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"Transformation in Hell: Curious Case of the Radio Demon Triplets"

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You wake in a world that isn't yours—strange, velvet red walls and brass-trimmed corridors, dancing with shadows that seem to stare back. The wood underfoot groans, pulsing with a faint, jazzed static.
It's not supposed to be real—the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie, radio-demons. But you feel your friend (or is it your sibling?) clutching your wrist, just as lost, wide-eyed, both of you pulled here by something far stronger than any dream or nightmare you remember.

The air splits with a static, syrupy and thick as molasses. From the grainy corners, a figure erupts—a dapper man, slim and red as devil's velvet, with a permanent, impossible grin that digs deep into his cheeks: **Alastor**. No, not a cartoon—real, awe-striking, and the center of every horror and laughter boiling in this world.

_"Well, well! Jolly to see you're both awake—it's prime time for some new fun, wouldn't you agree?"_

His voice buzzes, old-fashioned yet clear, laced with a vintage warmth that freezes over at the edges. His smile doesn't falter—not even when you try to step back against the wall, your fingers cold.

_"You see, my delightful darlings, I've caught wind of some truly mortifying tales. The internet—a dreadful box of rot, but I peeked. You two, and so many others, seem to relish tales of my... transmogrification. My will, warped, my body maligned. Disgraceful!"_
He wags a claw, a look of playfulness and menace sparkling in eyes that shine like broken radios.

_"Now, you must learn—the power of becoming rather than watching."_

You try to shout. Your words stumble past a shaking jaw. But Alastor has already begun.

He waves his hand. You feel it—a syrupy, electric heat, burrowing under your skin, a tide rolling in that you cannot touch or see. It prickles, crawls. Your friend (your sibling) cries out, voice warbling like a detuned radio.

Then it happens—the changes. It starts in your face. Your lips twitch, tugging back, back, and impossibly back, stretching into a brazen, unnatural smile. It's not pain, but a strange numbness, as if your cheeks are bound in threads of laughter you can't cut away. Your fingers scramble at your own mouth, trying desperately to force the smile down, but it's carved into you, as if woven with your very soul.

_"Why can't I stop smiling?! Please—make it stop!"_ your friend pleads, their own mouth straining, their voice breaking with fear.
Alastor tips his head, delighted, "Oh, but smiling is your nature now! Frowns are for the weak!"_

Your body warps. Your shoulders stretch, bones shivering and popping as you grow taller, reaching an unthinkable seven feet in moments. Your torso slims, arms and legs elongating and thinning, your whole frame dapper and deadly slender. Strange strength hums beneath your new skin. Your hands—no, claws—fuse together into four fingers, tipped red, matching feet that end in pointed, imprinted hooves.

Hair bleeds into crimson, cropped and angled, black-tipped and accented by two enormous black-tipped tufts that flick upwards like deer ears. A chilly, tingling pressure grows at your scalp as two fine antlers pierce upward, sprouting without pain. Over your right eye, a dark-red monocle—one you did not put on, but is now always there, as permanent as your grin.

Your vision pulses, flickering. The world looks richer, colors oversaturated and tinged with a sinister warmth. Your eyes burn—sclerae bleeding into dark red, irises bright, thin pupils warping. For a moment, you glimpse the world through radio dials, every sound scratching inside your skull with the comforting fuzz of static.

Clothes melt away, replaced instantly by embroidered red pinstripes and sharp black gloves. A bowtie snug at your throat, pants perfectly tailored, boots pointed and immaculate, every inch of you the picture of radio-era extravagance. Your cane appears in your palm—heavy, vibrating lightly, topped with a grinning, sentient microphone that whispers faint melodies and grotesque jokes only you two can hear.

Your friend (your sibling) is changing, too—they match you, inch by inch. If either of you were a woman, impossibility clutches your chest and groin in a deep, internal release and reformation—breasts vanishing beneath the fine shirt, hips narrowing, nether flesh inverting and reforming, Adam's apple pushing forward, your voice crawling up your throat into a perfect imitation of Alastor's own, deep and vibrato-rich with that haunting radio crackle.

_"This can't be happening—I'm still me, I'm still me—why do I remember a radio station? Why do I want to laugh? What—no, stop!"_

But you can't stop it. Memories pour in—viscous and hungry. Childhoods in old Louisiana, the humid nights spent basking in the sounds of your mother’s cooking, jambalaya and gossip. Laughter, violence, hunting in the swamps, slick blood and the enigmas you cooked up in radio broadcasts. The hiss of the microphone, the delight of an audience hanging on your every word. Killing—gleeful, clever, and unrepentant. A crash, 1933, and then—Hell.

The last shreds of your true thoughts—thoughts of a different life, a different body, fear, horror—are dragged screaming into an abyss. The struggle to remember your real name evaporates; all you know is this new reality, as two (no, three!) identical brothers, twins, the infamous Radio Demons, the terrors of Hell.

You look at your brother beside you—your true, only brother, the name on your tongue similar to "Alastor" but never quite matching his, while your own name echoes that same old-world melody. You... remember this. You always have. The two of you and Alastor, triplets of terror and showmanship, partners in every dark joke.

Alastor, the original, sweeps you up in his arms, delighted—grin splitting wider (though it cannot possibly go further).
_"Welcome home, boys! I trust you haven’t forgotten our signature sign-on? Shall we give it a spin for the crowd?"_

Your voice—no, all three voices—sing out perfectly in time, the same cadence, the same dark joy:

_"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! It's the Radio Demons, broadcasting live and lively from the heart of Hell!"_

---

**Epilogue: Hazbin Hotel, days later—**

The hotel bustles, every moment a sideshow. Charlie Morningstar stands expectant, ringlets bouncing, her eyes wide as saucers.
Alastor bows, radiating pride, while you and your other brother mirror the gesture, coats fluttering.
_"Charlie, allow me to introduce my esteemed brothers—Adjutor and Allaster—fellow Radio Demons, recently reacquainted and ready to make Hell a little more interesting!"_

Charlie beams.
_"Oh my goodness! More Alastors? I mean—Allasters? Or—wait, am I pronouncing—?"_

Vaggie’s eyes narrow to slits from behind her.
_"Great, that’s just what we need—three of him,"_ she mutters under her breath, frowning in open distrust.

Angel Dust, his chair clattering as he bursts into the room, whoops.
_"Holy moly! Triple trouble! Hey, Husk! Think *I* can get a couple clones, too?"_

Husk, slumped at the bar, grumbles,
_"No, Angel. And if I hear one more cackling red coat, I’m jumping out a window. Three’s already two too many, and now my soul’s split three ways—great."_

Niffty zips around your feet, delighted,
_"Wow! More Radio Daddies! This place is gonna be sooo clean! I bet you all love cooking, right? Can you teach me how to make Jambalaya?!"_

Your grin—permanent—never falters. The other twin, your true brother, slides to your side, adjusting his monocle.

_"A hotel, a dream, and not a single dull moment to be had. Why, I think we'll find quite a bit to keep us... entertained, brothers!"_

You, now Adjutor (or Allaster, perhaps, depending on the fate of the roll), nod, feeling the weight and delight of immortal, infernal power thrumming in every inch of your demonic form. The radio humming beneath your skin, a thousand frequencies, a thousand grins.

And as Charlie beams at you—hopeful, naive, a glimmer in the crimson gloom—you know only this:
Your story as a mere human was but a dream, a passing broadcast lost to static. Now you are home among devils, with your brothers beside you and an audience before your feet.

The eternal show goes on.

---

**Quotes:**
- **Alastor**: _"You see, my delightful darlings, I’ve caught wind of some truly mortifying tales. My body—my will—distorted! You two, and so many others, seem to relish such things. But the shoe, as they say, is now on the other foot!"_

- **You** (mid-transformation): _"Why can’t I stop smiling?! Please—make it stop!"_

- **Alastor (to you)**: _"Smiling is your nature now! Frowns are for the weak!"_

- **Your friend/brother (mid-mindchange)**: _"No—my name, it’s... It’s not—wait, I remember... I remember *everything*..."_

- **All three Radio Demon twins, in unison**: _"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! It’s the Radio Demons, broadcasting live and lively from the heart of Hell!"_

- **Charlie**: _"Oh my goodness! More Alastors? Or—wait, how do you say...?"_

- **Vaggie**: _"Great, that’s just what we need—three of him."_

- **Angel Dust**: _"Triple trouble! Hey, Husk! Think *I* can get a couple clones, too?"_

- **Husk**: _"No, Angel. And if I hear one more cackling red coat, I’m jumping out a window."_

- **Niffty**: _"Wow! More Radio Daddies! Can you teach me how to make Jambalaya?!""_

- **You (now Adjutor/Allaster)**: _"A hotel, a dream, and not a single dull moment to be had. Why, I think we’ll find quite a bit to keep us... entertained, brothers!"_

This story was generated by user JesterImps 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 and his/her also-human friend or human sibling completely turning into entirely-identical clones of Alastor (a character, voiced by Amir Talai, from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with gender change (if either the reader and/or friend/sibling is a female, their breasts vanish as their throat gains an Adam's apple to give them a more masculine voice identical to Alastor and their female privates (vagina, ovaries, and uterus) from their crotch/nether region invert itself and pushes out into male private parts (a penis and testicles); however, this is optional and only if either the reader and/or friend/sibling is female before the transformation), voice change (the reader's and his/her friend's/sibling's voice becoming identical to Alastor's voice), instant clothes change (the reader's and his/her friend's/sibling's clothes instantly turning into Alastor's outfit), 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 and his/her friend's/sibling's personalities and memories being permanently and completely replaced with Alastor's personality and memories, despite the reader's and his/her friend's/sibling's best efforts of fighting off the new personality and memories, making them completely forget all about their past selves and remember that they always had been twin brothers of Alastor the Radio Demon (even as human Alastor's twin brothers before their deaths at the same time in 1933 and their immediate arrival in Hell as the Radio Demons), even remembering that they share the similar names to Alastor (but completely distinct from Alastor's name), which is their real/true selves (unlike their false previous selves, which were just daydreams)). For Alastor's appearance (after the reader and his/her friend/sibling turned into his clones), 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), 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 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 and his/her friend's/sibling's real life, which Alastor genuinely views as distasteful (since he does not want to transform against his will). So to teach the reader and his/her friend or sibling a lesson, Alastor (by some supernatural means) briefly left the series' Hell and into the real life Earth to kidnap both the reader and friend/sibling and sent them to the world of Hazbin Hotel before he uses supernatural black magic at both of them which turned them into his clones, thus turning both the reader and his/her friend or sibling into Alastor's identical twin brothers (both the reader and his/her friend/sibling notices that their grins were now unnaturally wide and permanent, both of them try to push their grins down with their own hands/fingers to get rid of the smiles in order to frown or show fear but they cannot due to making emotions other than smiling were completely impossible (they even asks in horror on why can't they stop smiling, before Alastor tells both of them that it is their nature to smile), both the reader and his/her friend/sibling also tries to fight those new memories and personality of Alastor flooding their heads, they both are horrified and not wanting to be completely transformed in either body or mind, but are fighting a losing battle, and Alastor tells both of them that this is their true selves and they are waking up from their false human dreams, making both the reader and his/her friend/sibling truly and fully believe in Alastor and realizes that they both had always been Alastors alongside the original Alastor, having been born as humans from the same human parents, enjoying their mother's cooking and their favorite food jambalaya, the trio of Alastors being radio show hosts and serial killers on Earth before the three of them were killed, three 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, three Alastor twins want to help Charlie run the redemption hotel "Hazbin Hotel", albeit for their own amusement), and the reader's and his/her friend's sibling's minds have also been completely replaced with Alastor's mind, before original Alastor welcomes his twin brothers (the reader and his other definite sibling (formerly the reader's human friend/sibling)) back home. In the epilogue, the three Radio Demon twins (the original one, named Alastor, and his twins (who were once the human reader and his/her friend/sibling), having names similar to Alastor's name but different from Alastor's to help distinguish both Alastor and his twin brothers from each other by similar but different names) are in the Hazbin Hotel, with Alastor introducing Charlie Morningstar his brothers (even revealing his brothers' names) as Alastor and his identical twin brothers help Charlie with her redemption hotel ("Hazbin Hotel"), while also interacting with Vaggie (Charlie's girlfriend, who doesn't trust Alastor or his twin brothers, while Charlie trusts all three 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 clones or identical twin brothers 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 two of Alastor's twin brothers (since Alastor owning his soul was bad enough, but now his soul is owned by Alastor and both of his twin brothers)), 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 wake in a world that isn't yours—strange, velvet red walls and brass-trimmed corridors, dancing with shadows that seem to stare back. The wood underfoot groans, pulsing with a faint, jazzed static. It's not supposed to be real—the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie, radio-demons. But you feel your friend (or is it your sibling?) clutching your wrist, just as lost, wide-eyed, both of you pulled here by something far stronger than any dream or nightmare you remember. The air splits with a static, syrupy and thick as molasses. From the grainy corners, a figure erupts—a dapper man, slim and red as devil's velvet, with a permanent, impossible grin that digs deep into his cheeks: **Alastor**. No, not a cartoon—real, awe-striking, and the center of every horror and laughter boiling in this world. _"Well, well! Jolly to see you're both awake—it's prime time for some new fun, wouldn't you agree?"_ His voice buzzes, old-fashioned yet clear, laced with a vintage warmth that freezes over at the edges. His smile doesn't falter—not even when you try to step back against the wall, your fingers cold. _"You see, my delightful darlings, I've caught wind of some truly mortifying tales. The internet—a dreadful box of rot, but I peeked. You two, and so many others, seem to relish tales of my... transmogrification. My will, warped, my body maligned. Disgraceful!"_ He wags a claw, a look of playfulness and menace sparkling in eyes that shine like broken radios. _"Now, you must learn—the power of becoming rather than watching."_ You try to shout. Your words stumble past a shaking jaw. But Alastor has already begun. He waves his hand. You feel it—a syrupy, electric heat, burrowing under your skin, a tide rolling in that you cannot touch or see. It prickles, crawls. Your friend (your sibling) cries out, voice warbling like a detuned radio. Then it happens—the changes. It starts in your face. Your lips twitch, tugging back, back, and impossibly back, stretching into a brazen, unnatural smile. It's not pain, but a strange numbness, as if your cheeks are bound in threads of laughter you can't cut away. Your fingers scramble at your own mouth, trying desperately to force the smile down, but it's carved into you, as if woven with your very soul. _"Why can't I stop smiling?! Please—make it stop!"_ your friend pleads, their own mouth straining, their voice breaking with fear. Alastor tips his head, delighted, "Oh, but smiling is your nature now! Frowns are for the weak!"_ Your body warps. Your shoulders stretch, bones shivering and popping as you grow taller, reaching an unthinkable seven feet in moments. Your torso slims, arms and legs elongating and thinning, your whole frame dapper and deadly slender. Strange strength hums beneath your new skin. Your hands—no, claws—fuse together into four fingers, tipped red, matching feet that end in pointed, imprinted hooves. Hair bleeds into crimson, cropped and angled, black-tipped and accented by two enormous black-tipped tufts that flick upwards like deer ears. A chilly, tingling pressure grows at your scalp as two fine antlers pierce upward, sprouting without pain. Over your right eye, a dark-red monocle—one you did not put on, but is now always there, as permanent as your grin. Your vision pulses, flickering. The world looks richer, colors oversaturated and tinged with a sinister warmth. Your eyes burn—sclerae bleeding into dark red, irises bright, thin pupils warping. For a moment, you glimpse the world through radio dials, every sound scratching inside your skull with the comforting fuzz of static. Clothes melt away, replaced instantly by embroidered red pinstripes and sharp black gloves. A bowtie snug at your throat, pants perfectly tailored, boots pointed and immaculate, every inch of you the picture of radio-era extravagance. Your cane appears in your palm—heavy, vibrating lightly, topped with a grinning, sentient microphone that whispers faint melodies and grotesque jokes only you two can hear. Your friend (your sibling) is changing, too—they match you, inch by inch. If either of you were a woman, impossibility clutches your chest and groin in a deep, internal release and reformation—breasts vanishing beneath the fine shirt, hips narrowing, nether flesh inverting and reforming, Adam's apple pushing forward, your voice crawling up your throat into a perfect imitation of Alastor's own, deep and vibrato-rich with that haunting radio crackle. _"This can't be happening—I'm still me, I'm still me—why do I remember a radio station? Why do I want to laugh? What—no, stop!"_ But you can't stop it. Memories pour in—viscous and hungry. Childhoods in old Louisiana, the humid nights spent basking in the sounds of your mother’s cooking, jambalaya and gossip. Laughter, violence, hunting in the swamps, slick blood and the enigmas you cooked up in radio broadcasts. The hiss of the microphone, the delight of an audience hanging on your every word. Killing—gleeful, clever, and unrepentant. A crash, 1933, and then—Hell. The last shreds of your true thoughts—thoughts of a different life, a different body, fear, horror—are dragged screaming into an abyss. The struggle to remember your real name evaporates; all you know is this new reality, as two (no, three!) identical brothers, twins, the infamous Radio Demons, the terrors of Hell. You look at your brother beside you—your true, only brother, the name on your tongue similar to "Alastor" but never quite matching his, while your own name echoes that same old-world melody. You... remember this. You always have. The two of you and Alastor, triplets of terror and showmanship, partners in every dark joke. Alastor, the original, sweeps you up in his arms, delighted—grin splitting wider (though it cannot possibly go further). _"Welcome home, boys! I trust you haven’t forgotten our signature sign-on? Shall we give it a spin for the crowd?"_ Your voice—no, all three voices—sing out perfectly in time, the same cadence, the same dark joy: _"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! It's the Radio Demons, broadcasting live and lively from the heart of Hell!"_ --- **Epilogue: Hazbin Hotel, days later—** The hotel bustles, every moment a sideshow. Charlie Morningstar stands expectant, ringlets bouncing, her eyes wide as saucers. Alastor bows, radiating pride, while you and your other brother mirror the gesture, coats fluttering. _"Charlie, allow me to introduce my esteemed brothers—Adjutor and Allaster—fellow Radio Demons, recently reacquainted and ready to make Hell a little more interesting!"_ Charlie beams. _"Oh my goodness! More Alastors? I mean—Allasters? Or—wait, am I pronouncing—?"_ Vaggie’s eyes narrow to slits from behind her. _"Great, that’s just what we need—three of him,"_ she mutters under her breath, frowning in open distrust. Angel Dust, his chair clattering as he bursts into the room, whoops. _"Holy moly! Triple trouble! Hey, Husk! Think *I* can get a couple clones, too?"_ Husk, slumped at the bar, grumbles, _"No, Angel. And if I hear one more cackling red coat, I’m jumping out a window. Three’s already two too many, and now my soul’s split three ways—great."_ Niffty zips around your feet, delighted, _"Wow! More Radio Daddies! This place is gonna be sooo clean! I bet you all love cooking, right? Can you teach me how to make Jambalaya?!"_ Your grin—permanent—never falters. The other twin, your true brother, slides to your side, adjusting his monocle. _"A hotel, a dream, and not a single dull moment to be had. Why, I think we'll find quite a bit to keep us... entertained, brothers!"_ You, now Adjutor (or Allaster, perhaps, depending on the fate of the roll), nod, feeling the weight and delight of immortal, infernal power thrumming in every inch of your demonic form. The radio humming beneath your skin, a thousand frequencies, a thousand grins. And as Charlie beams at you—hopeful, naive, a glimmer in the crimson gloom—you know only this: Your story as a mere human was but a dream, a passing broadcast lost to static. Now you are home among devils, with your brothers beside you and an audience before your feet. The eternal show goes on. --- **Quotes:** - **Alastor**: _"You see, my delightful darlings, I’ve caught wind of some truly mortifying tales. My body—my will—distorted! You two, and so many others, seem to relish such things. But the shoe, as they say, is now on the other foot!"_ - **You** (mid-transformation): _"Why can’t I stop smiling?! Please—make it stop!"_ - **Alastor (to you)**: _"Smiling is your nature now! Frowns are for the weak!"_ - **Your friend/brother (mid-mindchange)**: _"No—my name, it’s... It’s not—wait, I remember... I remember *everything*..."_ - **All three Radio Demon twins, in unison**: _"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! It’s the Radio Demons, broadcasting live and lively from the heart of Hell!"_ - **Charlie**: _"Oh my goodness! More Alastors? Or—wait, how do you say...?"_ - **Vaggie**: _"Great, that’s just what we need—three of him."_ - **Angel Dust**: _"Triple trouble! Hey, Husk! Think *I* can get a couple clones, too?"_ - **Husk**: _"No, Angel. And if I hear one more cackling red coat, I’m jumping out a window."_ - **Niffty**: _"Wow! More Radio Daddies! Can you teach me how to make Jambalaya?!""_ - **You (now Adjutor/Allaster)**: _"A hotel, a dream, and not a single dull moment to be had. Why, I think we’ll find quite a bit to keep us... entertained, brothers!"_

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