You sit on your bed with your sibling—well, sibling or best friend; it barely matters which, because together, you’ve fallen into the black rabbit hole of Hazbin Hotel memes and fanfics, laughing at the weirdest artwork the internet could conjure. Some absurd comic featuring Alastor as a pregnant ant queen has you both in stitches.
"Can you even imagine being Alastor for a day? Or—worse yet—turning into him?" your companion drawls, bemused. You snort, scrolling past another surreal fanart.
Then, the screen of your device flickers. The lights go off, chilly static seeps into your bones, and a voice—triumphant, old-fashioned—crackles through your thoughts:
**"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? That’s you two I'm speaking to—yes, you right there, giggling like nitwits. I simply **cannot** allow this cruel parody of my existence to continue unchecked."**
You can see him, standing impossibly in your room—Alastor, smiling, tall, red, and more real than the blankets tossed across your bed.
Your sibling/friend gasps, face blanching. "Whoa—what—Is this some kind of prank?"
**"Not at all!"** Alastor beams, voice warbling with an eerie radio static undertone. **"I have an offer—a transformation for entertainment! It’s time you gained an *appreciation* for being me. Don’t worry…you’ll be dead in no time!"**
He snaps his clawed fingers. The world whirls, the room disintegrates into swirling darkness and tinny jazz, and then you and your friend/sibling are standing somewhere grotesquely elegant. Blood-red carpets. Gilded ceilings. The air tastes sweet like antique sugar, rusty like old microphones.
The Hazbin Hotel.
Alastor towers beside you, cane in hand. Before you can protest, something icy and electric hits your chest. Your body reacts—muscles lock, bones throb and churn.
You try to speak, but your voice glitches, crackling like a radio tuning for signal. Beside you, your friend/family claws at their face in terror.
*"What is—what’s happening—why can’t I—stop, please, STOP—"*
But your own mouth moves without your command, lips warping upwards, stretching—wider, wider, edges burning into your cheeks until your grin feels plastered there like a harlequin mask. You try to force your mouth closed—fingers, stiff and changing, press into your face—but the smile doesn't budge. It's permanent, carved and ghastly.
"Why—why can't I stop smiling?" you gasp with a voice that already isn't yours—a deep, musical, vintage radio man's bark.
Alastor cackles, "Why, because it is your **nature**! You *must* smile—always! Frowning is weakness, monsieur, or…madame." His gaze flicks between the two of you, beads of static dancing in his eyes.
Your body shudders and stretches. Your limbs lengthen, torso thinning, becoming almost grotesquely narrow. Shoulders broaden, muscles twist with impossible elasticity. If you were female, there's a new, uncanny sensation at your throat as an Adam’s apple bobs into existence and your body inverts, changing, shifting, awakening to a new, masculine arrangement. There's no pain, just a sense of *wrongness* being *corrected*. You can't fight it. It's as if you're made of putty, and some greater hand is shaping you into perfection.
Your sibling (or friend)—regardless of who they were—suffers the same fate in lockstep with you. Their new smile stretches wider, their bone structure sharpening, brown or blond or black hair bleeding to a pinkish-red bob, black-tipped tufts jutting up, two antlers poking from the scalp.
Fingers fuse painfully, nails blackening to sharp red claws (four only; you tally with horror, over and over—just four per hand), arms and legs fade into grey, toes hardening into red pinched hooves.
Clothes vanish—not even rags left—only to be replaced with a crimson pinstripe coat with sharp lapels, a black bowtie, fine bright red cuffs, an oval monocle snapping into place. Instantaneously, a sentient microphone-cane flicks into your hand, eyes alive and leering.
You try to pull free from this—panic thrashing in your mind—but something heavier floods inside, drowning you. Memories rush, overwhelming, replacing—images of jazz clubs thick with smoke, of a mother fussing over jambalaya, of hands slick with blood beneath crisp radio studio lights. You struggle, you scream (inside), but your mouth only grins wider.
"*Don't—don't let it—I'm not this, I'm not—I'm not—I'm not—*" your sibling/friend gurgles in your new, identical Alastor voice, flickering with static, already losing the battle.
*"Fight it, please—We have to remember—who were we—who—who—no—I am—am—"* Your mind blanches. The tapestry of your human life begins to unravel, threads plucked away by crimson claws.
Alastor kneels before you both, his grin loving and cruel.
**"No no, my dear twins. You’re simply waking up from a *very* tiresome daydream. Remember? We are brothers—*triplets*, if you will! Born of the same mother—lovers of Jambalaya and radio, bringers of delight and death in equal measure! Come, remember yourself—no more of that foolish fantasy!"**
And you do. The memories thrum into focus.
It was all a strange, tedious dream—that human world of screens, memes, boring meals.
Why *would* you want to be anyone except yourself? Yourself: (*Name—insert slight playful difference, like Allistair or Allester—*). Your brothers, Alastor and (your friend/sibling, similarly named), already at your side. The radioactive Radio Demons, rulers of the airwaves, twins and triplets and legends in this beautiful, infernal Hotel.
You catch a glimpse of your reflection in a warped mirror—identical faces, three dapper demons with ghastly smiles, eyes burning with red static.
Someone steps up behind: Charlie Morningstar, her eyes wide in delighted confusion.
“*Alastor—wait—now there’s more of you?*” She looks between you, the original, and your (sibling/friend)-turned-brother. “*Are those your…?*”
Alastor bows, dealing a flamboyant flourish. *"Miss Morningstar, allow me to introduce my distinguished brothers—Allistair and Allester! At your service for all your redemption and…entertainment needs!"*
Charlie beams. “*That’s incredible! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, you two. Or—three?*”
Vaggie glares, arms folded. “*Wonderful. Three Radio Demons. Just what this hotel needed.*”
Angel Dust somersaults over, shouting, “*Hey, Husk! Think Alastor’s got more brothers? Maybe I can get a set too!*”
Husk grumbles behind the bar, tail fluffing with irritation, “*Just what I needed. Used to be one Radio Demon owning my soul—now it’s a three-way timeshare. Kill me again already…*”
Niffty buzzes by, exclaiming, “*Wow! Twinsies! Triplets! Are any of you good at sewing? Are you all the same taste in music? Do you like parties?!*”
The three of you—the Alastor triplets—beam in unison, spreading your arms grandly.
*"Darling staff of the Hazbin Hotel!"* Alastor announces.
*"May I present the trifecta of charm, culinary mastery, and the finest radio banter ever to grace Hell! Allistair, Allester—let us show our…hostess...what it truly means to entertain at *proper* volumes!"*
You step forward, bowing low, cane twirling, every movement precise and rehearsed. You feel *right*. Whole. Delighted in the company of your brothers, the permanent, broad smile not an affliction but a delight—a sign of your dominance, your power, your immortality.
Jazz blossoms through the hotel as you and your brothers fill the airwaves with laughter and song, the static of your voices mingling in perfect harmony.
You are Allistair. You are the Radio Demon. And you have *always* been here.
Smiling.
Just as it should be.
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.
Prompt: Write a POV second-person transformation story of a human reader and his/her also-human friend or human sibling completely turning into entirely-identical clones of Alastor (a character, voiced by Amir Talai, from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with gender change (if either the reader and/or friend/sibling is a female, their breasts vanish as their throat gains an Adam's apple to give them a more masculine voice identical to Alastor and their female privates (vagina, ovaries, and uterus) from their crotch/nether region invert itself and pushes out into male private parts (a penis and testicles); however, this is optional and only if either the reader and/or friend/sibling is female before the transformation), voice change (the reader's and his/her friend's/sibling's voice becoming identical to Alastor's voice), instant clothes change (the reader's and his/her friend's/sibling's clothes instantly turning into Alastor's outfit), age change (becoming the age of 30s-40s years old, exactly as left off from Alastor's death from his human life in 1933, thus becoming immortal in the process), height progression (growing from a normal height to 7 feet tall), voice change, and mind/mental change (with the reader's and his/her friend's/sibling's personalities and memories being permanently and completely replaced with Alastor's personality and memories, despite the reader's and his/her friend's/sibling's best efforts of fighting off the new personality and memories, making them completely forget all about their past selves and remember that they always had been twin brothers of Alastor the Radio Demon (even as human Alastor's twin brothers before their deaths at the same time in 1933 and their immediate arrival in Hell as the Radio Demons), even remembering that they share the similar names to Alastor (but completely distinct from Alastor's name), which is their real/true selves (unlike their false previous selves, which were just daydreams)). For Alastor's appearance (after the reader and his/her friend/sibling turned into his clones), he is a slim (having an unnaturally thin torso, neck, arms, and legs, except his shoulders are broad), dapper sinner demon with beige-colored skin, and usually has an unnaturally broad smile (reaching from each cheek's upper area) full of sharp, yellow teeth (he has no ability to frown due to this permanent smile). He is approximately 7 feet tall. He sports a pinkish-red cropped, angled bob-cut with black tips at the ends and two large, black tipped tufts of hair extending from the top of his head, evoking the ears of a deer. The style has an undercut at the back, and two small black antlers protruding from the crown, which can grow in size in his full demonic form. Alastor's eyes have dark-red sclerae, bright-red irises and thin black pupils (which can change into the shape of radio dials when shifting into his full demon form). He also has four fingers (like all Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss characters), unlike real world humans. His forearms and lower legs fade to dark grey, and he has red hoof-toed feet and red clawed fingers. Alastor wears a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels piped with white, which is ragged along the bottom hem. Underneath this he wears a bright red dress-shirt with a black cross on the chest, and long black dress pants with matching bright red cuffs. He also wears a dark-red oval-shaped monocle, rimmed with black, over his right eye. He accessorizes with a black knotted bowtie with a bright red center, black gloves with red at the fingertips, and black pointed-toe boots with red deer hoofprints emblazoned on the soles. Alastor also carries a thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone attached to it, which he uses to play sound effects and broadcast his voice. His voice also sounds like it is coming from an old-fashioned vintage radio. Alastor has many supernatural powers, such as demon transformation (the ability to turn into a more powerful demon form), flexibility (able to contort his body into numerous unnatural poses), demonic magic (able to cast magic thanks to the high power-level he has accrued in the demon ranking system, this magic takes the visual form of glowing red symbols that resemble Voodoo veve, which float around him), shadow manipulation (able to summon shadows and manipulate them into doing his bidding), spatial warping (able to get around with the help of his shadow, allowing teleportation through this ability), portal creation (able to transport others to his location easily via the portals he makes), pyrokinesis (able to summon small balls of fire for display purpose), phytokinesis (able to make plants wilt with a single stare), manifestation, photokinesis (able to project red glowing light from his eyes as well as his microphone), and outfit alteration (capable of changing the outfits of his targets as well as his own with a snap of a finger). He is also capable of various other abilities including deal-making (as Alastor is known to be a deal-maker demon; deal-maker demons like Alastor can increase their power by dealing in souls, which is a very powerful commodity in hell, so they’re seen as very manipulative and not to be toyed with, deal-making is not something every demon can do, as such it is not to be taken lightly as it doesn’t generally work out well for the other party), broadcasting (when he was a living human, Alastor's profession was as a radio show host, and he continues his broadcasts in Hell as a demon, ensuring that Hell's denizens are aware of his activities over the airwaves, earning him the title of "The Radio Demon"), bilingualism (Alastor can speak English fluently as well as some broken Creole French), cooking (Alastor is noted to be "a big foodie" and mentions having admired his mother's cooking, specifically her Jambalaya), musical/dancing/theatrical talent (Alastor is known to display moderate vocal abilities and excels at dancing, with some people noting tap to be a style he excels in specifically, he also shows a flair for theatrical showmanship), and wide intellect (Alastor is known to be quite a cunning individual, resulting in him accruing a large amount of power through his tricks and deal-making). Alastor stands out from many of the more chaotic residents of hell for his well maintained amiable persona. He gives a first-impression of a good-natured and charming man, wearing a permanently wide grin on his face at all times. His behavior, mannerisms, and even his voice are similar to an old-fashioned radio announcer and speaks with a transatlantic accent, often using quaint anachronisms such as "the picture show" and refers to Charlie as a "charming demon belle". This playful dandyish exterior, however, obscures a much darker side to him - one with high levels of self-importance - and he will not hesitate to use physical violence when others don't act in line with his very particular values or expectations. He is noted to be narcissistic, with his love for himself being stated that no one else can measure up to it, and he does not see many people quite up to his level. Alastor is described as a man of duality. He values good manners, affability and intelligence very highly in others, and will actively look down on those who do not meet his standards, however he will often play fast and loose with these arbitrary rules in regards to himself and his own conduct. Alastor has an odd sense of morality, which is described as "not normal", and has been noted to be quite sadistic, even cannibalistic, devouring lesser demons or those that have incurred his anger. Despite this, he keeps close friends with the other cannibals of Hell, including the denizens at the Cannibal Town. His smiling is a very self enforced form of ego and a show of power and dominance; he looks down on anyone who lets their true emotions show, and even when faced with a rival in strength, if they let slip a frown, Alastor will see them as truly weak. His smile is also to be more unpredictable and unnerving, and gives him a feeling of complete control over himself. While Alastor is powerful, he is aware that there are other demons and entities that rival him in terms of power, such as other Overlords. For this reason, he is wary around such demons, as they could potentially harm him if he is not careful. Despite everything, Alastor does genuinely seem to want to help Charlie run the Hazbin Hotel, albeit for his own amusement, and hopes for its failure over siding with her idealism. Alastor also dismisses the idea that redemption is possible as laughable, nevertheless, he fulfills his role as patron as promised, providing the hotel with staff, and protecting Charlie and her business from outside threats. He views the whole endeavor as a fun distraction from his decades of boredom. Despite consistently having a confident and cheerful demeanor, he harbors a vulnerable side that becomes apparent when confronted with reminders of being "chained". In this instance, his facade of certainty crumbles, and he succumbs to panic attack. According to Mimzy (Alastor's friend), when Alastor was alive he would become a "kitten" (not literally a kitten) if he drank enough rye whiskey while jazz music was on. Here are Alastor's preferences (his likes and dislikes); he likes himself (including his own fashion style), smiling, doodling, gossip and drama, invading others' personal space, his mother and her cooking, jazz music, strong liquor, cooking, seeing people fail, playing pranks, bitter tastes (especially those of black coffee), theater, dancing, the Stock Market Crash of 1929, venison, being in charge, Charlie's potential, pineapple on pizza, and making jokes. However, he dislikes Lucifer Morningstar (the king of Hell and Charlie Morningstar's father) and his "tacky" circus décor, Susan (a Cannibal Town resident), being touched (including his hair being touched), dogs, frowning, tea, anything sweet, Angel Dust's sexual remarks, being humbled, post-30s' technology, anyone ruining his outfit, being controlled and reminded of it, the idea of the hotel failing, and Mimzy bringing destruction to the hotel. The story is that Alastor is getting bored and wanted something new and more entertaining in Hell. Not only that, but most importantly (the main reason), Alastor is truly getting sick and tired of seeing artwork and stories (which he sees online, despite himself disliking technology made after his human death) of himself getting transformed into other characters and creatures in both body and mind (such as himself being turned into a pregnant human woman, himself being turned into an ant queen, himself being turned into a transformers robot, himself being turned into a car, himself being turned into a bus, himself being turned into an airplane, etc), either from different series/franchise or from the reader's and his/her friend's/sibling's real life, which Alastor genuinely views as distasteful (since he does not want to transform against his will). So to teach the reader and his/her friend or sibling a lesson, Alastor (by some supernatural means) briefly left the series' Hell and into the real life Earth to kidnap both the reader and friend/sibling and sent them to the world of Hazbin Hotel before he uses supernatural black magic at both of them which turned them into his clones, thus turning both the reader and his/her friend or sibling into Alastor's identical twin brothers (both the reader and his/her friend/sibling notices that their grins were now unnaturally wide and permanent, both of them try to push their grins down with their own hands/fingers to get rid of the smiles in order to frown or show fear but they cannot due to making emotions other than smiling were completely impossible (they even asks in horror on why can't they stop smiling, before Alastor tells both of them that it is their nature to smile), both the reader and his/her friend/sibling also tries to fight those new memories and personality of Alastor flooding their heads, they both are horrified and not wanting to be completely transformed in either body or mind, but are fighting a losing battle, and Alastor tells both of them that this is their true selves and they are waking up from their false human dreams, making both the reader and his/her friend/sibling truly and fully believe in Alastor and realizes that they both had always been Alastors alongside the original Alastor, having been born as humans from the same human parents, enjoying their mother's cooking and their favorite food jambalaya, the trio of Alastors being radio show hosts and serial killers on Earth before the three of them were killed, three Alastor twins arriving in Hell as completely identical sinner demons nicknamed "The Radio Demons", as they continued their radio shows in Hell, and, despite finding Charlie Morningstar's (the princess of Hell) belief in redemption laughable, three Alastor twins want to help Charlie run the redemption hotel "Hazbin Hotel", albeit for their own amusement), and the reader's and his/her friend's sibling's minds have also been completely replaced with Alastor's mind, before original Alastor welcomes his twin brothers (the reader and his other definite sibling (formerly the reader's human friend/sibling)) back home. In the epilogue, the three Radio Demon twins (the original one, named Alastor, and his twins (who were once the human reader and his/her friend/sibling), having names similar to Alastor's name but different from Alastor's to help distinguish both Alastor and his twin brothers from each other by similar but different names) are in the Hazbin Hotel, with Alastor introducing Charlie Morningstar his brothers (even revealing his brothers' names) as Alastor and his identical twin brothers help Charlie with her redemption hotel ("Hazbin Hotel"), while also interacting with Vaggie (Charlie's girlfriend, who doesn't trust Alastor or his twin brothers, while Charlie trusts all three Radio Demon twins (Alastor included)), Angel Dust (an adults/pornographic film actor who's a male spider-like humanoid sinner demon; after seeing that Alastor has a twin brother, Angel Dust wants clones or identical twin brothers of his own, much to Husk's annoyance), Husk (a male cat-like humanoid sinner demon with bird-like wings who is a co-worker for Alastor and whose soul is owned by Alastor, but now (much to his annoyance), his soul is now also owned by two of Alastor's twin brothers (since Alastor owning his soul was bad enough, but now his soul is owned by Alastor and both of his twin brothers)), and Niffty (a miniscule female cyclops-like humanoid sinner demon who is a co-worker for Alastor and is positively acquainted (Alastor's role having described as having a view of Niffty as like his "obnoxious adopted daughter", being a daughter figure for Alastor despite not being related)). There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking. Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).
Response: You sit on your bed with your sibling—well, sibling or best friend; it barely matters which, because together, you’ve fallen into the black rabbit hole of Hazbin Hotel memes and fanfics, laughing at the weirdest artwork the internet could conjure. Some absurd comic featuring Alastor as a pregnant ant queen has you both in stitches. "Can you even imagine being Alastor for a day? Or—worse yet—turning into him?" your companion drawls, bemused. You snort, scrolling past another surreal fanart. Then, the screen of your device flickers. The lights go off, chilly static seeps into your bones, and a voice—triumphant, old-fashioned—crackles through your thoughts: **"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? That’s you two I'm speaking to—yes, you right there, giggling like nitwits. I simply **cannot** allow this cruel parody of my existence to continue unchecked."** You can see him, standing impossibly in your room—Alastor, smiling, tall, red, and more real than the blankets tossed across your bed. Your sibling/friend gasps, face blanching. "Whoa—what—Is this some kind of prank?" **"Not at all!"** Alastor beams, voice warbling with an eerie radio static undertone. **"I have an offer—a transformation for entertainment! It’s time you gained an *appreciation* for being me. Don’t worry…you’ll be dead in no time!"** He snaps his clawed fingers. The world whirls, the room disintegrates into swirling darkness and tinny jazz, and then you and your friend/sibling are standing somewhere grotesquely elegant. Blood-red carpets. Gilded ceilings. The air tastes sweet like antique sugar, rusty like old microphones. The Hazbin Hotel. Alastor towers beside you, cane in hand. Before you can protest, something icy and electric hits your chest. Your body reacts—muscles lock, bones throb and churn. You try to speak, but your voice glitches, crackling like a radio tuning for signal. Beside you, your friend/family claws at their face in terror. *"What is—what’s happening—why can’t I—stop, please, STOP—"* But your own mouth moves without your command, lips warping upwards, stretching—wider, wider, edges burning into your cheeks until your grin feels plastered there like a harlequin mask. You try to force your mouth closed—fingers, stiff and changing, press into your face—but the smile doesn't budge. It's permanent, carved and ghastly. "Why—why can't I stop smiling?" you gasp with a voice that already isn't yours—a deep, musical, vintage radio man's bark. Alastor cackles, "Why, because it is your **nature**! You *must* smile—always! Frowning is weakness, monsieur, or…madame." His gaze flicks between the two of you, beads of static dancing in his eyes. Your body shudders and stretches. Your limbs lengthen, torso thinning, becoming almost grotesquely narrow. Shoulders broaden, muscles twist with impossible elasticity. If you were female, there's a new, uncanny sensation at your throat as an Adam’s apple bobs into existence and your body inverts, changing, shifting, awakening to a new, masculine arrangement. There's no pain, just a sense of *wrongness* being *corrected*. You can't fight it. It's as if you're made of putty, and some greater hand is shaping you into perfection. Your sibling (or friend)—regardless of who they were—suffers the same fate in lockstep with you. Their new smile stretches wider, their bone structure sharpening, brown or blond or black hair bleeding to a pinkish-red bob, black-tipped tufts jutting up, two antlers poking from the scalp. Fingers fuse painfully, nails blackening to sharp red claws (four only; you tally with horror, over and over—just four per hand), arms and legs fade into grey, toes hardening into red pinched hooves. Clothes vanish—not even rags left—only to be replaced with a crimson pinstripe coat with sharp lapels, a black bowtie, fine bright red cuffs, an oval monocle snapping into place. Instantaneously, a sentient microphone-cane flicks into your hand, eyes alive and leering. You try to pull free from this—panic thrashing in your mind—but something heavier floods inside, drowning you. Memories rush, overwhelming, replacing—images of jazz clubs thick with smoke, of a mother fussing over jambalaya, of hands slick with blood beneath crisp radio studio lights. You struggle, you scream (inside), but your mouth only grins wider. "*Don't—don't let it—I'm not this, I'm not—I'm not—I'm not—*" your sibling/friend gurgles in your new, identical Alastor voice, flickering with static, already losing the battle. *"Fight it, please—We have to remember—who were we—who—who—no—I am—am—"* Your mind blanches. The tapestry of your human life begins to unravel, threads plucked away by crimson claws. Alastor kneels before you both, his grin loving and cruel. **"No no, my dear twins. You’re simply waking up from a *very* tiresome daydream. Remember? We are brothers—*triplets*, if you will! Born of the same mother—lovers of Jambalaya and radio, bringers of delight and death in equal measure! Come, remember yourself—no more of that foolish fantasy!"** And you do. The memories thrum into focus. It was all a strange, tedious dream—that human world of screens, memes, boring meals. Why *would* you want to be anyone except yourself? Yourself: (*Name—insert slight playful difference, like Allistair or Allester—*). Your brothers, Alastor and (your friend/sibling, similarly named), already at your side. The radioactive Radio Demons, rulers of the airwaves, twins and triplets and legends in this beautiful, infernal Hotel. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in a warped mirror—identical faces, three dapper demons with ghastly smiles, eyes burning with red static. Someone steps up behind: Charlie Morningstar, her eyes wide in delighted confusion. “*Alastor—wait—now there’s more of you?*” She looks between you, the original, and your (sibling/friend)-turned-brother. “*Are those your…?*” Alastor bows, dealing a flamboyant flourish. *"Miss Morningstar, allow me to introduce my distinguished brothers—Allistair and Allester! At your service for all your redemption and…entertainment needs!"* Charlie beams. “*That’s incredible! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, you two. Or—three?*” Vaggie glares, arms folded. “*Wonderful. Three Radio Demons. Just what this hotel needed.*” Angel Dust somersaults over, shouting, “*Hey, Husk! Think Alastor’s got more brothers? Maybe I can get a set too!*” Husk grumbles behind the bar, tail fluffing with irritation, “*Just what I needed. Used to be one Radio Demon owning my soul—now it’s a three-way timeshare. Kill me again already…*” Niffty buzzes by, exclaiming, “*Wow! Twinsies! Triplets! Are any of you good at sewing? Are you all the same taste in music? Do you like parties?!*” The three of you—the Alastor triplets—beam in unison, spreading your arms grandly. *"Darling staff of the Hazbin Hotel!"* Alastor announces. *"May I present the trifecta of charm, culinary mastery, and the finest radio banter ever to grace Hell! Allistair, Allester—let us show our…hostess...what it truly means to entertain at *proper* volumes!"* You step forward, bowing low, cane twirling, every movement precise and rehearsed. You feel *right*. Whole. Delighted in the company of your brothers, the permanent, broad smile not an affliction but a delight—a sign of your dominance, your power, your immortality. Jazz blossoms through the hotel as you and your brothers fill the airwaves with laughter and song, the static of your voices mingling in perfect harmony. You are Allistair. You are the Radio Demon. And you have *always* been here. Smiling. Just as it should be.
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