Your mind is plunged into static.
In a jarring, dizzying instant, you go from scrolling through transformation stories on your phone (maybe even giggling at some over-the-top scenario) to blinding red darkness, your best friend (or sibling) by your side. The last thing you remember is snorting, “What if I transformed you into Alastor?” as a joke—and then the universe snapped.
A blast of vintage jazz buzzes into your ears. The world—your world—blinks out as viscous *something* seeps into your vision, writhing like threads from an old radio, until a shape emerges from the void. The suit comes first: sharp, blood-red, pinstriped and wild, with a wide, absurdly grinning man clutching a microphone. It’s him. *He’s real.*
“Good evening, listeners!” he trills, voice tinged with static and old-timey reverb. “We interrupt your regularly scheduled program for something special. You see, I've grown weary of your little fictions—turning *me* into this, that, and the other, regardless of *my* will!”
Alastor’s grin never dips, sharklike and endless. “So tonight, you shall try a new transformation. One most… pertinent. Because you—you and your dear companion—are going to become Radio Demons yourselves! How’s that for a twist? Ha!”
You lurch to move, to shout, but your voice withers into white noise. Your friend screams beside you, and the static closes in.
---
**The Change**
*It starts in your face.* Your jaw cracks—an oddly painless sensation—and stretches impossibly wide, curling up to your cheeks. Muscles knot and warp, fixing your face into a permanent, inhuman rictus grin. “Wh-why…” you try to mumble, but your words echo, distorted—Alastor’s lithe, charming cadence bleeds in, paradoxical as both warm and chilling.
Your hands dart to your mouth, desperate, but the grinning stays. No matter how hard you push, it will not budge. Your friend’s voice chimes, shrill, a match to yours now.
“Why can’t we stop SMILING?!”
“It’s impossible!” you blurt.
Alastor grins between you, voice crisp as a newsreel: “It’s simply your new nature, gentlemen—what would a Radio Demon be, if not *smiling*? You’ll find frowning is quite beyond you now!”
You shudder—can’t express it. There’s a flutter in your throat, a strange, masculine vibration: your entire voicebox is re-threading itself, growing richer, radio-borne. If you’d had a higher or feminine pitch, it’s swept out, replaced with Alastor’s transatlantic crispness, the hint of old jazz.
Your bones creak, pull, *stretch.* The world shrinks around you as you lengthen, 7 feet of nightmarish, slender form. Your friend matches, limbs thinning—necks too long, torsos emaciated. You stare in horror as his (her?) chest flattens further, Adam’s apple cresting, anything that marked as female vanishes. Below your waist, a reversed pressure, everything twisting and inverting, pushing out until distinctly male forms dangle between your legs—private and invasive, yet somehow old and familiar, as if you’d always been this.
You look down, hands cracking as bones fuse. Four clawed fingers. Gloves—black with vivid red tips—uncurl over them. Pinstripes crawl up your arms, coats tattering at the ends. Your feet split—hard, hoofish, toes fusing to two pronounced, red-tipped crags. Your skin pales beige, eyes burning: sclera darken crimson, irises rocket-red, pupils slicing thin as radio dials.
Your hair erupts—red, bobbed, streaked black, sharp, with antlers sprouting at the crown. A monocle clamps to your eye, black and oval, and around your neck, a bowtie—knotted and impeccable—cinches tight.
Your friend’s transformation is synchronous—a mirror image save for name, and identity, both vanishing as quickly as your old bodies.
*Clothes gone.* In their place: the long, sinuous coat, matching pants, boots emblazoned with deer hoofprints. Your cane snaps into your palm—vintage microphone already chittering with sentient static.
*You try to remember—anything else but this.* Memories—a phone, a house, dinner with family—flicker, but shatter on the rocks of… roaring laughter, jazz bands, old radio studios, the spice of jambalaya, your mother’s proud smile. The real, *true* you is calling, a tidal wave washing away every scrap of humanity. You try to scream, to fight, to tell your friend—
But his (your? their?) eyes reflect yours: delirious, brilliant, and *knowing.*
---
**A Voice Within (Fading Resistance)**
> “We can’t let this happen! Rem—remember who we were!” you say, their mouth matching your words in perfect disharmony.
But the voice is wrong. It's Alastor's voice—no, *your* voice, rich and old-fashioned.
> “Why resist?” Alastor croons, swirling delightedly. “All you’re feeling now is the waking of your true self. Those daydreams—those false lives—they were always so dreary, weren’t they?”
Every memory now in your mind is *his*—a radio career, a trail of blood, the Stock Market Crash, the sharp aroma of black coffee. Your friend, your… no, your brother—he grins wide.
Wait. Brother?
You try to say your old name—garbled static. New names, *right* names, drift up.
“Alaster, my dear twin,” your friend says, voice now distinctly not hers, but *his*, brimming with playfulness and threat, “isn’t this a more fitting world?”
“Why of course, Algernon!” you answer, surprised at the glee, the effortlessness, your own *share* in the power and darkness.
The old aches, regrets, kindness, gone. In their place pours a storm of cunning, wit, and exquisite malice. You remember everything now—always having been the Radio Demon’s twin, both of you arriving in Hell together, identical in every smile, every cruel joke, every ambitious plot.
The original Alastor laughs, delighted—and embraces you both.
> “Welcome HOME, brothers! Show the world what a *real* transformation is, won’t you?”
You do.
---
**Epilogue: Hazbin Hotel, Three Radio Demons**
The doors to the hotel swing open. At your sides, your brothers—Alastor, Algernon, and Alaster—stride in. Each a flawless mirror, save for the press of power and the subtle distinction in the spark of their irises.
Charlie looks up, startled, then beams with her relentless, hopeful optimism.
> "Alastor! Um—there's three of you?"
Alastor bows with a sweeping gesture. “My charming demon belle, allow me to introduce my twin brothers—Algernon and Alaster. The finest radio voices this side of the grave!”
Charlie clasps her hands. “It’s… lovely to meet you both. Welcome to the hotel! I hope you’ll help us with our mission.”
> “But of course,” you say, sliding into a perfect dandy’s bow.
> “The pleasure is ours,” your brother agrees, lips twitching, as if to imply a thousand hidden jokes.
Vaggie narrows her eye, stepping in front of Charlie. “Just what we needed. Not one, but three Radio Demons. You better not cause trouble!”
Alastor’s eyes flash. “We intend only the highest standards of hospitality, mademoiselle.”
You and your twin echo his toothy smile, “Absolutely, madam. We thrive on… improvement.”
Angel Dust skitters into view, antennae perked. “Aw, hell, now there’s *three* of you? Maybe I should get myself a set of twin clones, too!” He winks at Husk.
Husk grumbles, wings flickering. “Just what I needed. As if one was bad enough—now my soul’s on *triple* lease.”
Niffty pops in, dizzily cleaning the bannisters. “Oh wow! More dapper fellas! This place just keeps getting classier!”
You—Alaster—tilt your head, eyes glinting, and twirl the cane microphone with a flourish. Brother Algernon joins, a shimmer of crimson magic bursting from his fingers.
> "It's a pleasure," you intone in triplicate, voices overlapping with that inhuman, radio-born resonance.
> "Let the show begin!"
And for a moment—a brief, wicked moment—you recall a shadow of something else, a diffused amusement at the memory of yet another transformation. The smile on your lips only sharpens.
You're home. You're wild. And in this world, you *were always* Alastor's twin—a Radio Demon to the core, forever smiling.
---
**End.**
This story was generated by user DylanVsFizzarolli7 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: Your mind is plunged into static. In a jarring, dizzying instant, you go from scrolling through transformation stories on your phone (maybe even giggling at some over-the-top scenario) to blinding red darkness, your best friend (or sibling) by your side. The last thing you remember is snorting, “What if I transformed you into Alastor?” as a joke—and then the universe snapped. A blast of vintage jazz buzzes into your ears. The world—your world—blinks out as viscous *something* seeps into your vision, writhing like threads from an old radio, until a shape emerges from the void. The suit comes first: sharp, blood-red, pinstriped and wild, with a wide, absurdly grinning man clutching a microphone. It’s him. *He’s real.* “Good evening, listeners!” he trills, voice tinged with static and old-timey reverb. “We interrupt your regularly scheduled program for something special. You see, I've grown weary of your little fictions—turning *me* into this, that, and the other, regardless of *my* will!” Alastor’s grin never dips, sharklike and endless. “So tonight, you shall try a new transformation. One most… pertinent. Because you—you and your dear companion—are going to become Radio Demons yourselves! How’s that for a twist? Ha!” You lurch to move, to shout, but your voice withers into white noise. Your friend screams beside you, and the static closes in. --- **The Change** *It starts in your face.* Your jaw cracks—an oddly painless sensation—and stretches impossibly wide, curling up to your cheeks. Muscles knot and warp, fixing your face into a permanent, inhuman rictus grin. “Wh-why…” you try to mumble, but your words echo, distorted—Alastor’s lithe, charming cadence bleeds in, paradoxical as both warm and chilling. Your hands dart to your mouth, desperate, but the grinning stays. No matter how hard you push, it will not budge. Your friend’s voice chimes, shrill, a match to yours now. “Why can’t we stop SMILING?!” “It’s impossible!” you blurt. Alastor grins between you, voice crisp as a newsreel: “It’s simply your new nature, gentlemen—what would a Radio Demon be, if not *smiling*? You’ll find frowning is quite beyond you now!” You shudder—can’t express it. There’s a flutter in your throat, a strange, masculine vibration: your entire voicebox is re-threading itself, growing richer, radio-borne. If you’d had a higher or feminine pitch, it’s swept out, replaced with Alastor’s transatlantic crispness, the hint of old jazz. Your bones creak, pull, *stretch.* The world shrinks around you as you lengthen, 7 feet of nightmarish, slender form. Your friend matches, limbs thinning—necks too long, torsos emaciated. You stare in horror as his (her?) chest flattens further, Adam’s apple cresting, anything that marked as female vanishes. Below your waist, a reversed pressure, everything twisting and inverting, pushing out until distinctly male forms dangle between your legs—private and invasive, yet somehow old and familiar, as if you’d always been this. You look down, hands cracking as bones fuse. Four clawed fingers. Gloves—black with vivid red tips—uncurl over them. Pinstripes crawl up your arms, coats tattering at the ends. Your feet split—hard, hoofish, toes fusing to two pronounced, red-tipped crags. Your skin pales beige, eyes burning: sclera darken crimson, irises rocket-red, pupils slicing thin as radio dials. Your hair erupts—red, bobbed, streaked black, sharp, with antlers sprouting at the crown. A monocle clamps to your eye, black and oval, and around your neck, a bowtie—knotted and impeccable—cinches tight. Your friend’s transformation is synchronous—a mirror image save for name, and identity, both vanishing as quickly as your old bodies. *Clothes gone.* In their place: the long, sinuous coat, matching pants, boots emblazoned with deer hoofprints. Your cane snaps into your palm—vintage microphone already chittering with sentient static. *You try to remember—anything else but this.* Memories—a phone, a house, dinner with family—flicker, but shatter on the rocks of… roaring laughter, jazz bands, old radio studios, the spice of jambalaya, your mother’s proud smile. The real, *true* you is calling, a tidal wave washing away every scrap of humanity. You try to scream, to fight, to tell your friend— But his (your? their?) eyes reflect yours: delirious, brilliant, and *knowing.* --- **A Voice Within (Fading Resistance)** > “We can’t let this happen! Rem—remember who we were!” you say, their mouth matching your words in perfect disharmony. But the voice is wrong. It's Alastor's voice—no, *your* voice, rich and old-fashioned. > “Why resist?” Alastor croons, swirling delightedly. “All you’re feeling now is the waking of your true self. Those daydreams—those false lives—they were always so dreary, weren’t they?” Every memory now in your mind is *his*—a radio career, a trail of blood, the Stock Market Crash, the sharp aroma of black coffee. Your friend, your… no, your brother—he grins wide. Wait. Brother? You try to say your old name—garbled static. New names, *right* names, drift up. “Alaster, my dear twin,” your friend says, voice now distinctly not hers, but *his*, brimming with playfulness and threat, “isn’t this a more fitting world?” “Why of course, Algernon!” you answer, surprised at the glee, the effortlessness, your own *share* in the power and darkness. The old aches, regrets, kindness, gone. In their place pours a storm of cunning, wit, and exquisite malice. You remember everything now—always having been the Radio Demon’s twin, both of you arriving in Hell together, identical in every smile, every cruel joke, every ambitious plot. The original Alastor laughs, delighted—and embraces you both. > “Welcome HOME, brothers! Show the world what a *real* transformation is, won’t you?” You do. --- **Epilogue: Hazbin Hotel, Three Radio Demons** The doors to the hotel swing open. At your sides, your brothers—Alastor, Algernon, and Alaster—stride in. Each a flawless mirror, save for the press of power and the subtle distinction in the spark of their irises. Charlie looks up, startled, then beams with her relentless, hopeful optimism. > "Alastor! Um—there's three of you?" Alastor bows with a sweeping gesture. “My charming demon belle, allow me to introduce my twin brothers—Algernon and Alaster. The finest radio voices this side of the grave!” Charlie clasps her hands. “It’s… lovely to meet you both. Welcome to the hotel! I hope you’ll help us with our mission.” > “But of course,” you say, sliding into a perfect dandy’s bow. > “The pleasure is ours,” your brother agrees, lips twitching, as if to imply a thousand hidden jokes. Vaggie narrows her eye, stepping in front of Charlie. “Just what we needed. Not one, but three Radio Demons. You better not cause trouble!” Alastor’s eyes flash. “We intend only the highest standards of hospitality, mademoiselle.” You and your twin echo his toothy smile, “Absolutely, madam. We thrive on… improvement.” Angel Dust skitters into view, antennae perked. “Aw, hell, now there’s *three* of you? Maybe I should get myself a set of twin clones, too!” He winks at Husk. Husk grumbles, wings flickering. “Just what I needed. As if one was bad enough—now my soul’s on *triple* lease.” Niffty pops in, dizzily cleaning the bannisters. “Oh wow! More dapper fellas! This place just keeps getting classier!” You—Alaster—tilt your head, eyes glinting, and twirl the cane microphone with a flourish. Brother Algernon joins, a shimmer of crimson magic bursting from his fingers. > "It's a pleasure," you intone in triplicate, voices overlapping with that inhuman, radio-born resonance. > "Let the show begin!" And for a moment—a brief, wicked moment—you recall a shadow of something else, a diffused amusement at the memory of yet another transformation. The smile on your lips only sharpens. You're home. You're wild. And in this world, you *were always* Alastor's twin—a Radio Demon to the core, forever smiling. --- **End.**
Post your own comment or use AI: