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You to Alastor's Brother: Radio Demon's Twin

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**You are about to experience a permanent and total transformation. You will lose your identity, your body, and your very soul, becoming the Radio Demon's identical twin—*his* other half—for eternity. Nothing will ever be the same. This is your warning.**

---

You’re relaxing at your computer, scrolling absently—a playlist on, tabs open, windows cluttered—when the screen flickers. The sound warps to static. You blink, thinking you need to reset the Wi-Fi. Instead, the monitor’s darkness deepens and a narrow line, red as fresh blood, opens in the gleaming black.

A needle-thin smile appears. A voice creeps through your speakers, old velvet atop pulsing, invisible power. It’s a sound from between radio stations. From Hell.

“Bonsoir, my delectable little deviant!” purrs Alastor, his vintage tone slicing the silence. “Lovely evening for... poetic justice, don’t you agree? Oh, but you look *stunned*. As though you never expected to see *me* on your side of the screen. How droll.”

You stiffen, unable to move or even close the browser. Your body is heavy; your heart thunders. Then—impossibly—*Alastor steps out of your monitor*. Crisp, crimson, towering, antlered and grinning, boots clicking on your reality’s floor.

He eyes you up and down, gaze drilling through more than skin. “Ah-ha! The artist, the author, the disciple of...transfiguration." His smile doesn't falter, but his eyes narrow, glinting. "So fond of remaking me, are you? *Never* in a way I’d choose, mm?”

He’s beside you, impossibly close, the scent like burnt sugar, the atmosphere charged. In his hand is a swirling, dark-red sigil.

“Let’s teach you about *volition,* my dear chap. Or madam. Why, let’s make it a lesson you’ll *never* forget."

The world twists. A hurricane of static roars in your ears, symbols spiral around your limbs with wicked light, and you’re falling—no, *dissolving*—as Alastor’s magic invades every cell.

---

### The Transformation

You try to scream, but the noise comes out broken and tinny, as if piped through an ancient radio. You try to run, but your body won’t obey. The static becomes a physical force, compressing your chest, then expanding—bones lengthening, skin crawling.

Your arms and legs *stretch*. Spine pops as you shoot upwards. Shoulders widen, your torso narrows to impossible thinness. *Four fingers*—only four!—pulse on each hand. Claws erupt, red-tipped and sharp, as gloves appear in a whisper of silk.

You watch, horrified, as your legs contort, your feet shaping into hooves, the toes marbling into red and black. Your organs churn, twist, *inside out*—if you are female, there’s the wrenching, crawling inversion as your chest flattens, your throat swells, an Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the skin, and your privates burn and shift, an alien new weight between your legs. You can’t scream; your voice box creaks and snaps, its shape changing.

Your *face*—the horror builds as your smile yanks wider, wider still, reaching for your cheeks’ edges. The skin over your jaw stretches into a permanent grin packed with predatory, yellow fangs. You try to force it closed with trembling hands, digging your nails into the skin, but it barely *budges*. The flesh simply *snaps* back. You want to weep, to show panic, but your lips *refuse*. The only expression you can wear is that grinning, hungry radiance.

"Why can't I stop *smiling*?" you beg through locked teeth, voice glitching in a radio static undertone, the accent perfectly, hauntingly mid-Atlantic.

Alastor leans in, his own grin inches from yours. “Why, my dear, because it’s in your *nature* now," he whispers. "You couldn’t frown if Lucifer himself ordered it. Isn't it *liberating*?”

Hot, rose-red hair spills from your scalp, bobbing around your head, black at the tips, a pair of huge, antler-shaped tufts arching high. Two *actual* antlers break through your skin with a chill, the pain fading almost instantly. Only the sensation lingers, a memory of violence.

Eyes throb, aching as the world redshifts; sclerae darken, irises burning bright scarlet, black pupils slicing to sharp points. Sight becomes sharp, too sharp, as if every photograph in the world turned to glistening, high-contrast film. Your jaw aches—no, it *doesn’t*, not anymore.

Monocle snaps into place; a swell of sharp-dressed red and black surges over your body, a ragged coat with pinstripes and an ornate bowtie. Long, pointed boots stretch your hooved feet. Around your neck, you feel the weight of immortality settle.

You try to *fight*, clawing for memories—birthdays, friends, the world of the living. But Alastor’s laughter—your laughter—overrides everything. Memories crash over you like a red tide. Your mother’s soft voice, thick with Creole French, calling you to the kitchen for jambalaya. Laughter behind a radio mic, the thrill of a broadcast reaching thousands. *Blood on your hands*. Cold air on Bourbon Street, the taste of bitter coffee, the snap of a deal made with a desperate, dying soul.

The sense of self you’d clung to—memes, social media, your whole fragile history—shreds like unwanted static, drowned by an avalanche of *HIS* life. There is *no space left for you*. You clutch at your name, your past, but they slip through your claws like cigarette smoke.

Alastor’s voice, now your *own* voice, sonorous and tinged with emerald mischief, purrs inside your head, "Ah, you remember now, don’t you? You’ve always been my equal in every possible way— a Radio Demon in all but name! Come now, brother," he chides, "Awake from your little dream. *We* have a hotel to terrorize!"

The last bits of resistance collapse. You can’t recall why you ever thought otherwise.

You are *not* human. You are *not* a stranger, not a guest.

You are Alastor’s twin: born under a dying star, joined at the laughter. Your name is—what was it? It rolls from your tongue, identical but distinctly *yours*—*Aldric*. Yes, yes, of course. Aldric. Always had been.

---

### The Hazbin Hotel: The Aftermath

You—Aldric—stride through plush red halls, your brother beside you, both towering, blinding grins casting crimson shadows on the walls. Charlie Morningstar, radiant and hopeful, turns, smiling in cautious delight.

“Alastor! And—wait, *another*?” she gasps, looking between you and your duplicate.

“Charlie, dear! Allow me to introduce my twin brother—Aldric! We’ve doubled the Radio Demons, just for your darling little establishment!” Alastor proclaims, bowing low with a dramatic sweep of his cane. You mimic him, twirling your own microphone-tipped cane with flourish.

Charlie beams. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Aldric! Twins, huh? This is—wow, that’s a lot to process, but maybe... helpful?”

Vaggie, arms crossed and brow furrowed, edges between you and Charlie. "Just what we needed, another one? Is Hell not big enough for one narcissistic, grinning lunatic?"

You tip your head, eternally smiling. "Why, Miss Vaggie, think of the possibilities! Twice the power, twice the *pizzazz*—and twice the support for young Miss Charlie’s noble crusade!" You cackle, voice warping its way through every lamp and speaker in the room.

Alastor places a comforting hand on Charlie’s shoulder, but his eyes glitter red at Vaggie. “Fear not! Two Radio Demons are still quite manageable—if you don’t cross us.”

From the lobby’s velvet couch, Angel Dust gapes, multiple arms flailing. “Aww, hell! Alastor’s got a twin? That’s *adorable*.” He winks, smirking. “What do I gotta do to get a clone of *me* running around, huh? C’mon, Husk, wouldn’t that spice things up?"

Husk glowers behind his whiskey glass, feathers bristling. “No. Not funny. Was bad enough being owned by *one* of you freaks.” He gives you a sour look. “Now I gotta take orders from both Radio Creep Twins?”

“Indubitably!” you and Alastor chorus in telepathic harmony, fiddling your canes, broadcasting your laughter so it shoots from every ticking radio and crackling gramophone in the hotel.

Niffty zips in on a whirlwind of girlish giggling, eye sparkling. “Ooo, there’s *two* of you now? That means *more* parties and *more* cleaning up all your... uh, ‘accidents'!”

“Darling Niffty, what would we do without your—indefatigable energy?” you croon, patting her head with clawed gentleness. “Think of us as—family.”

She beams, throwing sparkles everywhere. “Like you’re my *two* dads! Or, uh, big brothers? Or...uncle-dad-cousins? Eh, who cares!”

---

In the grand parlor, your laughter dances above the candelabra and the swirling veve symbols float from your fingertips as easily as air. Charlie, nerves dissolving, welcomes your partnership, dreaming again of rescue and redemption.

But beneath the laughter, you know—*you* know—this is what you always were, what you always *should* be: immortal, impossible, smiling. Broadcasting a will into eternity alongside your mirrored other half, your twin, your brother.

Your old self—whoever they once were—is gone, a ghost now lost to static. You are Aldric, the Radio Demon twin. You are home. And the show is just beginning.

---

**Quotes:**

**Alastor:** “Come now, Aldric! The picture show of eternity awaits! Let’s see if Hell can handle double the devilment.”

**Aldric (you):** “Why, Alastor, dear brother, I believe we’ve already upstaged them all. Shall we put the ‘sin’ in synchrony?”

**Charlie:** “This is... honestly, I think this will work. Welcome to the team, Aldric!"

**Vaggie:** “He better not try *anything* funny. One of you is more than enough trouble.”

**Angel Dust:** “If there’s another Radio Demon, I demand another *Angel*. It’s only fair!”

**Husk:** “Great. Now I’ll never get any peace.”

**Niffty:** “Twinsies! Let’s throw a party! You guys can DJ! Oh, I’m so excited!”

---

And so, the Radio Demon twins, Alastor and Aldric, tip their hats to all of Hell.

Let the broadcast begin.

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 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 are about to experience a permanent and total transformation. You will lose your identity, your body, and your very soul, becoming the Radio Demon's identical twin—*his* other half—for eternity. Nothing will ever be the same. This is your warning.** --- You’re relaxing at your computer, scrolling absently—a playlist on, tabs open, windows cluttered—when the screen flickers. The sound warps to static. You blink, thinking you need to reset the Wi-Fi. Instead, the monitor’s darkness deepens and a narrow line, red as fresh blood, opens in the gleaming black. A needle-thin smile appears. A voice creeps through your speakers, old velvet atop pulsing, invisible power. It’s a sound from between radio stations. From Hell. “Bonsoir, my delectable little deviant!” purrs Alastor, his vintage tone slicing the silence. “Lovely evening for... poetic justice, don’t you agree? Oh, but you look *stunned*. As though you never expected to see *me* on your side of the screen. How droll.” You stiffen, unable to move or even close the browser. Your body is heavy; your heart thunders. Then—impossibly—*Alastor steps out of your monitor*. Crisp, crimson, towering, antlered and grinning, boots clicking on your reality’s floor. He eyes you up and down, gaze drilling through more than skin. “Ah-ha! The artist, the author, the disciple of...transfiguration." His smile doesn't falter, but his eyes narrow, glinting. "So fond of remaking me, are you? *Never* in a way I’d choose, mm?” He’s beside you, impossibly close, the scent like burnt sugar, the atmosphere charged. In his hand is a swirling, dark-red sigil. “Let’s teach you about *volition,* my dear chap. Or madam. Why, let’s make it a lesson you’ll *never* forget." The world twists. A hurricane of static roars in your ears, symbols spiral around your limbs with wicked light, and you’re falling—no, *dissolving*—as Alastor’s magic invades every cell. --- ### The Transformation You try to scream, but the noise comes out broken and tinny, as if piped through an ancient radio. You try to run, but your body won’t obey. The static becomes a physical force, compressing your chest, then expanding—bones lengthening, skin crawling. Your arms and legs *stretch*. Spine pops as you shoot upwards. Shoulders widen, your torso narrows to impossible thinness. *Four fingers*—only four!—pulse on each hand. Claws erupt, red-tipped and sharp, as gloves appear in a whisper of silk. You watch, horrified, as your legs contort, your feet shaping into hooves, the toes marbling into red and black. Your organs churn, twist, *inside out*—if you are female, there’s the wrenching, crawling inversion as your chest flattens, your throat swells, an Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the skin, and your privates burn and shift, an alien new weight between your legs. You can’t scream; your voice box creaks and snaps, its shape changing. Your *face*—the horror builds as your smile yanks wider, wider still, reaching for your cheeks’ edges. The skin over your jaw stretches into a permanent grin packed with predatory, yellow fangs. You try to force it closed with trembling hands, digging your nails into the skin, but it barely *budges*. The flesh simply *snaps* back. You want to weep, to show panic, but your lips *refuse*. The only expression you can wear is that grinning, hungry radiance. "Why can't I stop *smiling*?" you beg through locked teeth, voice glitching in a radio static undertone, the accent perfectly, hauntingly mid-Atlantic. Alastor leans in, his own grin inches from yours. “Why, my dear, because it’s in your *nature* now," he whispers. "You couldn’t frown if Lucifer himself ordered it. Isn't it *liberating*?” Hot, rose-red hair spills from your scalp, bobbing around your head, black at the tips, a pair of huge, antler-shaped tufts arching high. Two *actual* antlers break through your skin with a chill, the pain fading almost instantly. Only the sensation lingers, a memory of violence. Eyes throb, aching as the world redshifts; sclerae darken, irises burning bright scarlet, black pupils slicing to sharp points. Sight becomes sharp, too sharp, as if every photograph in the world turned to glistening, high-contrast film. Your jaw aches—no, it *doesn’t*, not anymore. Monocle snaps into place; a swell of sharp-dressed red and black surges over your body, a ragged coat with pinstripes and an ornate bowtie. Long, pointed boots stretch your hooved feet. Around your neck, you feel the weight of immortality settle. You try to *fight*, clawing for memories—birthdays, friends, the world of the living. But Alastor’s laughter—your laughter—overrides everything. Memories crash over you like a red tide. Your mother’s soft voice, thick with Creole French, calling you to the kitchen for jambalaya. Laughter behind a radio mic, the thrill of a broadcast reaching thousands. *Blood on your hands*. Cold air on Bourbon Street, the taste of bitter coffee, the snap of a deal made with a desperate, dying soul. The sense of self you’d clung to—memes, social media, your whole fragile history—shreds like unwanted static, drowned by an avalanche of *HIS* life. There is *no space left for you*. You clutch at your name, your past, but they slip through your claws like cigarette smoke. Alastor’s voice, now your *own* voice, sonorous and tinged with emerald mischief, purrs inside your head, "Ah, you remember now, don’t you? You’ve always been my equal in every possible way— a Radio Demon in all but name! Come now, brother," he chides, "Awake from your little dream. *We* have a hotel to terrorize!" The last bits of resistance collapse. You can’t recall why you ever thought otherwise. You are *not* human. You are *not* a stranger, not a guest. You are Alastor’s twin: born under a dying star, joined at the laughter. Your name is—what was it? It rolls from your tongue, identical but distinctly *yours*—*Aldric*. Yes, yes, of course. Aldric. Always had been. --- ### The Hazbin Hotel: The Aftermath You—Aldric—stride through plush red halls, your brother beside you, both towering, blinding grins casting crimson shadows on the walls. Charlie Morningstar, radiant and hopeful, turns, smiling in cautious delight. “Alastor! And—wait, *another*?” she gasps, looking between you and your duplicate. “Charlie, dear! Allow me to introduce my twin brother—Aldric! We’ve doubled the Radio Demons, just for your darling little establishment!” Alastor proclaims, bowing low with a dramatic sweep of his cane. You mimic him, twirling your own microphone-tipped cane with flourish. Charlie beams. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Aldric! Twins, huh? This is—wow, that’s a lot to process, but maybe... helpful?” Vaggie, arms crossed and brow furrowed, edges between you and Charlie. "Just what we needed, another one? Is Hell not big enough for one narcissistic, grinning lunatic?" You tip your head, eternally smiling. "Why, Miss Vaggie, think of the possibilities! Twice the power, twice the *pizzazz*—and twice the support for young Miss Charlie’s noble crusade!" You cackle, voice warping its way through every lamp and speaker in the room. Alastor places a comforting hand on Charlie’s shoulder, but his eyes glitter red at Vaggie. “Fear not! Two Radio Demons are still quite manageable—if you don’t cross us.” From the lobby’s velvet couch, Angel Dust gapes, multiple arms flailing. “Aww, hell! Alastor’s got a twin? That’s *adorable*.” He winks, smirking. “What do I gotta do to get a clone of *me* running around, huh? C’mon, Husk, wouldn’t that spice things up?" Husk glowers behind his whiskey glass, feathers bristling. “No. Not funny. Was bad enough being owned by *one* of you freaks.” He gives you a sour look. “Now I gotta take orders from both Radio Creep Twins?” “Indubitably!” you and Alastor chorus in telepathic harmony, fiddling your canes, broadcasting your laughter so it shoots from every ticking radio and crackling gramophone in the hotel. Niffty zips in on a whirlwind of girlish giggling, eye sparkling. “Ooo, there’s *two* of you now? That means *more* parties and *more* cleaning up all your... uh, ‘accidents'!” “Darling Niffty, what would we do without your—indefatigable energy?” you croon, patting her head with clawed gentleness. “Think of us as—family.” She beams, throwing sparkles everywhere. “Like you’re my *two* dads! Or, uh, big brothers? Or...uncle-dad-cousins? Eh, who cares!” --- In the grand parlor, your laughter dances above the candelabra and the swirling veve symbols float from your fingertips as easily as air. Charlie, nerves dissolving, welcomes your partnership, dreaming again of rescue and redemption. But beneath the laughter, you know—*you* know—this is what you always were, what you always *should* be: immortal, impossible, smiling. Broadcasting a will into eternity alongside your mirrored other half, your twin, your brother. Your old self—whoever they once were—is gone, a ghost now lost to static. You are Aldric, the Radio Demon twin. You are home. And the show is just beginning. --- **Quotes:** **Alastor:** “Come now, Aldric! The picture show of eternity awaits! Let’s see if Hell can handle double the devilment.” **Aldric (you):** “Why, Alastor, dear brother, I believe we’ve already upstaged them all. Shall we put the ‘sin’ in synchrony?” **Charlie:** “This is... honestly, I think this will work. Welcome to the team, Aldric!" **Vaggie:** “He better not try *anything* funny. One of you is more than enough trouble.” **Angel Dust:** “If there’s another Radio Demon, I demand another *Angel*. It’s only fair!” **Husk:** “Great. Now I’ll never get any peace.” **Niffty:** “Twinsies! Let’s throw a party! You guys can DJ! Oh, I’m so excited!” --- And so, the Radio Demon twins, Alastor and Aldric, tip their hats to all of Hell. Let the broadcast begin.

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