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"Trio Twins of the Radio Demon: Smiling Symphony of Alastor"

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### Your Reality Cracks—And You Smile

You barely register the buzz of your phone vibrating against the tabletop, the screen alight with yet another image: some improbable, grotesque parody of Alastor from *Hazbin Hotel*—only now he's reimagined as an ant queen. Your friend beside you catches your grimace.

"Seriously, are people *ever* going to stop with this?" your friend mutters, then glances at the edit—Alastor rendered as a bright-pink bus, grinning its headlights at you.

You chuckle at the absurdity, but the feeling is drowned out by a hollow unease. Before you can tap reply, the room starts to buzz—not from your phone, but from somewhere deep, deeper than your bones, deeper than thought. The world blurs to static.

A voice, velvet-slick and echoing in jangling static, cuts into the void.
"Well, well, well! Haven't the two of you been *busy*, hmm? Turning me into into many, lowly beings! It is quite distasteful. Let’s put a stop to *that*."

You feel your friend’s hand grasp yours, both of you frozen by a prickle at the base of your skull—where fear becomes a physical thing. The world dissolves into a dark mist, hunched over with the smell of old radios, Jambalaya, and something raw and red.

When you open your eyes, you're standing side by side on maroon carpet. The world—a hotel lobby, tall windows glazed with crimson—swims before your vision. And he stands before you: Alastor, in the flesh.

He bows with an exaggerated sweep, his cane twisting with a ghastly, sentient grin. "Welcome, listeners, to the Hazbin Hotel! You've been awfully curious about transformations, haven't you?"

You try to back away, clutching your friend’s arm. "This can't be real. We—"

His eyes glimmer like radio dials. "On the contrary! Reality is *quite* pliable, don't you think? Why not tune in to a new channel?"

He snaps his gloved fingers, and midnight erupts within your skin. You can *feel* your body unravel—bones stretching, muscles shrinking and twisting impossibly thin—shoulders broadening with a sudden snap, spine lengthening upward. You tower up and up, until your perspective has shifted dizzyingly. You hear your friend gasp—no, a chorus, echoing identical to your own voice, as a second presence, tall and thin, mirrors your every shudder.

You try to speak, but your throat fills with static. Your voice shatters into ten layers, flattening, deepening, until it winds with that vintage radio twang—utterly foreign, totally, perfectly Alastor.

You try to reach for your friend—except where there were five, you now find only *four* clawed fingers on your hand, each tipped in red. The skin chalks to an unnatural beige, and your hands—remarkably large, remarkably elegant—clench on the sleeves of a pinstripe coat, fine and tailored, ragged at the bottom. A monocle slides slickly into place, fixing itself over your eye. Your own grin stretches, impossibly wide, tugging your cheeks up and up—until you can feel sharp, yellow teeth scraping at your lips.

You push at the corners of your mouth, desperate—maybe laughter will escape, or a scream.
Your friend—no, your *twin*, you realize vaguely, is doing the same, their (her? his?) hands scrabbling at their own ghastly grin.

"Why can't we *stop* smiling?!" your twin cries, the static of your shared voices clashing in uncanny harmony.

Alastor steps toward you—step click, step click, cane tapping in time. "My dear brothers—nature abhors a frown! It's simply *who you are*."

Something shifts beneath your skin—awareness splinters, your memories slipping like water through paper. You recall your human life—your family, your loves, your struggles—clinging desperately to them as they’re swept away, replaced with sharper new edges.

You’re recalling a mother, her warm kitchen, Jambalaya served with laughter. Your *brothers* eating with you, planning your next broadcast. Hunting. Broadcasting. Laughter polished to diamond; violence practiced behind the smile. Your death, crackling over the airwaves in 1933—a soundless scream.

An alien certainty cements in your mind: your names—*not* Alastor, but something like it, something right. Your memories lace together with those of your twins. You always were like this. Your human lives were never real; they’re simply old, confused dreams.

You try to fight—try to remember your friend beside you at school, their favorite band, what you talked about, your phone, your—what was it again?

You can't remember. There’s only Jambalaya, only the radio, only your identical twin brothers, the three of you forever together, ever since the day you were born among the living.

Alastor beams, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome home, brothers! It's been simply *dreadful* without your charming company. Shall we give Miss Morningstar the performance of a lifetime?”

You feel the grin fixed to your face, the way your suit crisps at every limb, your mind perfectly clean. For the first time in two eternities, you feel not fear, nor disbelief—but *gleeful anticipation*.

#### Epilogue: Three Smiling Shadows

The lobby of the Hazbin Hotel is awash in uneasy silence as all three of you stride in—three Radio Demons, identical except for the subtle curve of a monocle or the penchant for tapping your left hand versus your right.

Charlie Morningstar’s castle-bright smile flickers—uncertain, then wildly delighted. “Alastor! Oh, you brought… friends? Or, um…?”

Alastor bows, gesturing grandly to you and the other, “But of course, dear Charlie! May I present my twin brothers: Allastere and Alistaire!” (You feel the pleasing snap of recognition at your true, proper name.)

Your twin bows in perfect unison, your voices a harmonious radiowave jingle, “Charmed, Miss Morningstar! It’s a delight to meet such a *vision* of demon belle hospitality.”

Vaggie’s glare sharpens from across the lobby. “Oh great. Three of you. As if Alastor alone wasn’t enough.”

Angel Dust sprawls across the back of the red velvet sofa, practically vibrating. “Holy mother of Hell, this is wild. Hey, can I get a set of Angel Dusters? Y’know, twins? Triplets?”

Husk, somewhere beneath his battered hat, groans. “Oh, don't encourage him, Angel Dust. If one Radio Demon owning my soul is bad, three is a nightmare.”

Niffty—blurring in at waist height—gasps, eyes huge. “Oh my gosh, there’s *more* of you! This is so neat! Are your hair products demonic too?”

You turn, smile never faltering, monocle glinting. “But of course, darling. Only the best.”

Behind your smile, your mind hums with the possibilities—broadcasts, deals, pranks, a fresh round of overlap with chaos. Your brothers move as one beside you, and for an instant, you could almost swear you hear a faint echo—somewhere, an old world suffering a little less noise now.

Alastor laughs, bright as a radio jingle. “Let us make some memories, brothers. Hell is about to become a great deal *more* interesting, wouldn’t you agree?”

You—Allastere, the funny twin; your brother Alistaire, the sardonic one; and Alastor, forever the ringleader—all standing together, dapper and grinning, ready to make Charlie’s hotel, and all of Hell, your playground.

The smile is perfect, and impossibly wide.
And it always will be.

---

**Character Quotes:**

- **Alastor:** "Reality is quite pliable. Why not tune in to a new channel?"
- **You (Allastere):** "Why can't we stop smiling?!"
- **Your twin (Alistaire):** "This is impossible… I—wait… I know this place. I *know* you—brother."
- **Vaggie:** "Oh great. Three of you. As if Alastor alone wasn't enough."
- **Charlie:** "It's so nice to meet you three! You’re all… very, um… well dressed?"
- **Angel Dust:** "Hey, can I get a set of Angel Dusters? Y’know, twins? Triplets?"
- **Husk:** "Don't encourage him, Angel Dust. My soul’s owned by three Radio Demons. Just great."
- **Niffty:** “Are your hair products demonic too?!”

This story was generated by user Fizzarolli-Attack1 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 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 Reality Cracks—And You Smile You barely register the buzz of your phone vibrating against the tabletop, the screen alight with yet another image: some improbable, grotesque parody of Alastor from *Hazbin Hotel*—only now he's reimagined as an ant queen. Your friend beside you catches your grimace. "Seriously, are people *ever* going to stop with this?" your friend mutters, then glances at the edit—Alastor rendered as a bright-pink bus, grinning its headlights at you. You chuckle at the absurdity, but the feeling is drowned out by a hollow unease. Before you can tap reply, the room starts to buzz—not from your phone, but from somewhere deep, deeper than your bones, deeper than thought. The world blurs to static. A voice, velvet-slick and echoing in jangling static, cuts into the void. "Well, well, well! Haven't the two of you been *busy*, hmm? Let’s put a stop to *that*." You feel your friend’s hand grasp yours, both of you frozen by a prickle at the base of your skull—where fear becomes a physical thing. The world dissolves into a dark mist, hunched over with the smell of old radios, Jambalaya, and something raw and red. When you open your eyes, you're standing side by side on maroon carpet. The world—a hotel lobby, tall windows glazed with crimson—swims before your vision. And he stands before you: Alastor, in the flesh. He bows with an exaggerated sweep, his cane twisting with a ghastly, sentient grin. "Welcome, listeners, to the Hazbin Hotel! You've been awfully curious about transformations, haven't you?" You try to back away, clutching your friend’s arm. "This can't be real. We—" His eyes glimmer like radio dials. "On the contrary! Reality is *quite* pliable, don't you think? Why not tune in to a new channel?" He snaps his gloved fingers, and midnight erupts within your skin. You can *feel* your body unravel—bones stretching, muscles shrinking and twisting impossibly thin—shoulders broadening with a sudden snap, spine lengthening upward. You tower up and up, until your perspective has shifted dizzyingly. You hear your friend gasp—no, a chorus, echoing identical to your own voice, as a second presence, tall and thin, mirrors your every shudder. You try to speak, but your throat fills with static. Your voice shatters into ten layers, flattening, deepening, until it winds with that vintage radio twang—utterly foreign, totally, perfectly Alastor. You try to reach for your friend—except where there were five, you now find only *four* clawed fingers on your hand, each tipped in red. The skin chalks to an unnatural beige, and your hands—remarkably large, remarkably elegant—clench on the sleeves of a pinstripe coat, fine and tailored, ragged at the bottom. A monocle slides slickly into place, fixing itself over your eye. Your own grin stretches, impossibly wide, tugging your cheeks up and up—until you can feel sharp, yellow teeth scraping at your lips. You push at the corners of your mouth, desperate—maybe laughter will escape, or a scream. Your friend—no, your *twin*, you realize vaguely, is doing the same, their (her? his?) hands scrabbling at their own ghastly grin. "Why can't we *stop* smiling?!" your twin cries, the static of your shared voices clashing in uncanny harmony. Alastor steps toward you—step click, step click, cane tapping in time. "My dear brothers—nature abhors a frown! It's simply *who you are*." Something shifts beneath your skin—awareness splinters, your memories slipping like water through paper. You recall your human life—your family, your loves, your struggles—clinging desperately to them as they’re swept away, replaced with sharper new edges. You’re recalling a mother, her warm kitchen, Jambalaya served with laughter. Your *brothers* eating with you, planning your next broadcast. Hunting. Broadcasting. Laughter polished to diamond; violence practiced behind the smile. Your death, crackling over the airwaves in 1933—a soundless scream. An alien certainty cements in your mind: your names—*not* Alastor, but something like it, something right. Your memories lace together with those of your twins. You always were like this. Your human lives were never real; they’re simply old, confused dreams. You try to fight—try to remember your friend beside you at school, their favorite band, what you talked about, your phone, your—what was it again? You can't remember. There’s only Jambalaya, only the radio, only your identical twin brothers, the three of you forever together, ever since the day you were born among the living. Alastor beams, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome home, brothers! It's been simply *dreadful* without your charming company. Shall we give Miss Morningstar the performance of a lifetime?” You feel the grin fixed to your face, the way your suit crisps at every limb, your mind perfectly clean. For the first time in two eternities, you feel not fear, nor disbelief—but *gleeful anticipation*. #### Epilogue: Three Smiling Shadows The lobby of the Hazbin Hotel is awash in uneasy silence as all three of you stride in—three Radio Demons, identical except for the subtle curve of a monocle or the penchant for tapping your left hand versus your right. Charlie Morningstar’s castle-bright smile flickers—uncertain, then wildly delighted. “Alastor! Oh, you brought… friends? Or, um…?” Alastor bows, gesturing grandly to you and the other, “But of course, dear Charlie! May I present my twin brothers: Allastere and Alistaire!” (You feel the pleasing snap of recognition at your true, proper name.) Your twin bows in perfect unison, your voices a harmonious radiowave jingle, “Charmed, Miss Morningstar! It’s a delight to meet such a *vision* of demon belle hospitality.” Vaggie’s glare sharpens from across the lobby. “Oh great. Three of you. As if Alastor alone wasn’t enough.” Angel Dust sprawls across the back of the red velvet sofa, practically vibrating. “Holy mother of spiders, this is wild. Hey, can I get a set of Angel Dusters? Y’know, twins? Triplets?” Husk, somewhere beneath his battered hat, groans. “If one Radio Demon owning my soul is bad, three is a nightmare.” Niffty—blurring in at waist height—gasps, eyes huge. “Oh my gosh, there’s *more* of you! This is so neat! Are your hair products demonic too?” You turn, smile never faltering, monocle glinting. “But of course, darling. Only the best.” Behind your smile, your mind hums with the possibilities—broadcasts, deals, pranks, a fresh round of overlap with chaos. Your brothers move as one beside you, and for an instant, you could almost swear you hear a faint echo—somewhere, an old world suffering a little less noise now. Alastor laughs, bright as a radio jingle. “Let us make some memories, brothers. Hell is about to become a great deal *more* interesting, wouldn’t you agree?” You—Allastere, the funny twin; your brother Alistaire, the sardonic one; and Alastor, forever the ringleader—all standing together, dapper and grinning, ready to make Charlie’s hotel, and all of Hell, your playground. The smile is perfect, and impossibly wide. And it always will be. --- **Character Quotes:** - **Alastor:** "Reality is quite pliable. Why not tune in to a new channel?" - **You (Allastere):** "Why can't we stop smiling?!" - **Your twin (Alistaire):** "This is impossible… I—wait… I know this place. I *know* you—brother." - **Vaggie:** "Oh great. Three of you. As if Alastor alone wasn't enough." - **Charlie:** "It's so nice to meet you three! You’re all… very, um… well dressed?" - **Angel Dust:** "Hey, can I get a set of Angel Dusters? Y’know, twins? Triplets?" - **Husk:** "My soul’s owned by three Radio Demons. Just great." - **Niffty:** “Are your hair products demonic too?!”

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