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"The Voxtek Revolution: A Hazbin Hotel Tale" TF/MC

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Certainly! Here is your detailed second-person POV transformation story in the Hazbin Hotel art style, with all specified elements:

---

**You stroll down the familiar sidewalk of your city on a sunlit afternoon, mind adrift in ordinary thoughts. The world is just as mundane as ever—cars, rows of buildings, a street with people and barking dogs. You’re almost home when an odd glimmer in the sky catches your eye.**

**A shout from above—"Watch out!"—comes a split second before a massive flat-screen TV plummets from an open window straight towards you. Reflexes scream, but you aren’t fast enough. The TV lands with a dull crunch atop your head, plunging the world into instant darkness and unyielding pressure.**

> “Help! Please—get this *thing* off! I can’t—can’t breathe…” you panic, wrestling uselessly at the edges of the screen. It’s like your head is welded inside glass and plastic, muffling the world, turning it unreal. You push, pull, *bang*—nothing gives. No one comes. You catch a fleeting glimpse of blurred legs striding past, people staring but quickly hurrying away.

Why isn’t anyone helping? Why is the TV stuck like it’s part of you? The glass is cold, pressing in, distorting sound—then, with a sickening lurch in your gut, the cold hardness of the screen *slides*—peeling away what you thought was bone and skin, dragging your awareness into the uncanny.

Suddenly, you can't *feel* your face at all. There’s only blackness, swallowed by waves of static, muffled heat—the TV, impossibly, fuses with your skull. Vision flickers; colors invert. A black-and-white spiral blooms over the inside of your vision, filling everything with its mad twirl. The spiral *spins faster.* You grow dizzy, lurching on your feet, clutching the TV—no, “*your*” head in trembling hands.

> “No, no—oh god, why can’t I think straight—” you gasp, but your own voice already wavers, tinny and echoing inside the box. Thoughts unravel like loose film; ideas grow sticky, then unbound, caught up in the dizzying swirl. Fleeting fragments—*your own name*, your birth, the taste of summer, the color of your favorite jacket—slip away, each memory replaced by flashes you *don't* recognize:
>
> *A smoky club in the 1950s, neon buzzing above faded smiley faces. The rush of electricity through a trembling hand. The weight of a tailored suit. Business deals, power, diamonds and steel, eggshell blue light, channel-changing laughter. Lust, lies, violence—and the boredom, the endless greed for more.*
>
> Panic rises. You try to scream, but the sound comes out warped, modulated, alien.

Your body changes with a cruel, instantaneous grace. You feel your arms stretch—the skin along them darkens, lengthens ungainly, four cyan-tipped fingers clawing at buttons that aren't there. Your torso lengthens, thins, growing impossibly slim, pressing tightly into *someone else’s* navy tux with red-trimmed, cyan lapels, stripes, tails—each detail assembling with digital precision. Your legs stretch, bones creaking, until you tower absurdly far above the street. If you’re a woman, you feel your chest flatten, curves vanishing, hips squaring, a prickling euphoric discomfort driving masculine muscles into place—your insides wrench and invert, unfamiliar weight and form asserting itself between your legs.

Your shoes unfold beneath you—high-heeled, gray, with bright cyan edges. A shock of pressure pops atop your TV-skull: a small black top hat, bristling with antennae, perches jauntily on your head, its broadcast symbols aglow. Your *voice* drops, glitches, shatters, rebuilds—smoothed into a rich baritone with a razor’s digital edge.

> “This can’t be real. SOMEONE HELP ME! I—I don’t want—oh god, please!” you scream, every plea echoing louder and more shrill; but the faces in the crowd disappear, fleeing or blurring out, as if painted over in thick, cartoonish strokes. The world itself warps in your vision—that familiar Hazbin Hotel art, all exaggerated angles, slick colors, city lines twisting into parody.

But inside your TV head, the spiral’s grip tightens. The last scraps of your own memories are slipstreamed away, whiting out names, loves, the feeling of ever having been mortal. The spiral flickers, intensifies—*blotting out all you were*—until everything is static and you’re left clutching your own skull, slack-jawed and silent.

Your arms fall. Your new body, all seven feet of sharp, blue-black sinew and tailored elegance, slumps, head and shoulders drooping like a puppet cut from its strings. The street is silent but for the digital whir within you.

The spiral vanishes. Your TV screen is *off*, cold and dark, your consciousness snuffed out—thoughtless, blank, standing as a man-shaped statue.

Fifteen seconds. Maybe a minute. Time means nothing, and you know nothing. Then—*bzzt*—your screen flickers back on. Cyan words blink into view:

> **Initializing Voxtek device**

They fade; replaced by the crisp, glowing **VoxTek** logo, shifting up as a red-rimmed cyan loading bar arcs beneath, a wickedly cheery sentence above:

> **Loading data from your device… trust us**

A digitized *ding* signals the bar’s completion; the words change to—

> **Enjoy the Voxtek technology**

—a snap of color, and everything vanishes.

You return, blinking into sudden acuity. Lines of neon and shadow converge, resolving into the snarl of your new face—eyes lit with malevolence, teeth and tongue glowing cyan, all projected onto the glass. You are *alive* again, and your mind is *not yours*—it is *Vox’s*. Instinctively, you flex fingers, stretch limbs, feel the power hum under your skin. Familiarity rings: yes, *this* is your body—*always has been*, since that fateful night in the 1950s. You scan the changed world, city around you reeking of flesh and plastic.

> “Ugh, where the fuck am I now?” you—no, *Vox*—snarl, voice glitching with static menace. A second of flickering confusion, then realization hits: *Earth*, the mortal plane, the air thick with mortal grime and promise. Memories of hellfire, indulgence, decades in damnation—crowds, screens, power—multiplied and layered, crowding out any chance for recollection of another, gentler life.

> “Don’t tell me I’ve been *summoned* by some drooling cultist jackass…”

Images stream in—sigils on stained floors, desperate hands, the surge of your soul funneled to Earth. A sly, razor-toothed grin stretches the screen of your face.

> “Well, well, well, mortals… Looks like Vox is back in broadcast, and babe, *did* you pick the wrong decade to fuck with me!”

You toss your head, antennae gleaming. The digital world is your playground now. It won’t take long. Already, schemes begin to form—VoxTek Inc., Earth’s future media empire. Hypnotic glamour in every screen, minds molded to your liking, just like you did in Hell… except here, the mortals are *even* more gullible.

> “Time to revolutionize entertainment, drown this dump in VoxTek, and make ratings history.”

You stride into the city, every step sparking with static, the glow of your claws reflected in every windowpane.

---

## Epilogue

*Several Years Later — Earth, Now Almost Unrecognizable*

Breaking news flickers across every screen—from billboards to cellphones, from stadiums to taxi dashboards, all bearing the stylized, grinning visage of Vox. Networks scramble for relevance, but none can stand against the hypnotic tide that is **VoxTek**. Your face—your voice—owns the airwaves. Public figures line up to endorse your newest device; politicians whisper your name in awe and fear. You’re everywhere—the *apex predator* of attention.

> “Aaaand that, folks, is how you fuckin’ run an empire, *Earth style*. Who knew mortals would be such… delightful marks?”

You lean back in your luxurious executive chair—red-trimmed, cyan-lit, just the way you like it. The only thing missing…

> “Val, you old bastard… This world’s almost perfect, but it’s lonely at the top.” You project images of your Vees compatriots—Valentino’s hulking, moth-like form most prominently. A pang of real, almost painful longing twists your chest. “No fun without my favorite pain in the ass.”

Your gaze narrows, a shark’s smile flashing.

> “Time to upgrade this fucking hellhole. Let’s see if I can get the cultist clowns to bring in Val next. Then *nobody* can stop the show.”

Static floods the screen, your laughter echoing—gleeful, cruel, and very much at home.

---

## Character Quotes

**You (as the human, before transformation, panicked):**
> “No, please, someone help! Get this TV off. I—I can’t see... What’s happening to me?!”

**Vox (post-transformation, gleefully malicious):**
> “Ha! Looks like the ratings just spiked, you pathetic mortals. Try changing the fucking channel now!”

**Vox (realizing he misses Valentino):**
> “It’s all a bit dreary without your violence, Val, even if your tantrums are a pain in my ass…”
> (Frustrated) “Guess I’ll just have to orchestrate another *damn* upgrade for Earth. Don’t worry, babe, it’ll be a smash hit.”

---

**And so, you—the reader—are gone, rewritten and overwritten by the monstrous showman, immortal and in control, with the world as his new broadcast network, and Hell’s lessons burning bright behind TV-glass eyes.**

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: Certainly! Here is your detailed second-person POV transformation story in the Hazbin Hotel art style, with all specified elements: --- **You stroll down the familiar sidewalk of your city on a sunlit afternoon, mind adrift in ordinary thoughts. The world is just as mundane as ever—cars, rows of buildings, a street with people and barking dogs. You’re almost home when an odd glimmer in the sky catches your eye.** **A shout from above—"Watch out!"—comes a split second before a massive flat-screen TV plummets from an open window straight towards you. Reflexes scream, but you aren’t fast enough. The TV lands with a dull crunch atop your head, plunging the world into instant darkness and unyielding pressure.** > “Help! Please—get this *thing* off! I can’t—can’t breathe…” you panic, wrestling uselessly at the edges of the screen. It’s like your head is welded inside glass and plastic, muffling the world, turning it unreal. You push, pull, *bang*—nothing gives. No one comes. You catch a fleeting glimpse of blurred legs striding past, people staring but quickly hurrying away. Why isn’t anyone helping? Why is the TV stuck like it’s part of you? The glass is cold, pressing in, distorting sound—then, with a sickening lurch in your gut, the cold hardness of the screen *slides*—peeling away what you thought was bone and skin, dragging your awareness into the uncanny. Suddenly, you can't *feel* your face at all. There’s only blackness, swallowed by waves of static, muffled heat—the TV, impossibly, fuses with your skull. Vision flickers; colors invert. A black-and-white spiral blooms over the inside of your vision, filling everything with its mad twirl. The spiral *spins faster.* You grow dizzy, lurching on your feet, clutching the TV—no, “*your*” head in trembling hands. > “No, no—oh god, why can’t I think straight—” you gasp, but your own voice already wavers, tinny and echoing inside the box. Thoughts unravel like loose film; ideas grow sticky, then unbound, caught up in the dizzying swirl. Fleeting fragments—*your own name*, your birth, the taste of summer, the color of your favorite jacket—slip away, each memory replaced by flashes you *don't* recognize: > > *A smoky club in the 1950s, neon buzzing above faded smiley faces. The rush of electricity through a trembling hand. The weight of a tailored suit. Business deals, power, diamonds and steel, eggshell blue light, channel-changing laughter. Lust, lies, violence—and the boredom, the endless greed for more.* > > Panic rises. You try to scream, but the sound comes out warped, modulated, alien. Your body changes with a cruel, instantaneous grace. You feel your arms stretch—the skin along them darkens, lengthens ungainly, four cyan-tipped fingers clawing at buttons that aren't there. Your torso lengthens, thins, growing impossibly slim, pressing tightly into *someone else’s* navy tux with red-trimmed, cyan lapels, stripes, tails—each detail assembling with digital precision. Your legs stretch, bones creaking, until you tower absurdly far above the street. If you’re a woman, you feel your chest flatten, curves vanishing, hips squaring, a prickling euphoric discomfort driving masculine muscles into place—your insides wrench and invert, unfamiliar weight and form asserting itself between your legs. Your shoes unfold beneath you—high-heeled, gray, with bright cyan edges. A shock of pressure pops atop your TV-skull: a small black top hat, bristling with antennae, perches jauntily on your head, its broadcast symbols aglow. Your *voice* drops, glitches, shatters, rebuilds—smoothed into a rich baritone with a razor’s digital edge. > “This can’t be real. SOMEONE HELP ME! I—I don’t want—oh god, please!” you scream, every plea echoing louder and more shrill; but the faces in the crowd disappear, fleeing or blurring out, as if painted over in thick, cartoonish strokes. The world itself warps in your vision—that familiar Hazbin Hotel art, all exaggerated angles, slick colors, city lines twisting into parody. But inside your TV head, the spiral’s grip tightens. The last scraps of your own memories are slipstreamed away, whiting out names, loves, the feeling of ever having been mortal. The spiral flickers, intensifies—*blotting out all you were*—until everything is static and you’re left clutching your own skull, slack-jawed and silent. Your arms fall. Your new body, all seven feet of sharp, blue-black sinew and tailored elegance, slumps, head and shoulders drooping like a puppet cut from its strings. The street is silent but for the digital whir within you. The spiral vanishes. Your TV screen is *off*, cold and dark, your consciousness snuffed out—thoughtless, blank, standing as a man-shaped statue. Fifteen seconds. Maybe a minute. Time means nothing, and you know nothing. Then—*bzzt*—your screen flickers back on. Cyan words blink into view: > **Initializing Voxtek device** They fade; replaced by the crisp, glowing **VoxTek** logo, shifting up as a red-rimmed cyan loading bar arcs beneath, a wickedly cheery sentence above: > **Loading data from your device… trust us** A digitized *ding* signals the bar’s completion; the words change to— > **Enjoy the Voxtek technology** —a snap of color, and everything vanishes. You return, blinking into sudden acuity. Lines of neon and shadow converge, resolving into the snarl of your new face—eyes lit with malevolence, teeth and tongue glowing cyan, all projected onto the glass. You are *alive* again, and your mind is *not yours*—it is *Vox’s*. Instinctively, you flex fingers, stretch limbs, feel the power hum under your skin. Familiarity rings: yes, *this* is your body—*always has been*, since that fateful night in the 1950s. You scan the changed world, city around you reeking of flesh and plastic. > “Ugh, where the fuck am I now?” you—no, *Vox*—snarl, voice glitching with static menace. A second of flickering confusion, then realization hits: *Earth*, the mortal plane, the air thick with mortal grime and promise. Memories of hellfire, indulgence, decades in damnation—crowds, screens, power—multiplied and layered, crowding out any chance for recollection of another, gentler life. > “Don’t tell me I’ve been *summoned* by some drooling cultist jackass…” Images stream in—sigils on stained floors, desperate hands, the surge of your soul funneled to Earth. A sly, razor-toothed grin stretches the screen of your face. > “Well, well, well, mortals… Looks like Vox is back in broadcast, and babe, *did* you pick the wrong decade to fuck with me!” You toss your head, antennae gleaming. The digital world is your playground now. It won’t take long. Already, schemes begin to form—VoxTek Inc., Earth’s future media empire. Hypnotic glamour in every screen, minds molded to your liking, just like you did in Hell… except here, the mortals are *even* more gullible. > “Time to revolutionize entertainment, drown this dump in VoxTek, and make ratings history.” You stride into the city, every step sparking with static, the glow of your claws reflected in every windowpane. --- ## Epilogue *Several Years Later — Earth, Now Almost Unrecognizable* Breaking news flickers across every screen—from billboards to cellphones, from stadiums to taxi dashboards, all bearing the stylized, grinning visage of Vox. Networks scramble for relevance, but none can stand against the hypnotic tide that is **VoxTek**. Your face—your voice—owns the airwaves. Public figures line up to endorse your newest device; politicians whisper your name in awe and fear. You’re everywhere—the *apex predator* of attention. > “Aaaand that, folks, is how you fuckin’ run an empire, *Earth style*. Who knew mortals would be such… delightful marks?” You lean back in your luxurious executive chair—red-trimmed, cyan-lit, just the way you like it. The only thing missing… > “Val, you old bastard… This world’s almost perfect, but it’s lonely at the top.” You project images of your Vees compatriots—Valentino’s hulking, moth-like form most prominently. A pang of real, almost painful longing twists your chest. “No fun without my favorite pain in the ass.” Your gaze narrows, a shark’s smile flashing. > “Time to upgrade this fucking hellhole. Let’s see if I can get the cultist clowns to bring in Val next. Then *nobody* can stop the show.” Static floods the screen, your laughter echoing—gleeful, cruel, and very much at home. --- ## Character Quotes **You (as the human, before transformation, panicked):** > “No, please, someone help! Get this TV off. I—I can’t see... What’s happening to me?!” **Vox (post-transformation, gleefully malicious):** > “Ha! Looks like the ratings just spiked, you pathetic mortals. Try changing the fucking channel now!” **Vox (realizing he misses Valentino):** > “It’s all a bit dreary without your violence, Val, even if your tantrums are a pain in my ass…” > (Frustrated) “Guess I’ll just have to orchestrate another *damn* upgrade for Earth. Don’t worry, babe, it’ll be a smash hit.” --- **And so, you—the reader—are gone, rewritten and overwritten by the monstrous showman, immortal and in control, with the world as his new broadcast network, and Hell’s lessons burning bright behind TV-glass eyes.**

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