Certainly! Here is a detailed, fantasy-style transformation story following your prompt, with specific focus on character perspectives, dialogue, body and mind changes, and a strong narrative through-line. Quotes reflect the gradual shifting of speech and self as the changes progress.
---
### **HAZBIN TO CYBERTRON: THE REFORGING OF CHARLIE AND ALASTOR**
Charlie Morningstar paced nervously in the dimly lit lobby of the Hazbin Hotel, her fingers twisting the edge of her red lapel. The scent of brimstone and distant music clung to the air; the soundscape was never quiet in Hell. She glanced to the grand clock, knowing Alastor, the Radio Demon, was never late for a scheduled chaos.
He arrived in a flicker of static, shadows curling behind him, cane twirling and smile wider than should have been natural.
“Ah, my *dear*! I arrived, right on time, for today’s entertainment!” Alastor declared, voice crackling like an old speaker. “You said you *required* my expertise in stirring up the rabble?”
Charlie offered a sheepish grin. “It’s not rabble; I just need—” she trailed off, hesitant. “—I need help...making the Hotel better. Giving everyone *hope*.”
He gave an exaggerated bow and twirled his cane. “Hope is such a delightful illusion. Let’s see what my magic can conjure! Let’s give your Hotel a *true* transformation!”
The red sigils swirled, born from Alastor’s fingers. For an instant, Charlie felt weightless, the tumult of magic beneath her feet. Then, something *changed.*
First, cold swept up her limbs—a pervasive, enfolding chill not of this world. She tried to speak, but her voice distorted, metallic clangs mixing with pained breaths.
“A-Alastor!” Charlie gasped. “What are—” She looked down and nearly screamed.
Her arms and legs thickened, flesh hardening, seams running along their lengths as her skin warped into shimmering panels—pink, light gray, and splashed with electric blue. Her jacket and bowtie, once fabric, merged and melted into her chest, forming glossy armor that gleamed under the infernal lights. She staggered backward, trying to find her footing. Each movement brought a stretching, *creaking* sound as her bones expanded far past any human dimension.
Alastor threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, exquisitely delightful! Such spectacle! Look at us—bastions of metal and might! A touch of paint, a dash of malice!”
His own body was overtaken by the change, coat and shirt fusing with pale, metallic flesh. Red, black, and white stripped across his arms and torso as his thin frame bulked into newfound, athletic power. His pinstripe pattern became grooved steel; his monocle flattened into a glassy optics visor, and his horns retracted, shaping with his hair into black, bladelike helmet ridges. The microphone cane clattered to the floor, then merged into his right forearm as a built-in transmitter.
Charlie’s eyes flashed as any sign of pupils warped away, leaving her gaze a pure, throbbing blue within a solid, masculine metal face—one distinctly not her own. Her lips thinned, the familiar shape gone; her voice deepened with a heavy bass edge.
“N-no...Alastor, turn it back! I don’t want—!”
Her protest cut short as a metallic clang echoed through her chest. She was growing—fast. Ten feet, fifteen, twenty... Once the chandelier dangled at head height, it now barely reached their chests. Her former friend now towered next to her, 25 feet of crimson armor and black trim.
Alastor flexed his new hands, marveling at their massive grip, but paused, startled as his ever-present static fizzled out, replaced by a smooth, youthful baritone. “Huh...where’s my—my static? My...wait—?”
He looked to Charlie, whose gasp now trembled in a much deeper, richer voice. “Why am I—why do I *sound* like this? What’s *happening* to me?”
“Look what you’ve done, Alastor! I can’t even... feel—”
Their surroundings rippled. The lobby around them shifted, wood and velvet replaced with steel baseboards and intricate machinery. The world itself strained and popped, colors replaced by chrome and neon—transforming into Cybertron.
Charlie—his body now unmistakably masculine, hair compressed into a helmet, limbs chiseled and robotic—fell to one knee. His hand trembled as it touched his face. “What am I becoming?” His accent was gone, replaced with deep resonance.
Alastor, beside him, was quickly losing composure; the smile faded—not forced, but because he *couldn’t* keep it. His new face allowed expression—confusion, fear—an expressive brow furrowed, lips pressed into a frown he could never have shown before.
“Charlie, I—I didn’t plan for... this...” he muttered, voice shifting rapidly, dropping all vintage cadence, the transatlantic flavor lost to a raw, unshaped youthfulness. “Something’s wrong. This *wasn’t* part of the act!”
Charlie clutched his head. A tangible fuzziness gnawed at his thoughts, as if a blizzard had set in behind his optics. Memories flickered—dancing on stage, saving souls, the weight of a father’s disappointment—fading out, pixel by pixel, replaced by images of roaring engines, star-bright warfare, and Cybertronian cities in endless war.
“N-no, please—I don’t want to forget,” Charlie begged. “Alastor—help—!”
Alastor pressed both hands to his metallic temples, blinking as his mind clouded further. “Why am I...remembering different things? Giant robots...blasters...someone called Megatron...Optimus—” He gritted his new metallic teeth, distraught. “Why am I calling you—‘Dude’? Or ‘man’? Where’s my—my...‘belle’—?”
Charlie, now watching Alastor with identical horror, blinked as his own hands began to shake, his fingers twitching with static memory. “Why... do I know the name Dynamo?” he whispered, dread tinging his voice. “And why does it feel—right?”
Alastor, eyes wide and utterly lost, stammered, “You—I keep hearing the name ‘Torpedo Blast’ in my head. I—I never—Why can’t I stop it?! Why am I talking like—a—a *teenager*? This isn’t me! Man, what the heck—?”
Their eyes met—a flash of blue against red—and suddenly, speech came easier. The fuzz in their minds resolved, clearing into razor-sharp new reality, as former memories finally slipped away, irretrievable.
Charlie—no, *Dynamo*—stood, shoulders squaring. “You look rattled, bro. You all good?” His tone was friendly, casual, natural as breath.
Alastor—now *Torpedo Blast*—managed a sheepish grin, fully unfamiliar on his new, expressive face. “Yeah, man... Just a weird day. Guess these Decepticon losers can’t catch a break, right?”
They both looked momentarily puzzled, as if some lingering piece almost connected, then shrugged it off.
“Time to report back; Optimus will want the update,” Dynamo said, rolling his shoulders. The pink and gray plating of his body glinted in the neon.
“Bet Soundwave still has our transmissions jammed. Good thing the big guy believes in us,” Torpedo Blast replied, hefting his arm-cannon experimentally.
As they strode down the steel corridor—two titanic brothers, Decepticon insignia still etched in faded pride onto their shoulders—any thought of Hell, the Hazbin Hotel, redemption, or even their demonic natures was gone; never real, only a brief glitch in Cybertronian programming.
To Dynamo and Torpedo Blast, *this* reality was all they’d ever known. Brothers in arms, Autobots by choice, Decepticons by history, and human by accident—an accident already gone, erased forever into the archives of unreality.
---
#### **Final Quotes from the new Cybertrons:**
**Dynamo:**
“Hey, bro, ready for another mission? Was a wild skirmish today. Glad we’ve always had each other’s backs, huh?”
**Torpedo Blast:**
“Always, man. No ‘Con or ‘Bot’s gonna split us up. We stick together, right?”
And as they walked, they didn’t remember Hell, song, demonhood, or even the names Charlie or Alastor. That life had never belonged to them.
They were *home*—at last and forever—forged and reforged.
---
**End.**
This story was generated by user HelluvaJester 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.
Prompt: Write the transformation story of Charlie Morningstar and Alastor the Radio Demon (both from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel) turning into cybertrons (which are sentient robots) from the Transformers franchise, complete with gender change (with Charlie Morningstar transforming from female to male), robotification (becoming robots) body change (due to both Charlie Morningstar and Alastor becoming giant humanoid robots), clothes-body merge (Charlie's and Alastor's clothes merging with their bodies to become metallic armor of their own respective colors), height progression (making them much taller until they are more than 25 feet tall), voice change (Charlie's and Alastor's voices change to fit their new bodies, with Charlie's voice becoming deeper and masculine while Alastor's voice loses his radio static effects and changes to become more similar to a late-teenager), reality change (Charlie's and Alastor's world becoming the world of Transformers), and mind/mental change (with all of Charlie's and Alastor's personality and memories being completely replaced with those of cybertrons, making their minds fuzzy (the fuzziness in their minds clear up when their memories and personalities are fully replaced), despite their best efforts on fighting them off (they don't want to forget their previous self but then completely forget all about their previous selves against their will), making them unable to remember their previous selves (which they realize (or rather know) were not real and that they were never demons to begin with, which they know was just a glitch in their retinas/programming), so they remember (or rather know) that they have always been cybertrons (which is their true/real selves) and formerly Decepticons on Megatron's side (having joined the Autobots despite both the cybertrons retaining the Decepticon symbols on their shoulder pads), completely oblivious/unaware of their previous selves (which wasn't real to begin with)). The transformation is permanent (meaning it is forever) and is completely irreversible. For Charlie Morningstar's appearance (before the transformation begins), she is a tall, slender hellborn demon, standing at around 6 feet tall or over. She has long, blonde hair, with lighter blonde and pink highlights, which is tied into a twice-banded low ponytail. Her blonde bangs flip to her left with a curl. Her lips are black and she has rosy red cheeks. She wears grey eyeliners, her eyes are red, her sclera is light yellow, and she has thick black eyelashes, both top and bottom. She accessorizes with a small black bowtie and black suspenders, with an untucked white, long-sleeved dress-shirt. Over this she usually wears a fitted red tuxedo jacket with dark-red lapels and a pair of red fitted pants. She wears black and white saddle shoes. When in her full demon form, a pair of dark-reddish horns protrude from her head and her eyes' sclera turn bright red with slit pupils. Here is Charlie's personality; she is compassionate and empathetic to a fault, feeling genuine upset at the idea of harm coming to others. Although she isn't unaware that Hell is populated with souls that have committed egregious acts in their living lives, she still views their yearly extermination as a senseless waste and makes it her personal mission to help them avoid it via self-betterment and eventual redemption, something she is seemingly alone in believing is possible. Charlie's idealism, while setting her apart from many of her hellborn peers, can also make her naïve to many of the harsh realities that appear to stand in the way of her potential success - something her girlfriend, Vaggie, tries to remind her of, only to be cheerfully ignored in favor of a more blinkered, sunny optimism. This can also cause her to rush headlong into the initial stages of her plans without much preparation. Charlie has a love for musical theatre, song and dance, and will often convey her emotions and ideas through showtunes and ballads. She appears to take perceived failures hard, as she believes her heartfelt theatrical passion should be enough to bring people over to her way of thinking, and is disheartened when it's not as simple as she imagines. She openly admits during a dejected voicemail to her mother that she doesn't actually know what she is doing, or how to make her plan for reforming sinners work in practice. Despite being sweet and lacking 'street-smarts', this doesn't make Charlie a pushover or stupid. When people insult her or openly mock her ideals and plans, she has no hesitation in standing up for herself, or even rolling up her sleeves to physically fight back. She is also not above letting a few cuss words slip. Charlie also displays some grounding in her idealism, understanding that not all demons can be redeemed, or even likely to change for the better. She displays sensible hesitation when confronted with an ambiguous deal from some high-raking demons. For Alastor's appearance (before the transformation begins), 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 Charlie Morningstar needed help from Alastor and she calls him to help her with the Hazbin Hotel, but Alastor, who wanted to bring in more entertainment, intentionally uses his black magic to transform both himself and Charlie into cybertrons for fun (while also causing them to be in the world of Transformers), starting their transformations into cybertrons. As their bodies become metallic (while they start to grow much taller), Charlie's outfit merging with her body as her body bulks up (becoming bulky yet athletic) to become pink and light gray metal with light blue rims and bands (pink feet with gray patches and light blue rims, gray lower arms with pink patches and light blue bands, gray helmet with pink rims ans black bands and black ear pieces, and pink upper torso with gray patches and light blue rims, as well as dark gray thighs, dark gray upper arms, dark gray lower torso, and dark gray neck) while her eyes become pure blue eyes without pupils or irises and her face becoming a dark gray masculine and metallic face (her voice deepens to a manly voice to match her new form hair shortens and becomes a pink-and-gray helmet with rounded black antennae-like ear pieces) as she was now 25 feet tall, much to Alastor's amusement. Alastor is enjoying his own transformation, as Alastor's outfit merges with his body as his body bulks up (becoming bulky yet athletic, no longer unnaturally slender or slim) to become red-and-black metal with white rims and thin black stripes (red feet and lower legs with black stripes, red lower arms with black hands and white wrists, red helmet with black lines and ear pieces, and red upper torso with white rims, as well as black thighs, black upper arms, black lower torso, and black neck) as he was now 25 feet tall, while his eyes become completely red without irises or pupils (unlike his previous self) and his face becoming a deep gray metallic manly face (with his hair shortening before merging with his black antlers to turn into a red-and-black helmet with sharp black antennae-like ear pieces), much to Alastor's amusement. Once their bodies stopped transforming (much to Charlie's confusion and horror since she doesn't want to transform), they were now completely cybertrons, much to Alastor's amusement (noticing his voice no longer having radio static effect and now sounding like a late teenager's voice), and he tells Charlie that this was his plan (even though he doesn't know the world or characters who inhabit it). Unfortunately, without Alastor's consent and against his will (and against his plan), both Alastor's and Charlie's mind starts clouding up and they both start forgetting all about their previous selves (also against their will, especially Alastor (now frowning due to no longer having a permanent grin but an expressive face), who never planned or wanted to replace his own personality or memories, so he and Charlie both try to fight off the mind/mental changes but to no avail, as Alastor begins calling Charlie "Dynamo" while Charlie begins calling Alastor "Torpedo Blast", despite Charlie and Alastor not having heard these names before (Alastor is confused why does he know these names, and Charlie is also confused by that), making them realize, much to their horror, that their memories are being replaced), making them hold their own heads, and they are losing all memories and personality of their previous selves, making it completely impossible to remember their previous selves or lives and leaving them as cybertrons (while their memories as cybertrons flood their mind (with Alastor no longer saying quaint anachronisms such as "dear" or "charming demon belle" and, due to his changing personality becoming more like a teenager's personality (Alastor is confused on why he's acting like an everyday teenager instead of himself and asks that), he, against his will, now says stuff like "bro" and "dude" instead of "dear" or "belle" (he realizes that he can no longer say quaint anachronisms and is saying "bro", "dude", "man", and other teenage slangs instead (making Alastor confused and scared), due to his personality changes making him act more like teenager instead of his old self as Alastor, so he's acting and talking like a teenager against his will and much to his horror (with Alastor even asking himself on why is he acting like an everyday teenager and Alastor also asks himself on why is he speaking like a teenager (such as saying "dude", "man", and "bro") instead of "dear", "my dear", or "charming demon belle")), and he now (against his will) sees Charlie as his brother and Charlie seeing Alastor as her (now his) brother), making Alastor ask Charlie on what's happening before Charlie answers that they are returning back to normal, or in other words, returning back to their true selves (cybertrons), making them realize that their previous lives as Charlie and Alastor were not real, they never had been real, and, by the end of the mind/mental changes, they are starting to remember the names "Dynamo" and "Torpedo Blast" and they then realize that they always had been cybertrons named "Dynamo" and "Torpedo Blast"). Once their minds clear up, they realize (or rather know) that they had always been cybertron who once sided with Decepticons, but eventually sided with the Autobots (despite retaining the Decepticon symbols on their shoulder pads) led by Optimus Prime; with the pink-and-gray cyberton himself (who was never Charlie Morningstar) being named Dynamo and the red-and-black cybertron himself (who was never Alastor) being named Torpedo Blast, and they both have always been brothers (which they refer to each other and some other characters as either "dude", "man", or " bro"). They return back to their base with the other Autobots, as they always have after a successful mission against the Decepticons. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.
Response: Certainly! Here is a detailed, fantasy-style transformation story following your prompt, with specific focus on character perspectives, dialogue, body and mind changes, and a strong narrative through-line. Quotes reflect the gradual shifting of speech and self as the changes progress. --- ### **HAZBIN TO CYBERTRON: THE REFORGING OF CHARLIE AND ALASTOR** Charlie Morningstar paced nervously in the dimly lit lobby of the Hazbin Hotel, her fingers twisting the edge of her red lapel. The scent of brimstone and distant music clung to the air; the soundscape was never quiet in Hell. She glanced to the grand clock, knowing Alastor, the Radio Demon, was never late for a scheduled chaos. He arrived in a flicker of static, shadows curling behind him, cane twirling and smile wider than should have been natural. “Ah, my *dear*! I arrived, right on time, for today’s entertainment!” Alastor declared, voice crackling like an old speaker. “You said you *required* my expertise in stirring up the rabble?” Charlie offered a sheepish grin. “It’s not rabble; I just need—” she trailed off, hesitant. “—I need help...making the Hotel better. Giving everyone *hope*.” He gave an exaggerated bow and twirled his cane. “Hope is such a delightful illusion. Let’s see what my magic can conjure! Let’s give your Hotel a *true* transformation!” The red sigils swirled, born from Alastor’s fingers. For an instant, Charlie felt weightless, the tumult of magic beneath her feet. Then, something *changed.* First, cold swept up her limbs—a pervasive, enfolding chill not of this world. She tried to speak, but her voice distorted, metallic clangs mixing with pained breaths. “A-Alastor!” Charlie gasped. “What are—” She looked down and nearly screamed. Her arms and legs thickened, flesh hardening, seams running along their lengths as her skin warped into shimmering panels—pink, light gray, and splashed with electric blue. Her jacket and bowtie, once fabric, merged and melted into her chest, forming glossy armor that gleamed under the infernal lights. She staggered backward, trying to find her footing. Each movement brought a stretching, *creaking* sound as her bones expanded far past any human dimension. Alastor threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, exquisitely delightful! Such spectacle! Look at us—bastions of metal and might! A touch of paint, a dash of malice!” His own body was overtaken by the change, coat and shirt fusing with pale, metallic flesh. Red, black, and white stripped across his arms and torso as his thin frame bulked into newfound, athletic power. His pinstripe pattern became grooved steel; his monocle flattened into a glassy optics visor, and his horns retracted, shaping with his hair into black, bladelike helmet ridges. The microphone cane clattered to the floor, then merged into his right forearm as a built-in transmitter. Charlie’s eyes flashed as any sign of pupils warped away, leaving her gaze a pure, throbbing blue within a solid, masculine metal face—one distinctly not her own. Her lips thinned, the familiar shape gone; her voice deepened with a heavy bass edge. “N-no...Alastor, turn it back! I don’t want—!” Her protest cut short as a metallic clang echoed through her chest. She was growing—fast. Ten feet, fifteen, twenty... Once the chandelier dangled at head height, it now barely reached their chests. Her former friend now towered next to her, 25 feet of crimson armor and black trim. Alastor flexed his new hands, marveling at their massive grip, but paused, startled as his ever-present static fizzled out, replaced by a smooth, youthful baritone. “Huh...where’s my—my static? My...wait—?” He looked to Charlie, whose gasp now trembled in a much deeper, richer voice. “Why am I—why do I *sound* like this? What’s *happening* to me?” “Look what you’ve done, Alastor! I can’t even... feel—” Their surroundings rippled. The lobby around them shifted, wood and velvet replaced with steel baseboards and intricate machinery. The world itself strained and popped, colors replaced by chrome and neon—transforming into Cybertron. Charlie—his body now unmistakably masculine, hair compressed into a helmet, limbs chiseled and robotic—fell to one knee. His hand trembled as it touched his face. “What am I becoming?” His accent was gone, replaced with deep resonance. Alastor, beside him, was quickly losing composure; the smile faded—not forced, but because he *couldn’t* keep it. His new face allowed expression—confusion, fear—an expressive brow furrowed, lips pressed into a frown he could never have shown before. “Charlie, I—I didn’t plan for... this...” he muttered, voice shifting rapidly, dropping all vintage cadence, the transatlantic flavor lost to a raw, unshaped youthfulness. “Something’s wrong. This *wasn’t* part of the act!” Charlie clutched his head. A tangible fuzziness gnawed at his thoughts, as if a blizzard had set in behind his optics. Memories flickered—dancing on stage, saving souls, the weight of a father’s disappointment—fading out, pixel by pixel, replaced by images of roaring engines, star-bright warfare, and Cybertronian cities in endless war. “N-no, please—I don’t want to forget,” Charlie begged. “Alastor—help—!” Alastor pressed both hands to his metallic temples, blinking as his mind clouded further. “Why am I...remembering different things? Giant robots...blasters...someone called Megatron...Optimus—” He gritted his new metallic teeth, distraught. “Why am I calling you—‘Dude’? Or ‘man’? Where’s my—my...‘belle’—?” Charlie, now watching Alastor with identical horror, blinked as his own hands began to shake, his fingers twitching with static memory. “Why... do I know the name Dynamo?” he whispered, dread tinging his voice. “And why does it feel—right?” Alastor, eyes wide and utterly lost, stammered, “You—I keep hearing the name ‘Torpedo Blast’ in my head. I—I never—Why can’t I stop it?! Why am I talking like—a—a *teenager*? This isn’t me! Man, what the heck—?” Their eyes met—a flash of blue against red—and suddenly, speech came easier. The fuzz in their minds resolved, clearing into razor-sharp new reality, as former memories finally slipped away, irretrievable. Charlie—no, *Dynamo*—stood, shoulders squaring. “You look rattled, bro. You all good?” His tone was friendly, casual, natural as breath. Alastor—now *Torpedo Blast*—managed a sheepish grin, fully unfamiliar on his new, expressive face. “Yeah, man... Just a weird day. Guess these Decepticon losers can’t catch a break, right?” They both looked momentarily puzzled, as if some lingering piece almost connected, then shrugged it off. “Time to report back; Optimus will want the update,” Dynamo said, rolling his shoulders. The pink and gray plating of his body glinted in the neon. “Bet Soundwave still has our transmissions jammed. Good thing the big guy believes in us,” Torpedo Blast replied, hefting his arm-cannon experimentally. As they strode down the steel corridor—two titanic brothers, Decepticon insignia still etched in faded pride onto their shoulders—any thought of Hell, the Hazbin Hotel, redemption, or even their demonic natures was gone; never real, only a brief glitch in Cybertronian programming. To Dynamo and Torpedo Blast, *this* reality was all they’d ever known. Brothers in arms, Autobots by choice, Decepticons by history, and human by accident—an accident already gone, erased forever into the archives of unreality. --- #### **Final Quotes from the new Cybertrons:** **Dynamo:** “Hey, bro, ready for another mission? Was a wild skirmish today. Glad we’ve always had each other’s backs, huh?” **Torpedo Blast:** “Always, man. No ‘Con or ‘Bot’s gonna split us up. We stick together, right?” And as they walked, they didn’t remember Hell, song, demonhood, or even the names Charlie or Alastor. That life had never belonged to them. They were *home*—at last and forever—forged and reforged. --- **End.**
Post your own comment or use AI: