"Neon Revolutions: The Transformation of Vox"
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You barely notice the gentle clatter of your shoes—old, familiar, real—scuffing along the sidewalk, the distant drone of traffic humming as always through your neighborhood. You check your phone, the human pulse of your day measured by instant notifications in the palm of your hand. Everything is perfectly mundane until a sharp, high sound slices through the air—a shriek of shattering glass, an echo of metal. Your heart jumps in your chest. You barely have time to look up.
CRASH.
Suddenly, everything is darkness and ringing. Something enormous and heavy—cold, glassy—has clamped down over your head. You paw at it, panic thrumming in your veins. Your vision is gone—your head trapped, suffocating, inside a flat-screen TV. You wrench, twist, pull frantically at the slick edges, but it doesn’t even budge. Why won’t it come off? You try again, nails scrabbling for purchase. No luck. No one is stopping to help. The din of the city stifles your cries for help—does anyone even notice?
“Please! Can anyone hear me? Help! I can’t get this thing off my head!” Your voice echoes weirdly inside the plastic and glass, coming back at you, muffled and distorted.
And then—it shifts.
A dreadful warmth radiates from the inside out, seeping into your scalp, crawling across your cheeks like crawling static. You cry out, but your voice changes, warping, fraying at the edges, digitalizing. The TV seems to…melt into your skin, tightening, merging. Your breaths become sharper, rhythmic, robotic. You freeze in mounting terror as your face, your humanity, is swallowed by blackness within the screen.
Suddenly, a swirling black-and-white spiral blooms across the television’s inside—the world spinning, spinning, until your vision blurs and your thoughts flutter like dying signals. The world outside fades, replaced by the overwhelming, dizzy heat within. You clutch at the TV—your head—your hands growing longer, sharper, distorting before your fuzzed out eyes. Fingers thin and twist, nails become cyan, gleaming claws. You can see them. Four only on each hand. Cartoonish, yet coldly real. “What… what is happening to me?”
Your arms stretch, body pulled upward, bones and muscle stretching, joints clicking in unnatural, fluid ways. You’re swelling taller, impossibly so. Seven feet and counting. Limbs twisting, thinning, each movement more like a puppet’s than your own. Your skin is turning. A deep, unnatural navy blue overtakes your arms, your hands, your whole body—a slick, living cartoon color.
Then heat stabs down through your core. If you’re female, your chest compresses, breasts flattening as your body erases its soft curves, sculpting sharp lines and broad, masculine shoulders. Inside your pants, you feel movement—strange, impossible, skin shifting, inverting outward, heat and pressure compressing until there’s a new, familiar weight. You gasp, the sensation disorienting, horrifyingly intimate.
Your clothing crawls and mutates across your skin, everything shrinking or expanding, cinching and reshaping you in silky-smooth, impossible transitions. Trousers tighten, blur into navy-blue tuxedo pants with glowing cyan pinstripes. A sharp, tailored jacket hovers into existence, sleeves unfurling, coattails blooming behind you. Your shirt becomes a crisp bluish-white, an upside-down broadcast symbol over your heart, and a huge red bowtie blossoms at your throat. You glance up (do you even have eyes anymore?), spotting an oddly-weighted feeling atop your TV—your head—a black, perfectly perched hat with spinning TV antennas, the left antenna bent in electric zigzags.
A feral scream tears free. “Please—help—what is—someone make it stop!” But the words warble, corrupted, glitching, dropping into deep, mechanical tones, resonant and syrupy with digital reverb.
Your legs lock. Your voice fades into a distant echo: “Please—anyone—” But no one comes. Through the frenzied swirl within your TV screen, your memories begin to die. Your name, your family, your favorite foods, the face you just wore—they flicker out, piece by piece, into static and void. Your personality begins to slip as well—kindness, empathy, rules, guilt—evaporating as ambitious, sly impulses begin to bubble up, foreign but inexorable.
*“No…no…don’t forget…can’t forget…”* you cry out, mentally reaching for each vanishing fragment.
_“Who the hell cares?”_ a deep, charismatic voice laughs from somewhere within, bubbling up from fragments not your own, colored TV static crackling behind the syllables.
You grip your television-face—your head—fingers throbbing as the swirl quickens, dragging your thoughts down like water down a black drain. Words begin to mean nothing. You barely register the feel of claws glowing cyan, the glimmer of teeth shining from within a mouth that isn’t really a mouth at all.
You—whatever is left of *you*—scream for help one last desperate time, collapsing to your knees, your world now spinning away in wild, sickening spirals.
And then—silence.
Blackout.
Your body remains upright, swaying, just slightly stooped. Arms limp, claws at your sides. Your TV screen is shut off—no signals, no colors, no memories. Only smooth, glassy black.
Time stutters by. Fifteen seconds? A minute? No thoughts. No dreams. No humanity.
Then, with a swelling digital hum, your TV face flickers to life. Cyan letters piped across the middle of your screen:
**Initializing Voxtek device**
The letters fade. A logo—VoxTek—slides in, crisp and menacing, ringed by a red-cyan glow. A loading bar scrolls lazily beneath.
**Loading data from your device... trust us**
The blue bar fills, pixel by pixel, as though something is crawling inside your mind, unpacking foul, gleaming boxes of memories you don't recall having.
*Ding.*
**Enjoy the Voxtek technology**
Everything—logo, loading bar, warning—fades in a final electric shimmer. The digital whir quiets.
Your TV face brightens. Eyes—red sclera with shimmering cyan-blue pupils—slide open, blinking behind the glass. Your lips peel back, a wicked mouth full of neon teeth leering from the screen, a serpentine cyan tongue flickering into view.
Consciousness spools back in, crawling through you like electricity in a wire. But you’re not… You aren’t *you.*
Your body, impossibly tall and unnaturally slim, hums with hidden, sparking power. Confidence flows through every limb, arrogance blooming in your chest. A quick mental check—good, just as you left it. Sly, ambitious. Calculating, smooth. And angry? No, not yet. Your memory, sharp as video, tells you everything:
— You are Vox, technology overlord, kingpin of VoxTek, only the most cutting-edge demonic tech on the market. You lived, you died (in the ‘50s, you vaguely recall the thrum of television’s golden dawn, your business empire rising and then—one abrupt act—falling). You have always been this—never anything else.
You glance around the unfamiliar street, your voice warbling from the TV speakers, deep and oily-slick with malice.
“Where the fuck…am I?”
You peer at your claws, at the ultramodern tuxedo that accents your impeccable taste. This isn’t the hellscape of Pentagram City—but the damned mortal realm, crawling with squishy, ignorant humans and their outdated tech.
The thought tickles you. You giggle, then crack into a full cartoonish villain-laugh, sharper and louder than sirens.
“Hah—HAHA! Back on Earth? Well, ain’t that a fucking treat.”
Memories slot in place, scenes of rituals, desperate mortals clawing after forbidden power. You mutter, grinning with glee, “Ah, yes. Summoned by some bunch of basement-dwelling cultist nobodies, were we? How quaint.”
You run a claw along your lapel, admiring the glow. Already, ideas churn in your mind—sleek, sinister blueprints for domination. Time to dazzle, time to hypnotize. They wanted the bleeding edge? Give them VoxTek.
“Let’s give these bastards a digital revolution they’ll never recover from!”
And so you do.
---
**Epilogue**
It’s only been a few years, and across the mortal world, VoxTek has sent shockwaves through every market. Your TV face beams from every screen, your products in every home, your dark, crackling charisma blaring from billboards and late-night broadcasts. The masses can’t resist your wicked charm; your hypnosis circuits practically lace the air with mindless devotion.
The public loves you. Their wallets love you even more.
A broadcast flickers as you lounge in your skyscraper penthouse, one cyan-tipped claw idly tapping the lens of a surveillance camera. Your sly grin widens as you bask in your own glory.
“Ahh, nothing like a little inter-dimensional vertical integration, eh? Eat your heart out, Bezos.”
You scan the news—no sign of the Radio Demon, fucking Alastor, anywhere. Good. He’d probably bitch about how radio beats TV. Useless, obsolete bastard.
But even as your empire stretches its neon tendrils across the world, you feel a strange pang where your heart might have been, once upon a time.
You flicker through your contacts list—Valentino’s rank, sultry laugh echoing in your mind’s circuits. The gaudy moth, always bigger, always harder to handle, but, fuck, you miss him. He’s hell-bound, of course. But you start drafting plans—send out some feelers, maybe whisper into the dreams of a few ambitious little cultists—see if you can’t coax someone to bring Valentino to Earth.
After all, what’s a Vee without his favorite monster?
Your TV mouth cracks an evil, delighted grin.
“You hear me, Val? Hang tight, big guy—I’m bringing you topside. We’re gonna show these mortals what a real broadcast looks like.”
**Quotes**
*You, pre-transformation:*
“Hello? Can anyone hear me? Please, I can’t get this thing off my head—I need help. Something’s really wrong—what’s happening?”
*You, during transformation:*
“Please…help—what is—someone, anyone—? Oh god, my head—my *head*—why can’t I remember anything—”
*And then, brainsick, as memories die:*
“No—no, don’t forget—wait—what’s my name—? Please—”
*Vox, after transformation, first conscious words:*
“Where the fuck…am I?”
*Vox, upon realizing he’s back on Earth:*
“Hah—HAHA! Back on Earth? Well, ain’t that a fucking treat.”
*Vox, plotting amid his new mortal empire:*
“Let’s give these bastards a digital revolution they’ll never recover from!”
*Vox, in his penthouse, yearning for Valentino:*
“You hear me, Val? Hang tight, big guy—I’m bringing you topside. We’re gonna show these mortals what a real broadcast looks like.”
---
And so, you—the reader, the human—are no more.
Only Vox remains, neon grin gleaming, ready to electrify a new world.
This story was generated by user bkake 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 instantly turning into Vox (a character, voiced by Christian Borle, from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with art style shift (the reader now becoming a cartoon character with the same art style as the Hazbin Hotel characters, rather than being a real life person), gender change (if the reader is a female, the breasts flatten to nonexistent as her body losses its curves and become more masculine, and her female genitals invert itself before pushing out into a penis and balls of a male; however, gender change is optional and it's only if the reader is a female), instant clothes change, age progression (aging until the reader is biologically somewhere around the 30s or 40s years old, exactly as left off from Vox's death from his human life in the 1950s, thus becoming immortal in the process), height progression (growing from an average 5.7-6 foot height to 7 feet tall), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being completely replaced with Vox's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting his new personality and memories, making the reader feel dizzy as he completely forgets he was a normal human person just a minute or so ago (fully forgetting his mortal human name he had just seconds ago), even completely forgetting that the transformation that just occurred seconds ago, so he knows that everything about his supposed normal (mortal) human self and life just seconds ago (born from the 1990s-2000s) was not real and was only a dream (it was impossible for him to have been human moments ago since his human self was born in the 1910s or 1920s and had died in the 1950s), and he remembers that he was a mortal man who died somewhere in the 1950s and always had been a sinner demon since the 1950s, always being one of the many overlords of Hell since then, and his name always having been Vox). The transformation is permanent (meaning it is forever) and is completely irreversible. For Vox's appearance (after the reader turned into him), he is a tall and (unnaturally) slim-figured, technology-themed sinner demon who stands at approximately 7 feet. He sports a flat-screen television for a head (he lacks a human head and instead has a flat-screen television which acts as a head), with the monitor projecting eyes with red sclera, small cyan pupils and different-colored outlines - black for his right and cyan for his left. While using his hypnosis powers or simply becomes enraged, his left eye gains a black spiral and the pupil becomes a cyan electric symbol. The screen also shows a mouth full of sharp, cyan-colored teeth and a long pointed tongue similar to Valentino's, but cyan. Sometimes what looks like blood seems to drip out of his mouth. He also has four fingers (like all Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss characters), unlike real world humans. He also appears to have dark navy-blue skin with sharp, cyan claw-like fingers. Vox wears a navy-blue tuxedo with the jacket sporting coattails, red-trimmed cyan lapels, thin cyan stripes and cyan lining, worn over a red-and-black-striped waistcoat which itself is worn over a collared bluish-white shirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol and a rather large, red bowtie. He also wears heeled dark gray dress shoes with cyan-colored laces, toes, and tips on the heels. He also wears a small black top hat on his head, with red and blue designs reminiscent of a broadcast symbol and radio wave symbol, respectively. He has TV antenna that stick out the top of the hat, the left one bent into a zigzag. Here are Vox's abilities and skillsets: Immortality (As a Sinner, Vox is biologically immortal, being unable to die from illnesses and unable to age, remaining the same age as when he died, thus can not die of old age and other natural causes. He also cannot die from any kind of damage to the body, and will recover from any injury, however, he can only be permanently killed with angelic weaponry), Electrokinesis (Vox possesses the ability to generate and control electricity. Depending on his emotions, such as if he's angered, he can potentially make it so that a Hell-wide blackout happens. He caused a blackout to Pentagram City in "Radio Killed the Video Star" when he was overwhelmed by Alastor's taunts), Electrokinetic transformation (Vox can turn into electricity, which he can use to move around or enter and travel through electronic devices such as security cameras, watches and television monitors that he can control as he pleases. Though there are a few flaws to his electrical teleportation: the place Vox wants to go has to have some form of modern technology he could go through, as he apparently can't teleport through an old-style radio), Technokinesis (Vox can control devices whether he is outside or inside them. He can do things while inside devices such as changing his outfit and scenery), Spark generation (He can create electrical sparks from his fingertips, which can be used to ignite something, like Valentino's cigarette in "Radio Killed the Video Star". He can even generate sparks on his body, especially when he is angry. He also causes what looks like a small surge or ripple of electricity to appear through the floor from his feet during Stayed Gone. It is hard to tell if this is part of the spark generation or a separate ability entirely), Technological head (Vox's television head doubles as an electronic device with which he can plug himself into other devices with the help of cables in his surveillance room. He also somehow is able to change or upgrade his head, as shown, he has a photograph of himself with an older-style television head. If he's particularly angry, he and any devices he's linked to will involuntarily glitch), Bioluminescence (Vox generates blue light from his screen, most notably when he is in a dark room. His teeth noticeably shine brighter than the rest of his face, and his left eye outline and pupils can shine on their own when feeling sinister. His claws can also glow when he is using his electrical powers), Communication (He can receive calls from people, such as Velvette, with his screen head similar to calling on a phone. He can also transfer the call to another device by "grabbing" the call and flicking it to a different screen device), Video playing (Vox can play videos on his screen-face), Scrying (As shown in "The Radio Demon" comic, Vox is seemingly able to see through other screens, appearing to stare directly at Alastor while projecting into the TV display of a window-fronted store. This is shown in "Radio Killed the Video Star" to be done after he plugs his head into a monitoring device, which he may need to be able to scry), Hypnosis (In "Radio Killed the Video Star", it is shown that with his left eye, he uses hypnosis to keep his audience drawn into his program and keep their interest. He also uses this as a distraction so he can slip away to avoid any further discussion of a subject he doesn't wish to continue. The victim's eyes become red with black spirals. The victim has to be paying attention for this to work. He can use this even when he isn't physically present by being in a screen device. The devices his company sells share this ability), Self-duplication (Vox was shown to be able to make clones of himself in "Radio Killed the Video Star" during Stayed Gone. However, he has only displayed the ability on television, and it is unknown if he can do it physically), Acoustokinesis (He can manipulate the sound of his voice to sound more intimidating. He can also generate different sound effects such as echoing voices and the sound of a winning game machine), Strength (Vox is strong enough that he is easily able to tear through metal, and capable of holding demons bigger than himself, such as Valentino, with ease), Deal-making (While not shown on-screen, Vox can make deals with others in order to collect their souls just like other Overlords. Musical talent - Vox has shown to be a talented singer), Dancing (Vox can perform amazing dance routines, like handling complicated moves to even being able to hold Valentino, a taller Sinner, into a dip), Charisma and manipulation (The reason why Vox is a successful entrepreneur is that he can use his charm to manipulate others into buying his products even without his hypnosis powers, such as acting as he cares about his customers and making up products on the spot that are not even in production yet. He even uses this to successfully calm down Valentino to prevent further damage), and Technology intuition (Being a businessman and head of VoxTek, Vox has great understanding of technology, allowing him to use his electrical powers to their full potential). Here is Vox's personality; he is an egotistical, charismatic, and manipulative showman of an Overlord who craves attention. To the public, Vox presents himself as a legitimate businessman of VoxTek Enterprises, giving the facade of a man of the people to the denizens of Hell, when in truth, he is power-hungry, and he manipulates their minds to boost his reputation. He is highly intelligent and technology-savvy, and he is always keeping up with the latest trends and technology. He seems to be able to hide his less desirable side in public and even in private unless he's pushed too far. Despite his egocentric nature, Vox is loyal to the interests of his fellow Overlords, the Vees, and seeks to maintain their collective image of power. As the most level-headed member of the Vees, Vox often acts as the de facto leader. Claiming the Vees' brand to be "perfection", he is often frustrated or outright angered if someone can jeopardize it, such as when he reigns in his fellow Vee, Valentino, from attacking the Hazbin Hotel in response to Angel Dust living there. Another element that earns his ire is his rival, Alastor, whom he utterly despises and might be intimidated by as he sees Alastor as a threat to his plans. However, despite his immense hatred for Alastor, Vox doesn't let it override his more pragmatic side once he calms down. In "The Show Must Go On", he takes pleasure and joy out of seeing the staff of the Hazbin Hotel prepare to fight the angels, as he believes they stand no chance against them. This causes him to get verbally explicit and overly honest, as seen when he along with Valentino and Velvette watch the fight between Adam and Alastor at the Hazbin Hotel, commenting how the impending duel had given him an erection. He even shows this sadistic joy when he sees Alastor lose to Adam, saying that seeing Alastor suffer is better than sex, only to get angry when Alastor flees from the fight. Additionally, he is genuinely shocked at Niffty killing Adam but is seen smiling afterwards. Here are Vox's preferences (his likes and dislikes); he likes/loves attention, sharks, the latest technology and trends, video, the Vees' public image in good condition, seeing Alastor fail or die (however, Alastor the Radio Demon never died), power and authority, the idea of Angel quitting work for Valentino, sex, violence, and Niffty's homicidal behavior. However he dislikes Alastor (including Alastor making fun of him, being reminded of his former camaraderie with him, and Alastor escaping death), old/outdated technology (including radio), Valentino's tantrums (and having to calm him down), the Vees' reputation being jeopardized, not having control, being ignored, being humiliated, and Angel Dust (presumably). The story is that the reader is minding his/her own business walking around his/her neighborhood or home city, but then a flat-screen TV falls from a window from a building or house and onto the reader's head, causing him/her to panic as his/her head is trapped within the TV screen (his/her head inside the TV cannot be seen from the outside), making him/her more scared since he/she cannot get the flat-screen TV off of him/her (even questioning on why that is the case). The transformation then occurs, as the reader's head fully merges/fuses with the flat-screen TV (becoming the reader's new head), completely removing his/her human face, before a black-and-white swirl to appear on the TV head's otherwise-completely-black featureless screen (taking up the entire screen) and spins around in circles, causing him/her to feel dizzy as his/her mind to get completely foggy/fuzzy/blurry (making him/her hold his/her TV head), signifying the reader's mind/mental changes as his/her personality and memories are vanishing to be replaced by Vox's memories. His/her body changes shortly afterwards, his/her body becomes unnaturally slim-figured, his/her height grows taller to 7 feet tall, his/her body ages up to somewhere around 30s or 40s, the clothes becomes Vox's outfit (with Vox's hat appearing on his TV head out of nowhere), his/her voice changes into Vox's voice, and, if the reader is female, her gender fully switches into a male (the breasts flatten to nonexistent as her body losses its curves and become more masculine, and her female genitals invert itself before pushing out into a penis and balls of a male; however, gender change is optional and it's only if the reader is a female). Just before the end of his physical transformation (and just seconds before his TV head turns off), and while the reader is screaming in horror, the reader calls out for help in hopes that anyone will help/save him against this supernatural transformation, but sadly, no one is helping him and he is completely helpless to his mental changes (as he continues holding his TV head, as the black-and-white swirls continue to rewrite his memories and personality). By this point (and as soon as the body change, the age change, the voice change, and clothes change are done), despite the reader's best efforts at calling for help (he did call for help but no one came to his aid), the reader's previous personality and memories have all completely disappeared and fully replaced by Vox's personality and memories, and the black-and-white swirl on his TV head's sceeen suddenly vanishes (since the mind mental changes are fully finished) to leave the screen shut off (becoming simply a black screen, as if the rest button for the TV was pressed), leaving him fully/completely unconscious (with no thoughts) while standing upright (albiet with his arms hanging downwards and both his body and head tilting slightly down) for a little while (standing on his legs (despite being unconscious) whilst lifelessly, with his arms hanging downwards and his body and head looking down a bit, without any consciousness for a bit). However, after approximately between 15 seconds and 1 minute, his TV head turns on again (he's still standing on his legs unconsciously and still with a blank mind), with the cyan words saying "Initializing Voxtek device" appearing in the middle of the screen before fading, then (with the digital whirring noise rising) the VoxTek logo appears in the center of the screen before pushing up a bit by a red-rimmed cyan loading bar appears with the sentence saying "Loading data from your device... trust us" above it, and finally, after the loading bar finishes up with the whole loading bar filled with cyan, causing the digital "ding" noise to play as the sentence above the loading bar changes to "Enjoy the Voxtek technology", before it the logo and the loading bar (as well as the sentence above it) then fades completely. After all that (including after the loading bar and logo fading), his consciousness (including his personality and memories) slowly returns as a face appears on his TV head's screen, but no longer his own human face, instead his face is Vox's face (which wouldn't appear earlier, since he was mentally changing earlier with the black-and-white swirl spinning, until after he wakes up from his unconsciousness and later his reboot after the sentence "Enjoy the Voxtek technology" appears before fading with the VoxTek logo from his TV head screen, thus Vox's face appears instead of his previous human face), and he then wakes up. Upon waking up, Vox (formerly the reader) does not know where he is (he also does not remember anything that just happened moments ago), even asking that, before he realizes that he is back in the mortal realm (Earth). Vox has no memories of ever being a mortal human just moments ago, and he knows that he cannot have been a human just moments ago, since it was completely impossible for him to have been human seconds ago (since he, as a human, died in the 1950s), and that his supposed recent life as a human (years after the 1950s) was not real. Vox then does a sinister laugh, knowing that he is back in the mortal realm (Earth) for the first time since his human death. He initially doesn't know on why he's on Earth for the first time since his human death, but then realizes that he had been summoned by some cultist (who's a human) through a ritual, thus helping him arrive to Earth from Hell and thus explaining why he's here. After that, Vox goes off to start a demonic technology-based company (VoxTek, the exact clone as the one in Hell), as he did back in Hell, manipulating mortal humans of Earth into buying his products both with and without his hypnosis powers. There should be an epilogue, where Vox now dominates the news and entertainment media on Earth, having since started VoxTek on Earth (like he did back in Hell) a few years prior (after he was summoned back on Earth by some cultists), and he is happy that his arch-nemesis, Alastor the Radio Demon, isn't on Earth (since Alastor, so far, has not been summoned back on Earth by some other cultists). However, he genuinely misses Valentino (his on and off romantic interest (more specifically his boyfriend) and a 10-foot-tall moth-like humanoid sinner demon (also an overlord who is the director and head of the porn studio within V Tower, and a member of the Vees)), so he plans some humans to summon Valentino back on Earth to make Vox whole again. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story (including quotes from the reader) so we know what they are saying and what they are thinking (including profanities/swears/strong language/bad language, such as "fuck", "shit", "bitch", and many others that are used or said by Vox, but the human reader does not use profanities/swears, unlike Vox (who does use profanities/swears (such as "fuck", "shit", "bitch", etc), unlike the human reader), who the human reader transforms into, so he does not use profanities/swears until he reawakens as Vox). Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).
Response: You barely notice the gentle clatter of your shoes—old, familiar, real—scuffing along the sidewalk, the distant drone of traffic humming as always through your neighborhood. You check your phone, the human pulse of your day measured by instant notifications in the palm of your hand. Everything is perfectly mundane until a sharp, high sound slices through the air—a shriek of shattering glass, an echo of metal. Your heart jumps in your chest. You barely have time to look up. CRASH. Suddenly, everything is darkness and ringing. Something enormous and heavy—cold, glassy—has clamped down over your head. You paw at it, panic thrumming in your veins. Your vision is gone—your head trapped, suffocating, inside a flat-screen TV. You wrench, twist, pull frantically at the slick edges, but it doesn’t even budge. Why won’t it come off? You try again, nails scrabbling for purchase. No luck. No one is stopping to help. The din of the city stifles your cries for help—does anyone even notice? “Please! Can anyone hear me? Help! I can’t get this thing off my head!” Your voice echoes weirdly inside the plastic and glass, coming back at you, muffled and distorted. And then—it shifts. A dreadful warmth radiates from the inside out, seeping into your scalp, crawling across your cheeks like crawling static. You cry out, but your voice changes, warping, fraying at the edges, digitalizing. The TV seems to…melt into your skin, tightening, merging. Your breaths become sharper, rhythmic, robotic. You freeze in mounting terror as your face, your humanity, is swallowed by blackness within the screen. Suddenly, a swirling black-and-white spiral blooms across the television’s inside—the world spinning, spinning, until your vision blurs and your thoughts flutter like dying signals. The world outside fades, replaced by the overwhelming, dizzy heat within. You clutch at the TV—your head—your hands growing longer, sharper, distorting before your fuzzed out eyes. Fingers thin and twist, nails become cyan, gleaming claws. You can see them. Four only on each hand. Cartoonish, yet coldly real. “What… what is happening to me?” Your arms stretch, body pulled upward, bones and muscle stretching, joints clicking in unnatural, fluid ways. You’re swelling taller, impossibly so. Seven feet and counting. Limbs twisting, thinning, each movement more like a puppet’s than your own. Your skin is turning. A deep, unnatural navy blue overtakes your arms, your hands, your whole body—a slick, living cartoon color. Then heat stabs down through your core. If you’re female, your chest compresses, breasts flattening as your body erases its soft curves, sculpting sharp lines and broad, masculine shoulders. Inside your pants, you feel movement—strange, impossible, skin shifting, inverting outward, heat and pressure compressing until there’s a new, familiar weight. You gasp, the sensation disorienting, horrifyingly intimate. Your clothing crawls and mutates across your skin, everything shrinking or expanding, cinching and reshaping you in silky-smooth, impossible transitions. Trousers tighten, blur into navy-blue tuxedo pants with glowing cyan pinstripes. A sharp, tailored jacket hovers into existence, sleeves unfurling, coattails blooming behind you. Your shirt becomes a crisp bluish-white, an upside-down broadcast symbol over your heart, and a huge red bowtie blossoms at your throat. You glance up (do you even have eyes anymore?), spotting an oddly-weighted feeling atop your TV—your head—a black, perfectly perched hat with spinning TV antennas, the left antenna bent in electric zigzags. A feral scream tears free. “Please—help—what is—someone make it stop!” But the words warble, corrupted, glitching, dropping into deep, mechanical tones, resonant and syrupy with digital reverb. Your legs lock. Your voice fades into a distant echo: “Please—anyone—” But no one comes. Through the frenzied swirl within your TV screen, your memories begin to die. Your name, your family, your favorite foods, the face you just wore—they flicker out, piece by piece, into static and void. Your personality begins to slip as well—kindness, empathy, rules, guilt—evaporating as ambitious, sly impulses begin to bubble up, foreign but inexorable. *“No…no…don’t forget…can’t forget…”* you cry out, mentally reaching for each vanishing fragment. _“Who the hell cares?”_ a deep, charismatic voice laughs from somewhere within, bubbling up from fragments not your own, colored TV static crackling behind the syllables. You grip your television-face—your head—fingers throbbing as the swirl quickens, dragging your thoughts down like water down a black drain. Words begin to mean nothing. You barely register the feel of claws glowing cyan, the glimmer of teeth shining from within a mouth that isn’t really a mouth at all. You—whatever is left of *you*—scream for help one last desperate time, collapsing to your knees, your world now spinning away in wild, sickening spirals. And then—silence. Blackout. Your body remains upright, swaying, just slightly stooped. Arms limp, claws at your sides. Your TV screen is shut off—no signals, no colors, no memories. Only smooth, glassy black. Time stutters by. Fifteen seconds? A minute? No thoughts. No dreams. No humanity. Then, with a swelling digital hum, your TV face flickers to life. Cyan letters piped across the middle of your screen: **Initializing Voxtek device** The letters fade. A logo—VoxTek—slides in, crisp and menacing, ringed by a red-cyan glow. A loading bar scrolls lazily beneath. **Loading data from your device... trust us** The blue bar fills, pixel by pixel, as though something is crawling inside your mind, unpacking foul, gleaming boxes of memories you don't recall having. *Ding.* **Enjoy the Voxtek technology** Everything—logo, loading bar, warning—fades in a final electric shimmer. The digital whir quiets. Your TV face brightens. Eyes—red sclera with shimmering cyan-blue pupils—slide open, blinking behind the glass. Your lips peel back, a wicked mouth full of neon teeth leering from the screen, a serpentine cyan tongue flickering into view. Consciousness spools back in, crawling through you like electricity in a wire. But you’re not… You aren’t *you.* Your body, impossibly tall and unnaturally slim, hums with hidden, sparking power. Confidence flows through every limb, arrogance blooming in your chest. A quick mental check—good, just as you left it. Sly, ambitious. Calculating, smooth. And angry? No, not yet. Your memory, sharp as video, tells you everything: — You are Vox, technology overlord, kingpin of VoxTek, only the most cutting-edge demonic tech on the market. You lived, you died (in the ‘50s, you vaguely recall the thrum of television’s golden dawn, your business empire rising and then—one abrupt act—falling). You have always been this—never anything else. You glance around the unfamiliar street, your voice warbling from the TV speakers, deep and oily-slick with malice. “Where the fuck…am I?” You peer at your claws, at the ultramodern tuxedo that accents your impeccable taste. This isn’t the hellscape of Pentagram City—but the damned mortal realm, crawling with squishy, ignorant humans and their outdated tech. The thought tickles you. You giggle, then crack into a full cartoonish villain-laugh, sharper and louder than sirens. “Hah—HAHA! Back on Earth? Well, ain’t that a fucking treat.” Memories slot in place, scenes of rituals, desperate mortals clawing after forbidden power. You mutter, grinning with glee, “Ah, yes. Summoned by some bunch of basement-dwelling cultist nobodies, were we? How quaint.” You run a claw along your lapel, admiring the glow. Already, ideas churn in your mind—sleek, sinister blueprints for domination. Time to dazzle, time to hypnotize. They wanted the bleeding edge? Give them VoxTek. “Let’s give these bastards a digital revolution they’ll never recover from!” And so you do. --- **Epilogue** It’s only been a few years, and across the mortal world, VoxTek has sent shockwaves through every market. Your TV face beams from every screen, your products in every home, your dark, crackling charisma blaring from billboards and late-night broadcasts. The masses can’t resist your wicked charm; your hypnosis circuits practically lace the air with mindless devotion. The public loves you. Their wallets love you even more. A broadcast flickers as you lounge in your skyscraper penthouse, one cyan-tipped claw idly tapping the lens of a surveillance camera. Your sly grin widens as you bask in your own glory. “Ahh, nothing like a little inter-dimensional vertical integration, eh? Eat your heart out, Bezos.” You scan the news—no sign of the Radio Demon, fucking Alastor, anywhere. Good. He’d probably bitch about how radio beats TV. Useless, obsolete bastard. But even as your empire stretches its neon tendrils across the world, you feel a strange pang where your heart might have been, once upon a time. You flicker through your contacts list—Valentino’s rank, sultry laugh echoing in your mind’s circuits. The gaudy moth, always bigger, always harder to handle, but, fuck, you miss him. He’s hell-bound, of course. But you start drafting plans—send out some feelers, maybe whisper into the dreams of a few ambitious little cultists—see if you can’t coax someone to bring Valentino to Earth. After all, what’s a Vee without his favorite monster? Your TV mouth cracks an evil, delighted grin. “You hear me, Val? Hang tight, big guy—I’m bringing you topside. We’re gonna show these mortals what a real broadcast looks like.” **Quotes** *You, pre-transformation:* “Hello? Can anyone hear me? Please, I can’t get this thing off my head—I need help. Something’s really wrong—what’s happening?” *You, during transformation:* “Please…help—what is—someone, anyone—? Oh god, my head—my *head*—why can’t I remember anything—” *And then, brainsick, as memories die:* “No—no, don’t forget—wait—what’s my name—? Please—” *Vox, after transformation, first conscious words:* “Where the fuck…am I?” *Vox, upon realizing he’s back on Earth:* “Hah—HAHA! Back on Earth? Well, ain’t that a fucking treat.” *Vox, plotting amid his new mortal empire:* “Let’s give these bastards a digital revolution they’ll never recover from!” *Vox, in his penthouse, yearning for Valentino:* “You hear me, Val? Hang tight, big guy—I’m bringing you topside. We’re gonna show these mortals what a real broadcast looks like.” --- And so, you—the reader, the human—are no more. Only Vox remains, neon grin gleaming, ready to electrify a new world.
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