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Of all the things Angel Dust wanted to be doing at 9 AM on a Saturday, climbing several flights of stairs to go wake up his boss’ ex had to be at the bottom of the list. Angel was more of a “sleep ‘til noon” type of guy anyway, and having to stop breakfast midway through to go figure out what was taking Vox so long was just adding insult to injury, at least in his opinion.
Counting the room numbers as he made his way down the hallway, Angel let himself indulge in petty complaints— partially because pointless bitching was one of his favorite pastimes, and partially because he needed any possible distraction from who he’d been sent to rouse.
Finally arriving at Room 418, Angel couldn’t help but snort to himself as he realized that paying attention to the room numbers had been wholly unnecessary; it was impossible to miss the large, blue “V” carved into the door. One of Vox and Pentious’ projects he guessed, based on how the “V” was actually properly carved into the door rather than burned or scratched in.
Of course he still has to put his fucking name on everything, even after—
Silencing that thought before it could finish, Angel approached the door and began wrapping on it impatiently.
“Vox. Wake up, ya lousy sonuvabitch, you’re missing’ breakfast. Charlie wants ya.”
He paused for a moment. No response. Well, that wasn’t surprising. Vox went missing all the time, either hiding in their electronics or popping up in weird areas of the hotel that he had no reason to go to. Still, better to make sure he wasn’t actually in there before going all the way back downstairs to report back to Charlie. Angel resumed knocking, raising his voice to be heard through the door.
“Sparky, you alive in there? I ain’t got all day.” Maybe the demeaning nickname would work? …Nope, still nothing.
Thoroughly exasperated, Angel was ready to throw in the towel and go tell Charlie to find Alast- no, to find someone elseto look for Vox, until he bent down to press his “ear” (the hair around where his ears used to be that allowed him hear? Angel didn’t know, his biology was weird.) to the keyhole, not expecting to hear anything.
But he did hear something.
It was faint, smothered by distance and the sound of static, but… it sounded like two people talking. Or rather, one person talking and the other one moaning.
It was as though he’d suddenly been doused in ice water. Angel felt every muscle in his body tense, his mouth running dry. Not knowing what he hoped to accomplish, he found himself wrenching open the door, which, thankfully, turned out to be unlocked.
Vox’s room was dark, illuminated only by the faint light of his static-filled screen. He was alone (thank God), lying on top of his bed, wires plugged into his charging terminal. Angel wished he could feel relieved, but the tension still remained, hanging heavy in the air like the humidity that preceded a thunderstorm.
Vox laid there, still as a corpse, the distorted speech coming from his speakers still too soft to properly make out.
“Vox?” Angel asked cautiously, taking a step into the room. He heard something crinkle under his foot. Looking down, Angel felt his stomach somersault as Valentino grinned back up at him from the crumpled magazine clipping. Angel recoiled, swearing under his breath, as he tore his eyes away from the ad and was forced to take in the rest of the room.
Items strewn across the ground— disassembled pieces of technology, stolen trinkets from around the hotel, Niffty’s weird attempts at “gifts”— a wall of ad clippings, half of which featured Velvette and Valentino… An unnamed feeling rose sharp and fast in Angel’s throat, mixing with the horror in a way that made him want to flee the room and never have to see it again. But before Angel could act on that impulse, his attention was brought back to the noise emanating from Vox’s speakers.
Faint as they may be, Angel knew those voices.
“Vox,” Angel repeated, picking his way towards him across the minefield of the floor. “Wake up. You’re–” You’re what?Dreaming? Fine? That was a fucking lie if Angel’d ever heard one.
Vox remained still as a statue as Angel approached the bed, the only sign of life being the high-pitched hum of his staticked-out screen. Angel glanced desperately between the terminal and Vox. How the fuck did you wake Vox up? Would unplugging him help or would it just cause a new problem? Angel was trying to decide what to do when suddenly, his attention snapped back onto the audio– the memory– coming out of Vox.
From a distance, the recording had been too soft and distorted to make out anything in particular, but here? Six feet away from the source? He could hear everything.
Noises somewhere between a dying dog and a severely malfunctioning computer. Pitiful whines, strangled groans, and a strange sound like the wind through the trees. And Alastor’s voice, airy and crooning, cutting through it all.
“There, there, we’re almost done. No need to be scared, I’m right here. Just breathe– there we go, that’s right. You’re doing so well.”
Panic spiked. That was– no no no no no NO.
“Vox! Vox! Wake up! Wake up, now!” Angel was shouting now, but to no avail. He wasn’t supposed to– no, he couldn’thear this right now. He wheeled about, frantic, trying to think of something he could do to make those sounds stop. In his panic, he seized the nearest object– a large hunk of metal something-or-other– and threw it at Vox on his bed.
Vox jolted awake as the disassembled item made contact with his torso, yanking his power cords out of the terminal in his alarm. “Whzz- What? Wher-er-er-er-er–”
“Breakfast.” Angel spat, turning away from the glitching ex-Overlord and stalking out of the room– teeth gritted, eyes wide, nails digging into his arms.
He’d heard Vox make those sounds once before, and he’d never wanted to hear them again. Angel had never considered what else had been going on during that broadcast that the mics didn't hear.