tell me—do you enjoy being transformed, **mon ami**? Or is it only delightful when it’s happening to *me*?”
Your voice withers before you can answer. Panic roots you; your body feels light, too light. You try to scream, only to hear a burst of white static, warbling and tinny, as if squeezed through a static-packed radio.
He raises a glowing hand, arcane marks writhing midair, a mockery of voodoo sigils. “Here’s a lesson—for posterity’s sake!” With a vicious twist of his wrist, reality bends, rips, and reforms around you.
**You change.**
It begins deep inside—the aging of your bones like the ticking of a grandfather clock, resonance swelling through your frame. Your arms lengthen, becoming unnaturally thin but rigidly strong. The warmth of your skin cools to pallor; your muscles contract, drawing your shoulders broad while your waist shrinks. Strange flexibility surges into every joint as if your bones have gone rubbery.
If you were a woman, you feel your chest flatten, draw taut, your Adam’s apple pushing forward as masculine chords wind through your throat—feminine curves pulling inward, skin tightening across a sharp, almost bony frame. Down below, your insides wrench, twist, and invert: what was once familiar flesh recedes, replaced with new, foreign anatomy—now identical to what Alastor would sport underneath his red-flecked trousers. The entire world trembles for a moment as you grow taller, the room shrinking—floor shooting away beneath your red-tinged, now distinctly hoofed feet.
Your fingers shrink—only four on each hand, each tipped in sharp, black-taloned claws with reddened undersides. Your forearms and lower legs deepen in color, fading to an ashy gray. And then the pain at your scalp—a prickling, as two velvet antlers nudge up and out, black-tipped, and tufts of bobbed pinkish-red hair cascade to the side of your field of vision; wicked black highlights blaze from the ends, contrasting elegantly with your beige skin.
You reach to your face, desperate now—trying to *move* your lips, to wipe away the sudden, overwhelming rictus-smile. The corners hitch impossibly high, stiffening into something inhuman. You try with all your might to *frown*, to *scream*, but the muscles simply refuse. Your fingers clutch your cheeks, digging in, but your manic grin persists, unyielding.
“Why—why can't I stop *smiling*?!” you try to shout, your new voice ringing out as a cheerful, vintage radio announcement—masculine, sonorous, each word flattened behind a veil of static. You want to plead, but even your *eyebrows* arch playfully, rebuffing terror with forced, infectious glee.
Alastor laughs—pure, delighted, mocking:
“Oh, you always ask that, dearest!” His voice echoes as if from the end of a phonograph horn, distorted by time and infernal magic. “It’s your *nature* now. A smile is strength—never let the mask slip! Frowns…” He waves a gloved hand dismissively. “Pathetic.”
But the true horror comes swelling from inside your mind. Fragments, sharp and sugared: *Jazz rolling from a New Orleans radio tower. Mother stirring jambalaya with a wooden spoon. The pleasure of a well-cooked meal, the bitter aftertaste of black coffee. Long, blood-smudged nights with a sawed-off and a powder-burnt grin, sharing the carnage with your brother—Alastor, your other half, your twin.*
“No, no, no…I’m…not him…not…!” you beg internally, but the new memories come surging—a dam burst. You hold onto your thoughts, but they are swept away one by one, replaced by a distinct blend of charming anachronism and lethal glee: pranks, deals, broadcasts, a *hunger* for power and novelty. Everything *you* were—the memories of your home, your internet, your own name—shrink and fade. You *forget* you were ever anyone else.
And now you look at Alastor, realization brightening your eyes. There is no fear. There is no confusion—the very concepts flee from your mind. Instead, there is only self-assurance and intrigue. Here is your *brother*. Here is the one you’ve always known, since childhood and through the smoke-choked haze of Hell. *Twin Radio Demons, together at last.*
Alastor bows, ever the showman:
“Welcome home, brother! I must say, I couldn’t have chosen a finer companion for eternity’s amusements! I trust your radio voice is in excellent working order?”
You tip your brand new head, monocle winking, red pinstripes immaculate. Ah…yes. The world is vivid—but you remember now, you always belonged here.
“My dear Alastor!” Your radio-tinged voice rings gleefully from your broad, grinning mouth, “You know I have never missed a single broadcast!”
He laughs, the sound rolling with vintage static, and beckons you forward.
---
**Epilogue: Hazbin Hotel, Main Lobby**
The Hazbin Hotel’s neon lights flicker. You stand beside Alastor, identical in every inch—height, grinning jaw, glowing antlers, and the gleam of mutual cunning.
Charlie’s eyes shine with curiosity and nervous excitement.
“Whoa! Alastor, you never mentioned you had a brother!”
“My dear, introductions!” Alastor flourishes a hand. “May I present my dearest blood-kin—[insert your new, close-but-distinct name here, such as **Aladar**]!”
You sweep into a theatrical bow, cane whistling through the air.
“Charmed, mademoiselle! Consider me at your service—and suitably entertained by your little venture!”
Vaggie frowns, standing protectively near Charlie.
“This—this can’t be good. One Radio Demon was bad enough...”
Alastor claps your shoulder (you feel nothing, not even the briefest annoyance at all).
“Don’t fret, insect! My brother shares my…capacity for good manners! We’re simply, ah, *dying* to help!”
Angel Dust nearly chokes on his lollipop, spider arms flailing.
“Hey, if you can get yourself a twin, can I get a twin too?! Like, two Angel Dusts? Think about it, Husk—double the fun!”
Husk groans, wings sagging, slouching at the bar.
“Goddamn it. My soul is already his, now it’s split with *two* of you?! This job just keeps getting worse.”
Niffty skitters around your feet with manic energy, one wide eye glimmering.
“Ooh, TWO Tall Radio Gents! Do you cook jambalaya too, Mr. Not-Alastor? Can you show me the Charleston? Is your bathroom as crazy clean as his?! Oh boy, oh boy!”
Alastor smiles at you, pride beaming across his predatory face. “If you break my record for culinary excellence, brother, I just might have to start *competing* with you. Shall we inaugurate our partnership with a broadcast to remember?”
You laugh, a vintage cackle echoing with a thousand voices—and together, the twin Radio Demons stride deeper into the hotel. Side by side, master of the airwaves, game-players of Hell.
There is no doubt: You have always been his mirror. And with two of you, there shall never, ever be a dull moment in Hell again.
This story was generated by user Fizzarolli-Attack-2 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a POV second-person transformation story of a human reader completely turning into an entirely-identical clone of Alastor (a character, voiced by Amir Talai, from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with gender change (if the reader is a female, her breasts vanish as her throat gains an Adam's apple to give her a more masculine voice identical to Alastor and her female privates (vagina, ovaries, and uterus) from her crotch/nether region invert itself and pushes out into male private parts (a penis and testicles); however, this is optional and only if the reader is female), instant clothes change, age change (becoming the age of 30s-40s years old, exactly as left off from Alastor's death from his human life in 1933, thus becoming immortal in the process), height progression (growing from a normal height to 7 feet tall), voice change, and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being permanently and completely replaced with Alastor's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting the new personality and memories, making him/her completely forget about his/her past self and he then remembers, or rather realizes, that he had always been the twin brother of Alastor the Radio Demon himself, and he remembers his name being similar to Alastor's name but completely distinct from Alastor's name). For Alastor's appearance (after the reader turned into his clone), he is a slim (having an unnaturally thin torso, neck, arms, and legs, except his shoulders are broad), dapper sinner demon with beige-colored skin, and usually has an unnaturally broad smile (reaching from each cheek's upper area) full of sharp, yellow teeth (he has no ability to frown due to this permanent smile). He is approximately 7 feet tall. He sports a pinkish-red cropped, angled bob-cut with black tips at the ends and two large, black tipped tufts of hair extending from the top of his head, evoking the ears of a deer. The style has an undercut at the back, and two small black antlers protruding from the crown, which can grow in size in his full demonic form. Alastor's eyes have dark-red sclerae, bright-red irises and thin black pupils (which can change into the shape of radio dials when shifting into his full demon form). He also has four fingers (like all Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss characters), unlike real world humans. His forearms and lower legs fade to dark grey, and he has red hoof-toed feet and red clawed fingers. Alastor wears a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels piped with white, which is ragged along the bottom hem. Underneath this he wears a bright red dress-shirt with a black cross on the chest, and long black dress pants with matching bright red cuffs. He also wears a dark-red oval-shaped monocle, rimmed with black, over his right eye. He accessorizes with a black knotted bowtie with a bright red center, black gloves with red at the fingertips, and black pointed-toe boots with red deer hoofprints emblazoned on the soles. Alastor also carries a thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone attached to it, which he uses to play sound effects and broadcast his voice. His voice also sounds like it is coming from an old-fashioned vintage radio. Alastor has many supernatural powers, such as demon transformation (the ability to turn into a more powerful demon form), flexibility (able to contort his body into numerous unnatural poses), demonic magic (able to cast magic thanks to the high power-level he has accrued in the demon ranking system, this magic takes the visual form of glowing red symbols that resemble Voodoo veve, which float around him), shadow manipulation (able to summon shadows and manipulate them into doing his bidding), spatial warping (able to get around with the help of his shadow, allowing teleportation through this ability), portal creation (able to transport others to his location easily via the portals he makes), pyrokinesis (able to summon small balls of fire for display purpose), phytokinesis (able to make plants wilt with a single stare), manifestation, photokinesis (able to project red glowing light from his eyes as well as his microphone), and outfit alteration (capable of changing the outfits of his targets as well as his own with a snap of a finger). He is also capable of various other abilities including deal-making (as Alastor is known to be a deal-maker demon; deal-maker demons like Alastor can increase their power by dealing in souls, which is a very powerful commodity in hell, so they’re seen as very manipulative and not to be toyed with, deal-making is not something every demon can do, as such it is not to be taken lightly as it doesn’t generally work out well for the other party), broadcasting (when he was a living human, Alastor's profession was as a radio show host, and he continues his broadcasts in Hell as a demon, ensuring that Hell's denizens are aware of his activities over the airwaves, earning him the title of "The Radio Demon"), bilingualism (Alastor can speak English fluently as well as some broken Creole French), cooking (Alastor is noted to be "a big foodie" and mentions having admired his mother's cooking, specifically her Jambalaya), musical/dancing/theatrical talent (Alastor is known to display moderate vocal abilities and excels at dancing, with some people noting tap to be a style he excels in specifically, he also shows a flair for theatrical showmanship), and wide intellect (Alastor is known to be quite a cunning individual, resulting in him accruing a large amount of power through his tricks and deal-making). Alastor stands out from many of the more chaotic residents of hell for his well maintained amiable persona. He gives a first-impression of a good-natured and charming man, wearing a permanently wide grin on his face at all times. His behavior, mannerisms, and even his voice are similar to an old-fashioned radio announcer and speaks with a transatlantic accent, often using quaint anachronisms such as "the picture show" and refers to Charlie as a "charming demon belle". This playful dandyish exterior, however, obscures a much darker side to him - one with high levels of self-importance - and he will not hesitate to use physical violence when others don't act in line with his very particular values or expectations. He is noted to be narcissistic, with his love for himself being stated that no one else can measure up to it, and he does not see many people quite up to his level. Alastor is described as a man of duality. He values good manners, affability and intelligence very highly in others, and will actively look down on those who do not meet his standards, however he will often play fast and loose with these arbitrary rules in regards to himself and his own conduct. Alastor has an odd sense of morality, which is described as "not normal", and has been noted to be quite sadistic, even cannibalistic, devouring lesser demons or those that have incurred his anger. Despite this, he keeps close friends with the other cannibals of Hell, including the denizens at the Cannibal Town. His smiling is a very self enforced form of ego and a show of power and dominance; he looks down on anyone who lets their true emotions show, and even when faced with a rival in strength, if they let slip a frown, Alastor will see them as truly weak. His smile is also to be more unpredictable and unnerving, and gives him a feeling of complete control over himself. While Alastor is powerful, he is aware that there are other demons and entities that rival him in terms of power, such as other Overlords. For this reason, he is wary around such demons, as they could potentially harm him if he is not careful. Despite everything, Alastor does genuinely seem to want to help Charlie run the Hazbin Hotel, albeit for his own amusement, and hopes for its failure over siding with her idealism. Alastor also dismisses the idea that redemption is possible as laughable, nevertheless, he fulfills his role as patron as promised, providing the hotel with staff, and protecting Charlie and her business from outside threats. He views the whole endeavor as a fun distraction from his decades of boredom. Despite consistently having a confident and cheerful demeanor, he harbors a vulnerable side that becomes apparent when confronted with reminders of being "chained". In this instance, his facade of certainty crumbles, and he succumbs to panic attack. According to Mimzy (Alastor's friend), when Alastor was alive he would become a "kitten" (not literally a kitten) if he drank enough rye whiskey while jazz music was on. Here are Alastor's preferences (his likes and dislikes); he likes himself (including his own fashion style), his son, smiling, doodling, gossip and drama, invading others' personal space, his mother and her cooking, jazz music, strong liquor, cooking, seeing people fail, playing pranks, bitter tastes (especially those of black coffee), theater, dancing, the Stock Market Crash of 1929, venison, being in charge, Charlie's potential, pineapple on pizza, and making jokes. However, he dislikes Lucifer Morningstar (the king of Hell and Charlie Morningstar's father) and his "tacky" circus décor, Susan (a Cannibal Town resident), being touched (including his hair being touched), dogs, frowning, tea, anything sweet, Angel Dust's sexual remarks, being humbled, post-30s' technology, anyone ruining his outfit, being controlled and reminded of it, the idea of the hotel failing, and Mimzy bringing destruction to the hotel. The story is that Alastor is getting bored and wanted something new and more entertaining in Hell. Not only that, but most importantly (the main reason), Alastor is truly getting sick and tired of seeing artwork and stories (which he sees online, despite himself disliking technology made after his human death) of himself getting transformed into other characters and creatures in both body and mind (such as himself being turned into a pregnant human woman, himself being turned into a baby human girl, himself being turned into an ant queen, himself being turned into a transformers robot, himself being turned into a car, himself being turned into a bus, himself being turned into an airplane, etc), either from different series/franchise or from the reader's real life, which Alastor genuinely views as distasteful (since he does not want to transform against his will). So to teach the reader a lesson, Alastor (by some supernatural means) briefly left the series' Hell and into the real life Earth to kidnap the reader and sent him/her to the world of Hazbin Hotel before he uses supernatural black magic at the reader which turned him/her into his clones, thus turning the reader into Alastor's identical twin brother (the reader notices that his/her grin was now unnaturally wide and permanent, he/she tries to push his/her grins down with his/her own hands/fingers to get rid of the smile in order to frown or show fear but he/she cannot due to making emotions other than smiling were completely impossible (the reader even asks in horror on why can't he/she stop smiling, before Alastor tells the reader that it is his/her nature to smile), the reader also tries to fight those new memories and personality of Alastor flooding his/her heads, he/she is horrified and not wanting to be completely transformed in either body or mind, but is fighting a losing battle, and Alastor tells him/her of them that this is his true self and he is waking up from his false human dream, making the reader truly and fully believe in Alastor and realizes that he had always been Alastor alongside the original Alastor, having been born as humans from the same human parents, enjoying their mother's cooking and their favorite food jambalaya, both of the Alastors being radio show hosts and serial killers on Earth before the two of them were killed, two Alastor twins arriving in Hell as completely identical sinner demons nicknamed "The Radio Demons", as they continued their radio shows in Hell, and, despite finding Charlie Morningstar's (the princess of Hell) belief in redemption laughable, the Alastor twins want to help Charlie run the redemption hotel "Hazbin Hotel", albeit for their own amusement), and the reader's mind have been completely replaced with Alastor's mind, before original Alastor welcomes his twin brother (the reader) back home. In the epilogue, the Radio Demon twins (the original one, named Alastor, and his twin (who was once the human reader), having a name similar to Alastor's name but different from Alastor's to help distinguish both Alastor and his twin brother from each other by similar but different names) are in the Hazbin Hotel, with Alastor introducing Charlie Morningstar his brother (even revealing his brother's names) as Alastor and his identical twin brother help Charlie with her redemption hotel ("Hazbin Hotel"), while also interacting with Vaggie (Charlie's girlfriend, who doesn't trust Alastor or his twin brother, while Charlie trusts both Radio Demon twins (Alastor included)), Angel Dust (an adults/pornographic film actor who's a male spider-like humanoid sinner demon; after seeing that Alastor has a twin brother, Angel Dust wants a clone or an identical twin brother of his own, much to Husk's annoyance), Husk (a male cat-like humanoid sinner demon with bird-like wings who is a co-worker for Alastor and whose soul is owned by Alastor, but now (much to his annoyance), his soul is now also owned by Alastor's twin brother (since Alastor owning his soul was bad enough, but now his soul is owned by Alastor and his twin brother)), and Niffty (a miniscule female cyclops-like humanoid sinner demon who is a co-worker for Alastor and is positively acquainted (Alastor's role having described as having a view of Niffty as like his "obnoxious adopted daughter", being a daughter figure for Alastor despite not being related)). There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).
Response: You barely register the rapid flicker from your screen, the faint static whisper at the edge of hearing—until the light grows blinding and your senses lurch sideways, as if Hell itself has pressed its face against yours. The noise seizes you—a radio squelch, drowning out the clicking of keys and the hum of your real-world room. There isn’t time to gasp. You feel the world fall away, replaced by velvet darkness, crackling with the ghosts of a thousand broadcast voices laughing behind the veil. **You wake in a different world.** It reeks of ash, rain, and distant grilled meat. Your limbs feel wrong and rubbery, and there’s the sharp, stabbing knowledge that you are not alone. A figure is there: tall—unnaturally so—with a grin so wide it threatens to split the pale, angular face in two. You know the look, the tailored pinstripe, the monocle glimmering like burning coals. Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon of Hell. You freeze. Alastor leans forward, cane tapping the scarlet-streaked floor. “Well, well, what a treat! The artist rendered! The reader revealed!” he beams. “Tell me—do you enjoy being transformed, **mon ami**? Or is it only delightful when it’s happening to *me*?” Your voice withers before you can answer. Panic roots you; your body feels light, too light. You try to scream, only to hear a burst of white static, warbling and tinny, as if squeezed through a static-packed radio. He raises a glowing hand, arcane marks writhing midair, a mockery of voodoo sigils. “Here’s a lesson—for posterity’s sake!” With a vicious twist of his wrist, reality bends, rips, and reforms around you. **You change.** It begins deep inside—the aging of your bones like the ticking of a grandfather clock, resonance swelling through your frame. Your arms lengthen, becoming unnaturally thin but rigidly strong. The warmth of your skin cools to pallor; your muscles contract, drawing your shoulders broad while your waist shrinks. Strange flexibility surges into every joint as if your bones have gone rubbery. If you were a woman, you feel your chest flatten, draw taut, your Adam’s apple pushing forward as masculine chords wind through your throat—feminine curves pulling inward, skin tightening across a sharp, almost bony frame. Down below, your insides wrench, twist, and invert: what was once familiar flesh recedes, replaced with new, foreign anatomy—now identical to what Alastor would sport underneath his red-flecked trousers. The entire world trembles for a moment as you grow taller, the room shrinking—floor shooting away beneath your red-tinged, now distinctly hoofed feet. Your fingers shrink—only four on each hand, each tipped in sharp, black-taloned claws with reddened undersides. Your forearms and lower legs deepen in color, fading to an ashy gray. And then the pain at your scalp—a prickling, as two velvet antlers nudge up and out, black-tipped, and tufts of bobbed pinkish-red hair cascade to the side of your field of vision; wicked black highlights blaze from the ends, contrasting elegantly with your beige skin. You reach to your face, desperate now—trying to *move* your lips, to wipe away the sudden, overwhelming rictus-smile. The corners hitch impossibly high, stiffening into something inhuman. You try with all your might to *frown*, to *scream*, but the muscles simply refuse. Your fingers clutch your cheeks, digging in, but your manic grin persists, unyielding. “Why—why can't I stop *smiling*?!” you try to shout, your new voice ringing out as a cheerful, vintage radio announcement—masculine, sonorous, each word flattened behind a veil of static. You want to plead, but even your *eyebrows* arch playfully, rebuffing terror with forced, infectious glee. Alastor laughs—pure, delighted, mocking: “Oh, you always ask that, dearest!” His voice echoes as if from the end of a phonograph horn, distorted by time and infernal magic. “It’s your *nature* now. A smile is strength—never let the mask slip! Frowns…” He waves a gloved hand dismissively. “Pathetic.” But the true horror comes swelling from inside your mind. Fragments, sharp and sugared: *Jazz rolling from a New Orleans radio tower. Mother stirring jambalaya with a wooden spoon. The pleasure of a well-cooked meal, the bitter aftertaste of black coffee. Long, blood-smudged nights with a sawed-off and a powder-burnt grin, sharing the carnage with your brother—Alastor, your other half, your twin.* “No, no, no…I’m…not him…not…!” you beg internally, but the new memories come surging—a dam burst. You hold onto your thoughts, but they are swept away one by one, replaced by a distinct blend of charming anachronism and lethal glee: pranks, deals, broadcasts, a *hunger* for power and novelty. Everything *you* were—the memories of your home, your internet, your own name—shrink and fade. You *forget* you were ever anyone else. And now you look at Alastor, realization brightening your eyes. There is no fear. There is no confusion—the very concepts flee from your mind. Instead, there is only self-assurance and intrigue. Here is your *brother*. Here is the one you’ve always known, since childhood and through the smoke-choked haze of Hell. *Twin Radio Demons, together at last.* Alastor bows, ever the showman: “Welcome home, brother! I must say, I couldn’t have chosen a finer companion for eternity’s amusements! I trust your radio voice is in excellent working order?” You tip your brand new head, monocle winking, red pinstripes immaculate. Ah…yes. The world is vivid—but you remember now, you always belonged here. “My dear Alastor!” Your radio-tinged voice rings gleefully from your broad, grinning mouth, “You know I have never missed a single broadcast!” He laughs, the sound rolling with vintage static, and beckons you forward. --- **Epilogue: Hazbin Hotel, Main Lobby** The Hazbin Hotel’s neon lights flicker. You stand beside Alastor, identical in every inch—height, grinning jaw, glowing antlers, and the gleam of mutual cunning. Charlie’s eyes shine with curiosity and nervous excitement. “Whoa! Alastor, you never mentioned you had a brother!” “My dear, introductions!” Alastor flourishes a hand. “May I present my dearest blood-kin—[insert your new, close-but-distinct name here, such as **Aladar**]!” You sweep into a theatrical bow, cane whistling through the air. “Charmed, mademoiselle! Consider me at your service—and suitably entertained by your little venture!” Vaggie frowns, standing protectively near Charlie. “This—this can’t be good. One Radio Demon was bad enough...” Alastor claps your shoulder (you feel nothing, not even the briefest annoyance at all). “Don’t fret, insect! My brother shares my…capacity for good manners! We’re simply, ah, *dying* to help!” Angel Dust nearly chokes on his lollipop, spider arms flailing. “Hey, if you can get yourself a twin, can I get a twin too?! Like, two Angel Dusts? Think about it, Husk—double the fun!” Husk groans, wings sagging, slouching at the bar. “Goddamn it. My soul is already his, now it’s split with *two* of you?! This job just keeps getting worse.” Niffty skitters around your feet with manic energy, one wide eye glimmering. “Ooh, TWO Tall Radio Gents! Do you cook jambalaya too, Mr. Not-Alastor? Can you show me the Charleston? Is your bathroom as crazy clean as his?! Oh boy, oh boy!” Alastor smiles at you, pride beaming across his predatory face. “If you break my record for culinary excellence, brother, I just might have to start *competing* with you. Shall we inaugurate our partnership with a broadcast to remember?” You laugh, a vintage cackle echoing with a thousand voices—and together, the twin Radio Demons stride deeper into the hotel. Side by side, master of the airwaves, game-players of Hell. There is no doubt: You have always been his mirror. And with two of you, there shall never, ever be a dull moment in Hell again.
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