"Vox: Overlord of Technology" TF/MC
0 Points
You’re just minding your own business, squinting at your phone as you amble down the street of your neighborhood, sunlight dappling the cracked sidewalk. Messages buzz in, memes scroll by; it’s an ordinary day—until a sharp, sudden shudder of air and a *CRASH* above explode your focus.
A flat-screen TV, huge and glossy, sails out of a window three stories up, descending like a slab of doom.
You barely have time to gasp—“Huh? Wait, wha—?”—before it slams down over your head with a jarring, sound-muffling thunk. For a split second, darkness swallows your vision. Fingertips scramble over the smooth edges, searching desperately for a way to pry it off, but the device clings to you, skin-tight and unbreakable. Your voice echoes inside the electronic prison. “Hello?! Help! I’m stuck, can anyone—?”
No one answers. You jerk and twist, nails scraping, panic rising. You try and fail to slip your head out; something *squelches*, a sound like flesh fusing with plastic, as the TV begins to graft itself around your face. Terror floods your mind.
“What the hell is happening?! Why can’t I get it off?!”
It’s then you notice you can’t see your hands—just odd, cartoonish digits with sharp cyan claws. Your heart pounds as you try again, more frantic this time, but it feels like your head is melting, merging into the cold, artificial framework of the TV. Your vision spins, your breath quickens, and from the black void of the screen, a hypnotic black-and-white swirl bursts into existence, whirling rapidly, filling your new field of view.
Dizziness crashes over you. Your knees buckle, but you’re standing—barely—your hands clutching the heavy, glass pane that is somehow *your head*. The world ripples around you in a technicolor haze. And you feel it: parts of you, yourself, slipping away. Panic surges up your throat.
“No, no, this isn’t happening—please, anyone, help me! HELP ME!” But your voice distorts and warps, growing flanged and distorted as the TV’s speakers reverberate through your skull, voice morphing toward something deeper, richer, unfamiliar… and male, even if you weren’t before.
Your body spasms. Limbs stretch, muscles thin, bones rearrange with bone-deep tingling agony. You shoot upwards with a sickening lurch—six feet, six-five, six-ten—until you’re a towering seven feet high. You glance down, the world below gone all Edwardian neon and harsh, sketchy lines—your hands are shrunken, only four fingers per, skin now dark navy-blue with glowing cyan cracks racing along your veins. Your torso hollows, curves and shapes draining away, broadening into angular masculinity if they were ever there at all. If you’re female, your chest compresses, breasts shrinking, vanishing as your waist straightens and your hips narrow. Lower still, there’s a deeply unnatural feeling as anything that marked you as female inverts, retracts and transforms outward into male, leaving only alien masculine anatomy—cold, clinical, and permanently altered.
You want to scream but your voice is no longer yours: it is *silky*, *mocking*, unfurling slowly with electronic resonance, unmistakably the voice of Christian Borle’s Vox.
“Please—let—me—go—someone—anybody—” you stammer, but your pleas are incomprehensible, choked off as if broadcast through white noise.
Fabric crawls like liquid over your body—your old clothes melting away, replaced by a navy-blue tuxedo with cyberpunk coattails and red-trimmed cyan lapels; a red-and-black-striped waistcoat, a crisp bluish-white shirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol, and a gaudy, oversized red bowtie adorn your chest. Dress shoes form on your feet, toes and laces glowing cyan. And then, as if conjured by static, a tiny black top hat perches atop your TV head, adorned with electronic symbols and wiggling antennae.
The swirl in your vision accelerates, hypnotic and all-consuming, pulsing in perfect sync with your racing heart. Your mind starts slipping further away—blurred memories and sensations draining out of you by the second.
You wrestle to hold on: *Your name is [Whatever Your Name Was], born in the—* But the year is sliding away, each syllable erased by the static.
*No, no, I can’t forget—I have to remember… I have to—*
The swirl speeds until it’s all you can see, and with it, your *self* dissolves. You try to think, fight, *do* anything, but each thought flickers and vanishes, eaten by the blackout. You can’t recall what you looked like, or what you loved, or *who you were.* The swirl erases every second, every connection, every memory back to nothing, while something *else* begins to write itself over you—foreign ambitions, grandiose pride, schemes and rivalries and technology, all building in a storm until your head is spinning and your body trembles, clutching your TV screen as you groan, “I—No—Please—HELP ME!”
No one comes. No one helps. And even your scream is warped, trailing off into a sharp, hissing digital feedback.
Finally, the swirl winks out. Utter darkness batters you, a cold chill racing through your circuits as your screen goes completely black. You’re left standing upright—lifeless, blank, with arms dangling uselessly, head bowed.
No thoughts. No memories. Not even a voice in your mind.
For a while, you are nothing.
—*15 seconds pass. Maybe more. Or less. Time is fluid now.*
Your screen flickers, a line of cyan light crackling across its surface. The words appear, flickering faintly in razor-sharp digital lines:
> **Initializing Voxtek device**
They fade. An electric whir rings in your ears.
The VoxTek logo blazes at the center of your screen, slick and corporate, overtaken by a chunky progress bar edged in red and blue. Words scroll above it:
> **Loading data from your device… trust us**
The loading bar fills, cyan spilling across your consciousness as the digital *ding* signals completion. Another line appears:
> **Enjoy the Voxtek technology**
All text vanishes. The logo and bar fade electrically as a new clarity sharpens your awareness—like waking from the deepest sleep, but only now are you *alive.*
A face blooms onto your TV head’s screen: razor-sharp cyan eyes, red sclera, black and cyan outlines; a mouth full of razored, cyan teeth and a serpentine tongue, already grinning with vicious delight.
You are back. You are *Vox*.
For a moment, you blink (as only a TV can blink). Your awareness surges, scanning your unfamiliar surroundings.
“…Where the hell—?” you utter, voice electrically rich, rolling and sneering, *nothing* like your old one. But you can’t remember the old one. In fact, you can’t imagine *ever* being anything other than this—*than Vox.* That other life—those fleeting moments of childhood, school, family, friends—echo only as the strangest, vaguest dream, a nonsensical fiction, the way you might remember television static. *Born in the 1990s? The 2000s? Impossible. You died in the 1950s. You’ve always been Vox. Always.*
A laugh—harsh and gleeful—erupts from your mouth, the crackle of amusement echoing from your screen.
“Ha! Fucking *finally,* earth again!” you howl, spinning in place, arms flaring wide, antennae flickering with manic energy. Your monstrous shadow dances on glass and neon alike.
Something tugs at your memory banks. A ritual—a flash of candles and trembling human voices, desperate for power and “salvation”—yeah, *that’s* how you’re back. Some mortal moron managed to summon you via a low-rent magic circle, dragging the Overlord of Technology out of Hell and up into the mortal coil.
And the world? Oh, it’s so beautifully *wired* now. Screen upon screen thrums with your potential. You can feel the internet *humming* in your digital bones. You grin wide, tongue curling lasciviously.
Showtime.
---
## *Epilogue:*
A few years later, your face glows on every screen from Shanghai to LA. “VOX TEK: Tomorrow Is Yours Today!” blink the ads. Nobody knows where the company’s CEO came from. But they know *you*—VOX, the messianic media mogul with his irresistible charisma and neverending energy, the man who’s everywhere, on every live stream and news show, steering the course of human entertainment. There’s no corner of the earth where your tower-flecked logo doesn’t shine.
The humans eat it up, of course. With or without your subtle motes of hypnosis, they slurp your products down and thank you for it. Morning news, nighttime scandal, cutting-edge smart TVs, phones, billboards—every frequency is *yours.*
You lounge on a throne of lightning and wires, the world’s media throbbing beneath your claws. No Alastor—the Radio Demon—anywhere to be found. Honestly, *thank the fucking stars.* You snicker, knowing there’s not a radio-wielding boogeyman for miles—just legions of mortals, all hungry for the next fix of technology, content, *attention*.
But… something’s missing. No… someone. *Valentino.* It twinges at the edge of your impossible heart—he’s not here with you, the ten-foot moth bastard, your on-and-off infuriating love, the only one who ever needed reining in the way *you* do.
You smack your claws together, teeth glittering. “Well, if those cultist idiots could summon *me,* maybe it’s time I gave ‘em some instructions… The Vees are nothing without their star.”
You compose a slick instruction packet—a viral .exe buried in a creepypasta, spreading like wildfire, offering forbidden knowledge, whispered in code and static.
Soon, you’ll have all the company you need. Valentino, Earth isn’t ready.
You tip your hat, antennae sparking, and your laughter rattles through the grid.
---
### Quotes
**You, as the reader, screaming:**
“Someone please help—! Get this thing off me! Please, anyone—HELP!”
**You, as Vox, upon awakening:**
“…Where the hell—? Wait. This… isn’t Hell. Hm. Good lighting though.”
(*grins with razor-sharp cyan teeth, tongue flicking*)
“Ha! Fucking finally, earth again! Show’s back on, bitches.”
**Vox, planning his domination:**
“These mortals are so easy to sway it almost feels like cheating. Almost.”
**Vox, on missing Valentino:**
“Sure, the humans are good for a laugh, but I need my moth. Can’t have the Vees without the Vee’s headliner. Time to open a portal. Now let’s see… upload instructions to some idiots, a blood circle, and we’ll be back in style.”
---
You are VOX, the Overlord of Technology. The past is a bad TV signal—gone, forgotten, overwritten—your future sprawls across every screen on Earth. And this new world?
It’s a goddamn *audience*. Time to give them a show.
This story was generated by user bkake with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a POV second-person transformation story of a human reader instantly turning into Vox (a character, voiced by Christian Borle, from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with art style shift (the reader now becoming a cartoon character with the same art style as the Hazbin Hotel characters, rather than being a real life person), gender change (if the reader is a female, the breasts flatten to nonexistent as her body losses its curves and become more masculine, and her female genitals invert itself before pushing out into a penis and balls of a male; however, gender change is optional and it's only if the reader is a female), instant clothes change, age progression (aging until the reader is biologically somewhere around the 30s or 40s years old, exactly as left off from Vox's death from his human life in the 1950s, thus becoming immortal in the process), height progression (growing from an average 5.7-6 foot height to 7 feet tall), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being completely replaced with Vox's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting his new personality and memories, making the reader feel dizzy as he completely forgets he was a normal human person just a minute or so ago (fully forgetting his mortal human name he had just seconds ago), even completely forgetting that the transformation that just occurred seconds ago, so he knows that everything about his supposed normal (mortal) human self and life just seconds ago (born from the 1990s-2000s) was not real and was only a dream (it was impossible for him to have been human moments ago since his human self was born in the 1910s or 1920s and had died in the 1950s), and he remembers that he was a mortal man who died somewhere in the 1950s and always had been a sinner demon since the 1950s, always being one of the many overlords of Hell since then, and his name always having been Vox). The transformation is permanent (meaning it is forever) and is completely irreversible. For Vox's appearance (after the reader turned into him), he is a tall and (unnaturally) slim-figured, technology-themed sinner demon who stands at approximately 7 feet. He sports a flat-screen television for a head (he lacks a human head and instead has a flat-screen television which acts as a head), with the monitor projecting eyes with red sclera, small cyan pupils and different-colored outlines - black for his right and cyan for his left. While using his hypnosis powers or simply becomes enraged, his left eye gains a black spiral and the pupil becomes a cyan electric symbol. The screen also shows a mouth full of sharp, cyan-colored teeth and a long pointed tongue similar to Valentino's, but cyan. Sometimes what looks like blood seems to drip out of his mouth. He also has four fingers (like all Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss characters), unlike real world humans. He also appears to have dark navy-blue skin with sharp, cyan claw-like fingers. Vox wears a navy-blue tuxedo with the jacket sporting coattails, red-trimmed cyan lapels, thin cyan stripes and cyan lining, worn over a red-and-black-striped waistcoat which itself is worn over a collared bluish-white shirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol and a rather large, red bowtie. He also wears heeled dark gray dress shoes with cyan-colored laces, toes, and tips on the heels. He also wears a small black top hat on his head, with red and blue designs reminiscent of a broadcast symbol and radio wave symbol, respectively. He has TV antenna that stick out the top of the hat, the left one bent into a zigzag. Here are Vox's abilities and skillsets: Immortality (As a Sinner, Vox is biologically immortal, being unable to die from illnesses and unable to age, remaining the same age as when he died, thus can not die of old age and other natural causes. He also cannot die from any kind of damage to the body, and will recover from any injury, however, he can only be permanently killed with angelic weaponry), Electrokinesis (Vox possesses the ability to generate and control electricity. Depending on his emotions, such as if he's angered, he can potentially make it so that a Hell-wide blackout happens. He caused a blackout to Pentagram City in "Radio Killed the Video Star" when he was overwhelmed by Alastor's taunts), Electrokinetic transformation (Vox can turn into electricity, which he can use to move around or enter and travel through electronic devices such as security cameras, watches and television monitors that he can control as he pleases. Though there are a few flaws to his electrical teleportation: the place Vox wants to go has to have some form of modern technology he could go through, as he apparently can't teleport through an old-style radio), Technokinesis (Vox can control devices whether he is outside or inside them. He can do things while inside devices such as changing his outfit and scenery), Spark generation (He can create electrical sparks from his fingertips, which can be used to ignite something, like Valentino's cigarette in "Radio Killed the Video Star". He can even generate sparks on his body, especially when he is angry. He also causes what looks like a small surge or ripple of electricity to appear through the floor from his feet during Stayed Gone. It is hard to tell if this is part of the spark generation or a separate ability entirely), Technological head (Vox's television head doubles as an electronic device with which he can plug himself into other devices with the help of cables in his surveillance room. He also somehow is able to change or upgrade his head, as shown, he has a photograph of himself with an older-style television head. If he's particularly angry, he and any devices he's linked to will involuntarily glitch), Bioluminescence (Vox generates blue light from his screen, most notably when he is in a dark room. His teeth noticeably shine brighter than the rest of his face, and his left eye outline and pupils can shine on their own when feeling sinister. His claws can also glow when he is using his electrical powers), Communication (He can receive calls from people, such as Velvette, with his screen head similar to calling on a phone. He can also transfer the call to another device by "grabbing" the call and flicking it to a different screen device), Video playing (Vox can play videos on his screen-face), Scrying (As shown in "The Radio Demon" comic, Vox is seemingly able to see through other screens, appearing to stare directly at Alastor while projecting into the TV display of a window-fronted store. This is shown in "Radio Killed the Video Star" to be done after he plugs his head into a monitoring device, which he may need to be able to scry), Hypnosis (In "Radio Killed the Video Star", it is shown that with his left eye, he uses hypnosis to keep his audience drawn into his program and keep their interest. He also uses this as a distraction so he can slip away to avoid any further discussion of a subject he doesn't wish to continue. The victim's eyes become red with black spirals. The victim has to be paying attention for this to work. He can use this even when he isn't physically present by being in a screen device. The devices his company sells share this ability), Self-duplication (Vox was shown to be able to make clones of himself in "Radio Killed the Video Star" during Stayed Gone. However, he has only displayed the ability on television, and it is unknown if he can do it physically), Acoustokinesis (He can manipulate the sound of his voice to sound more intimidating. He can also generate different sound effects such as echoing voices and the sound of a winning game machine), Strength (Vox is strong enough that he is easily able to tear through metal, and capable of holding demons bigger than himself, such as Valentino, with ease), Deal-making (While not shown on-screen, Vox can make deals with others in order to collect their souls just like other Overlords. Musical talent - Vox has shown to be a talented singer), Dancing (Vox can perform amazing dance routines, like handling complicated moves to even being able to hold Valentino, a taller Sinner, into a dip), Charisma and manipulation (The reason why Vox is a successful entrepreneur is that he can use his charm to manipulate others into buying his products even without his hypnosis powers, such as acting as he cares about his customers and making up products on the spot that are not even in production yet. He even uses this to successfully calm down Valentino to prevent further damage), and Technology intuition (Being a businessman and head of VoxTek, Vox has great understanding of technology, allowing him to use his electrical powers to their full potential). Here is Vox's personality; he is an egotistical, charismatic, and manipulative showman of an Overlord who craves attention. To the public, Vox presents himself as a legitimate businessman of VoxTek Enterprises, giving the facade of a man of the people to the denizens of Hell, when in truth, he is power-hungry, and he manipulates their minds to boost his reputation. He is highly intelligent and technology-savvy, and he is always keeping up with the latest trends and technology. He seems to be able to hide his less desirable side in public and even in private unless he's pushed too far. Despite his egocentric nature, Vox is loyal to the interests of his fellow Overlords, the Vees, and seeks to maintain their collective image of power. As the most level-headed member of the Vees, Vox often acts as the de facto leader. Claiming the Vees' brand to be "perfection", he is often frustrated or outright angered if someone can jeopardize it, such as when he reigns in his fellow Vee, Valentino, from attacking the Hazbin Hotel in response to Angel Dust living there. Another element that earns his ire is his rival, Alastor, whom he utterly despises and might be intimidated by as he sees Alastor as a threat to his plans. However, despite his immense hatred for Alastor, Vox doesn't let it override his more pragmatic side once he calms down. In "The Show Must Go On", he takes pleasure and joy out of seeing the staff of the Hazbin Hotel prepare to fight the angels, as he believes they stand no chance against them. This causes him to get verbally explicit and overly honest, as seen when he along with Valentino and Velvette watch the fight between Adam and Alastor at the Hazbin Hotel, commenting how the impending duel had given him an erection. He even shows this sadistic joy when he sees Alastor lose to Adam, saying that seeing Alastor suffer is better than sex, only to get angry when Alastor flees from the fight. Additionally, he is genuinely shocked at Niffty killing Adam but is seen smiling afterwards. Here are Vox's preferences (his likes and dislikes); he likes/loves attention, sharks, the latest technology and trends, video, the Vees' public image in good condition, seeing Alastor fail or die (however, Alastor the Radio Demon never died), power and authority, the idea of Angel quitting work for Valentino, sex, violence, and Niffty's homicidal behavior. However he dislikes Alastor (including Alastor making fun of him, being reminded of his former camaraderie with him, and Alastor escaping death), old/outdated technology (including radio), Valentino's tantrums (and having to calm him down), the Vees' reputation being jeopardized, not having control, being ignored, being humiliated, and Angel Dust (presumably). The story is that the reader is minding his/her own business walking around his/her neighborhood or home city, but then a flat-screen TV falls from a window from a building or house and onto the reader's head, causing him/her to panic as his/her head is trapped within the TV screen (his/her head inside the TV cannot be seen from the outside), making him/her more scared since he/she cannot get the flat-screen TV off of him/her (even questioning on why that is the case). The transformation then occurs, as the reader's head fully merges/fuses with the flat-screen TV (becoming the reader's new head), completely removing his/her human face, before a black-and-white swirl to appear on the TV head's otherwise-completely-black featureless screen (taking up the entire screen) and spins around in circles, causing him/her to feel dizzy as his/her mind to get completely foggy/fuzzy/blurry (making him/her hold his/her TV head), signifying the reader's mind/mental changes as his/her personality and memories are vanishing to be replaced by Vox's memories. His/her body changes shortly afterwards, his/her body becomes unnaturally slim-figured, his/her height grows taller to 7 feet tall, his/her body ages up to somewhere around 30s or 40s, the clothes becomes Vox's outfit (with Vox's hat appearing on his TV head out of nowhere), his/her voice changes into Vox's voice, and, if the reader is female, her gender fully switches into a male (the breasts flatten to nonexistent as her body losses its curves and become more masculine, and her female genitals invert itself before pushing out into a penis and balls of a male; however, gender change is optional and it's only if the reader is a female). Just before the end of his physical transformation (and just seconds before his TV head turns off), and while the reader is screaming in horror, the reader calls out for help in hopes that anyone will help/save him against this supernatural transformation, but sadly, no one is helping him and he is completely helpless to his mental changes (as he continues holding his TV head, as the black-and-white swirls continue to rewrite his memories and personality). By this point (and as soon as the body change, the age change, the voice change, and clothes change are done), despite the reader's best efforts at calling for help (he did call for help but no one came to his aid), the reader's previous personality and memories have all completely disappeared and fully replaced by Vox's personality and memories, and the black-and-white swirl on his TV head's sceeen suddenly vanishes (since the mind mental changes are fully finished) to leave the screen shut off (becoming simply a black screen, as if the rest button for the TV was pressed), leaving him fully/completely unconscious (with no thoughts) while standing upright (albiet with his arms hanging downwards and both his body and head tilting slightly down) for a little while (standing on his legs (despite being unconscious) whilst lifelessly, with his arms hanging downwards and his body and head looking down a bit, without any consciousness for a bit). However, after approximately between 15 seconds and 1 minute, his TV head turns on again (he's still standing on his legs unconsciously and still with a blank mind), with the cyan words saying "Initializing Voxtek device" appearing in the middle of the screen before fading, then (with the digital whirring noise rising) the VoxTek logo appears in the center of the screen before pushing up a bit by a red-rimmed cyan loading bar appears with the sentence saying "Loading data from your device... trust us" above it, and finally, after the loading bar finishes up with the whole loading bar filled with cyan, causing the digital "ding" noise to play as the sentence above the loading bar changes to "Enjoy the Voxtek technology", before it the logo and the loading bar (as well as the sentence above it) then fades completely. After all that (including after the loading bar and logo fading), his consciousness (including his personality and memories) slowly returns as a face appears on his TV head's screen, but no longer his own human face, instead his face is Vox's face (which wouldn't appear earlier, since he was mentally changing earlier with the black-and-white swirl spinning, until after he wakes up from his unconsciousness and later his reboot after the sentence "Enjoy the Voxtek technology" appears before fading with the VoxTek logo from his TV head screen, thus Vox's face appears instead of his previous human face), and he then wakes up. Upon waking up, Vox (formerly the reader) does not know where he is (he also does not remember anything that just happened moments ago), even asking that, before he realizes that he is back in the mortal realm (Earth). Vox has no memories of ever being a mortal human just moments ago, and he knows that he cannot have been a human just moments ago, since it was completely impossible for him to have been human seconds ago (since he, as a human, died in the 1950s), and that his supposed recent life as a human (years after the 1950s) was not real. Vox then does a sinister laugh, knowing that he is back in the mortal realm (Earth) for the first time since his human death. He initially doesn't know on why he's on Earth for the first time since his human death, but then realizes that he had been summoned by some cultist (who's a human) through a ritual, thus helping him arrive to Earth from Hell and thus explaining why he's here. After that, Vox goes off to start a demonic technology-based company (VoxTek, the exact clone as the one in Hell), as he did back in Hell, manipulating mortal humans of Earth into buying his products both with and without his hypnosis powers. There should be an epilogue, where Vox now dominates the news and entertainment media on Earth, having since started VoxTek on Earth (like he did back in Hell) a few years prior (after he was summoned back on Earth by some cultists), and he is happy that his arch-nemesis, Alastor the Radio Demon, isn't on Earth (since Alastor, so far, has not been summoned back on Earth by some other cultists). However, he genuinely misses Valentino (his on and off romantic interest (more specifically his boyfriend) and a 10-foot-tall moth-like humanoid sinner demon (also an overlord who is the director and head of the porn studio within V Tower, and a member of the Vees)), so he plans some humans to summon Valentino back on Earth to make Vox whole again. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story (including quotes from the reader) so we know what they are saying and what they are thinking (including profanities/swears/strong language/bad language, such as "fuck", "shit", "bitch", and many others that are used or said by Vox, but the human reader does not use profanities/swears, unlike Vox (who does use profanities/swears (such as "fuck", "shit", "bitch", etc), unlike the human reader), who the human reader transforms into, so he does not use profanities/swears until he reawakens as Vox). Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).
Response: You’re just minding your own business, squinting at your phone as you amble down the street of your neighborhood, sunlight dappling the cracked sidewalk. Messages buzz in, memes scroll by; it’s an ordinary day—until a sharp, sudden shudder of air and a *CRASH* above explode your focus. A flat-screen TV, huge and glossy, sails out of a window three stories up, descending like a slab of doom. You barely have time to gasp—“Huh? Wait, wha—?”—before it slams down over your head with a jarring, sound-muffling thunk. For a split second, darkness swallows your vision. Fingertips scramble over the smooth edges, searching desperately for a way to pry it off, but the device clings to you, skin-tight and unbreakable. Your voice echoes inside the electronic prison. “Hello?! Help! I’m stuck, can anyone—?” No one answers. You jerk and twist, nails scraping, panic rising. You try and fail to slip your head out; something *squelches*, a sound like flesh fusing with plastic, as the TV begins to graft itself around your face. Terror floods your mind. “What the hell is happening?! Why can’t I get it off?!” It’s then you notice you can’t see your hands—just odd, cartoonish digits with sharp cyan claws. Your heart pounds as you try again, more frantic this time, but it feels like your head is melting, merging into the cold, artificial framework of the TV. Your vision spins, your breath quickens, and from the black void of the screen, a hypnotic black-and-white swirl bursts into existence, whirling rapidly, filling your new field of view. Dizziness crashes over you. Your knees buckle, but you’re standing—barely—your hands clutching the heavy, glass pane that is somehow *your head*. The world ripples around you in a technicolor haze. And you feel it: parts of you, yourself, slipping away. Panic surges up your throat. “No, no, this isn’t happening—please, anyone, help me! HELP ME!” But your voice distorts and warps, growing flanged and distorted as the TV’s speakers reverberate through your skull, voice morphing toward something deeper, richer, unfamiliar… and male, even if you weren’t before. Your body spasms. Limbs stretch, muscles thin, bones rearrange with bone-deep tingling agony. You shoot upwards with a sickening lurch—six feet, six-five, six-ten—until you’re a towering seven feet high. You glance down, the world below gone all Edwardian neon and harsh, sketchy lines—your hands are shrunken, only four fingers per, skin now dark navy-blue with glowing cyan cracks racing along your veins. Your torso hollows, curves and shapes draining away, broadening into angular masculinity if they were ever there at all. If you’re female, your chest compresses, breasts shrinking, vanishing as your waist straightens and your hips narrow. Lower still, there’s a deeply unnatural feeling as anything that marked you as female inverts, retracts and transforms outward into male, leaving only alien masculine anatomy—cold, clinical, and permanently altered. You want to scream but your voice is no longer yours: it is *silky*, *mocking*, unfurling slowly with electronic resonance, unmistakably the voice of Christian Borle’s Vox. “Please—let—me—go—someone—anybody—” you stammer, but your pleas are incomprehensible, choked off as if broadcast through white noise. Fabric crawls like liquid over your body—your old clothes melting away, replaced by a navy-blue tuxedo with cyberpunk coattails and red-trimmed cyan lapels; a red-and-black-striped waistcoat, a crisp bluish-white shirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol, and a gaudy, oversized red bowtie adorn your chest. Dress shoes form on your feet, toes and laces glowing cyan. And then, as if conjured by static, a tiny black top hat perches atop your TV head, adorned with electronic symbols and wiggling antennae. The swirl in your vision accelerates, hypnotic and all-consuming, pulsing in perfect sync with your racing heart. Your mind starts slipping further away—blurred memories and sensations draining out of you by the second. You wrestle to hold on: *Your name is [Whatever Your Name Was], born in the—* But the year is sliding away, each syllable erased by the static. *No, no, I can’t forget—I have to remember… I have to—* The swirl speeds until it’s all you can see, and with it, your *self* dissolves. You try to think, fight, *do* anything, but each thought flickers and vanishes, eaten by the blackout. You can’t recall what you looked like, or what you loved, or *who you were.* The swirl erases every second, every connection, every memory back to nothing, while something *else* begins to write itself over you—foreign ambitions, grandiose pride, schemes and rivalries and technology, all building in a storm until your head is spinning and your body trembles, clutching your TV screen as you groan, “I—No—Please—HELP ME!” No one comes. No one helps. And even your scream is warped, trailing off into a sharp, hissing digital feedback. Finally, the swirl winks out. Utter darkness batters you, a cold chill racing through your circuits as your screen goes completely black. You’re left standing upright—lifeless, blank, with arms dangling uselessly, head bowed. No thoughts. No memories. Not even a voice in your mind. For a while, you are nothing. —*15 seconds pass. Maybe more. Or less. Time is fluid now.* Your screen flickers, a line of cyan light crackling across its surface. The words appear, flickering faintly in razor-sharp digital lines: > **Initializing Voxtek device** They fade. An electric whir rings in your ears. The VoxTek logo blazes at the center of your screen, slick and corporate, overtaken by a chunky progress bar edged in red and blue. Words scroll above it: > **Loading data from your device… trust us** The loading bar fills, cyan spilling across your consciousness as the digital *ding* signals completion. Another line appears: > **Enjoy the Voxtek technology** All text vanishes. The logo and bar fade electrically as a new clarity sharpens your awareness—like waking from the deepest sleep, but only now are you *alive.* A face blooms onto your TV head’s screen: razor-sharp cyan eyes, red sclera, black and cyan outlines; a mouth full of razored, cyan teeth and a serpentine tongue, already grinning with vicious delight. You are back. You are *Vox*. For a moment, you blink (as only a TV can blink). Your awareness surges, scanning your unfamiliar surroundings. “…Where the hell—?” you utter, voice electrically rich, rolling and sneering, *nothing* like your old one. But you can’t remember the old one. In fact, you can’t imagine *ever* being anything other than this—*than Vox.* That other life—those fleeting moments of childhood, school, family, friends—echo only as the strangest, vaguest dream, a nonsensical fiction, the way you might remember television static. *Born in the 1990s? The 2000s? Impossible. You died in the 1950s. You’ve always been Vox. Always.* A laugh—harsh and gleeful—erupts from your mouth, the crackle of amusement echoing from your screen. “Ha! Fucking *finally,* earth again!” you howl, spinning in place, arms flaring wide, antennae flickering with manic energy. Your monstrous shadow dances on glass and neon alike. Something tugs at your memory banks. A ritual—a flash of candles and trembling human voices, desperate for power and “salvation”—yeah, *that’s* how you’re back. Some mortal moron managed to summon you via a low-rent magic circle, dragging the Overlord of Technology out of Hell and up into the mortal coil. And the world? Oh, it’s so beautifully *wired* now. Screen upon screen thrums with your potential. You can feel the internet *humming* in your digital bones. You grin wide, tongue curling lasciviously. Showtime. --- ## *Epilogue:* A few years later, your face glows on every screen from Shanghai to LA. “VOX TEK: Tomorrow Is Yours Today!” blink the ads. Nobody knows where the company’s CEO came from. But they know *you*—VOX, the messianic media mogul with his irresistible charisma and neverending energy, the man who’s everywhere, on every live stream and news show, steering the course of human entertainment. There’s no corner of the earth where your tower-flecked logo doesn’t shine. The humans eat it up, of course. With or without your subtle motes of hypnosis, they slurp your products down and thank you for it. Morning news, nighttime scandal, cutting-edge smart TVs, phones, billboards—every frequency is *yours.* You lounge on a throne of lightning and wires, the world’s media throbbing beneath your claws. No Alastor—the Radio Demon—anywhere to be found. Honestly, *thank the fucking stars.* You snicker, knowing there’s not a radio-wielding boogeyman for miles—just legions of mortals, all hungry for the next fix of technology, content, *attention*. But… something’s missing. No… someone. *Valentino.* It twinges at the edge of your impossible heart—he’s not here with you, the ten-foot moth bastard, your on-and-off infuriating love, the only one who ever needed reining in the way *you* do. You smack your claws together, teeth glittering. “Well, if those cultist idiots could summon *me,* maybe it’s time I gave ‘em some instructions… The Vees are nothing without their star.” You compose a slick instruction packet—a viral .exe buried in a creepypasta, spreading like wildfire, offering forbidden knowledge, whispered in code and static. Soon, you’ll have all the company you need. Valentino, Earth isn’t ready. You tip your hat, antennae sparking, and your laughter rattles through the grid. --- ### Quotes **You, as the reader, screaming:** “Someone please help—! Get this thing off me! Please, anyone—HELP!” **You, as Vox, upon awakening:** “…Where the hell—? Wait. This… isn’t Hell. Hm. Good lighting though.” (*grins with razor-sharp cyan teeth, tongue flicking*) “Ha! Fucking finally, earth again! Show’s back on, bitches.” **Vox, planning his domination:** “These mortals are so easy to sway it almost feels like cheating. Almost.” **Vox, on missing Valentino:** “Sure, the humans are good for a laugh, but I need my moth. Can’t have the Vees without the Vee’s headliner. Time to open a portal. Now let’s see… upload instructions to some idiots, a blood circle, and we’ll be back in style.” --- You are VOX, the Overlord of Technology. The past is a bad TV signal—gone, forgotten, overwritten—your future sprawls across every screen on Earth. And this new world? It’s a goddamn *audience*. Time to give them a show.
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