Chapter Text
1959
0 days of knowing you.
“Vincent Fox, you have been tried and sentenced to death by the state of New York.” The prison warden announces as the executioner places tape over Vincent’s eyes, “Do you have any final words?”
“You will fucking regret this.” He says, his words icy and cold, his eyes are covered but that person in the crowd knows who he is talking to. The one that got him caught.
The executioner places tape over Vincent’s mouth, the helmet already fixed to his head, and his body strapped down to the wooden chair. The clock on the wall ticked, ticked, and ticked… Once the hour hand hits twelve, a button is pressed and soon the shock of over 2,000 volts surges through Vincent’s body, instantly knocking him out.
45 seconds later, Vincent Fox’s heart never beat again.
Vincent can feel himself falling, but it took him crashing into the ground to realise he was literally falling in that moment.
Vincent’s eyes slowly flicker open, confusion instantly setting into his mind, ‘Where am I? Didn’t I die? Why is my head so heavy?,’ He places a hand on his head, but instead of an actual head he could feel.. metal?
He places both hands on his head, patting around the heavy box that sat on his neck. When he pats the front of his face, he can feel glass, and on top of his head are antennas.
“There is no fucking way I have a TV for a head, where the fuck even am I?” He stands and looks around at his surroundings, the red sky quick to catch his attention, and-
“Is that a pentagram?!” Vincent shouts.
Vincent’s mind feels like it’s spinning, this must be a sick dream, right? A scarily realistic nightmare? He goes to pinch himself but stops as he notices his hands, instead of fingers he has neon cyan claws that look razor sharp. He places his index claw to his (navy blue?!) skin and nicked the surface, the slight yet sharp pain proves that this is, in fact, not a dream, but he still refuses to admit that yet. His eyes almost bulge out of his face (screen?) when he sees the small cut start to slowly start to heal itself.
His gaze shifts to his body, he’s wearing the prison uniform he had on when he got executed. He feels an odd sensation on his rear, and he can feel something sway, he turns his head to look behind him, he quickly realises he has a tail with a power plug at the end that’s sparking with electricity.
A fucking tail.
How is he supposed to be intimidating in any way when he has a stupid little tail swishing around behind him?
Vincent decides to put the topic of his freakish body aside and take in his surroundings. The smell is absolutely rancid, it feels like an assault on his now nonexistent nose. He can hear a lot of screaming with a mix of gunshots and destruction. He notices weird animal-like people running around, each person he sees being more bizarre than the last, if he was to describe them with one word, he’d use… Demons.
He grips the side of his head, he remembers being on the electric chair before he landed in whatever the fuck this place is. Ah, he must have survived the execution and landed himself in a coma! This is all one coma-induced nightmare! That’s more reasonable than being where he thinks he is…
Ha! No. It couldn’t possibly be- That would be absurd! If he was truly in Hell that would mean all that bullshit he preached to his followers was true, at least to a degree. He didn’t truly have religious beliefs during his lifetime, he just spat out what the people wanted to hear, it all seemed so superstitious, so to actually be in Hell is throwing him off of his axis.
“Why, hello there! You have quite a strange head attached to your body!” A static filled voice spoke in an almost teasing way, cutting through Vincent’s internal turmoil.
Vincent turns to look at the stranger, “Hi there, you have quite a strange obsession with red,” he quickly shoots back, not in the mood to deal with petty teasing. He can feel that wretched tail twitching in anger.
The stranger’s eye twitches with annoyance before his smile widens and he barks out a laugh, a loud laughing track playing from the microphone-cane-thing in his hand.
“Ha! I haven’t met a sinner this bold in a long time! You must be freshly fallen,” Smiles speaks matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, I am. Why do you care?”
“Hm, quite frankly, I don’t! But your odd anatomy is quite fascinating.” The stranger grins.
“Okay weirdo… Do you have a name, or can I just call you Bambi?” Vincent raises an eyebrow.
“I haven’t a clue what a ‘Bambi’ is, but where are my manners? My name is Alastor, or better known as the Radio Demon! Pleasure to be meeting you, my dear, quite a pleasure! Welcome to Hell.” Alastor sticks out a hand, asking for a handshake.
Well shit.
He is in Hell.
Well, he can’t be too surprised considering what he did to condemn himself to eternal damnation.
However, hearing the man’s name made a part of Vincent’s brain itch in an unknown recognition, but he couldn’t quite place it.
He shakes Alastor’s hand, “My name is Vincent, Vincent Fox.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Fox. A little word of advice? Don't share your human name so freely, it is a weakness that can be easily exploited.”
Vincent blinks, “Oh.”
He suddenly jolts as he realises who Alastor is, that voice is unmistakable.
Vincent is quick to try and confirm his suspicions, “Hey, were you a radio host when you were alive?”
Alastor’s eyes seemed to light up at the question, “Indeed I was!”
Vincent’s demeanour quickly changes, “Well I’ll be damned! I was such a huge fan of yours when I was in high school! I listened to your broadcasts all the time, you were-” he cuts himself off, “Oh, I was rambling, sorry.”
“Oh please, don’t apologise my dear! It’s always nice to meet a fan!” Alastor’s smile seems genuine to him, but it’s kind of hard to tell when he’s been smiling the entire interaction.
Vincent’s tail swishes in delight, this is so humiliating.
He lets out a small cough and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “Uh, I’m not sure if you’d remember me, but I met you in person!”
Alastor’s eyebrows raised.
Vincent looks away quickly, “I gave you a really shitty letter, I wrote it really quickly on a page I tore from my school notebook, I panicked because I knew it was you from your voice and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get the chance to see you again..”
Alastor laughs loudly, “Haha! I do remember you! You were quite a flustered and shy little thing, weren’t you! That letter, albeit hardly being able to read it, truly brightened my day!”
Vincent’s face flushes, “That’s embarrassing…”
Alastor waves a hand in dismissal, “Oh don’t fret over it, I thought it was quite endearing.”
Vincent is almost embarrassed at how quickly he smiled from that comment.
Vincent pauses, “Hold on, you just told me that I shouldn’t use my human name, but you do. You were quite famous during your radio career, wouldn’t that be a weakness people could use against you?”
“If your name gets spoken about, any people you may have wronged could recognise you and go after you. I, myself, never revealed my face during my career, due to me being a bi-racial man. From what I’ve heard by a friend during my life, nobody ever found out about my crimes. I’m essentially anonymous, so I decided to use my human name. Besides, I look so different from my human self I doubt any of my victims would recognise me!”
Vincent nods, “That makes sense.. I’m not sure what I’d want to go by, so I’ll just use my first name for now.”
Alastor nods before looking Vincent up and down, “On a different note, that outfit is not doing you any favours.”
“Oh yeah, are there.. clothes shops around here or something?” The embarrassment clear in his voice.
“Of course! I happen to know quite a good store in these parts.”
“Uh, I don’t know how this place works yet, can I just steal some clothes?”
“Of course not! Well, you certainly could, but I find that to be quite disrespectful, you should have some decorum.” Alastor’s voice holding some judgement.
“Don’t be a square, I don’t have any money. I got here 5 minutes ago.” Vincent deadpans.
“Hm,” Alastor seemed to be thinking, “You know what? I’ve decided to be charitable; I’ll buy some for you. After all, you have proven to be quite the entertainment!”
“Oh, I mean, if you’re offering.” He accepts with a shrug.
“Splendid! Let’s get going!” Alastor’s smile widens (it seems almost painful at this point) as he starts walking, Vincent quick to trail, slightly behind.
He feels like he hasn’t earned the right to walk side-by-side with Alastor. After all, his idol seems to ooze a sense of power that instantly makes him feel small and insignificant. A feeling he doesn’t like, a feeling he hasn’t felt since he was a child.
“Well, while we’re walking, would you be able to tell me how this place works?” Vincent asks, his eyes wandering around as they walk, trying to grow accustomed to the new and unfamiliar environment.
“Hm, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
Alastor begins to explain the way Hell works, from soul dealing to the power hierarchy, and then exterminations. The whole explanation is making his head spin, his screen glitching at each new complicated piece of information. There is a lot more to Hell than he thought there would be.
“Hold on- you mean that angels, the pure and holy beings, come down to kill us once a year?!” Vincent exclaims.
This is definitely not what he was taught in Sunday School. He suddenly feels a lot more nervous about his afterlife, considering his lack of power at the moment.
“Indeed, not very holy are they?” Alastor chuckles, “Ah look at that, we’re here!”
The pair enter the store and Vincent is quick to look at the options they have, searching through racks, pulling out some articles of clothing before cringing and placing them back.
“How ever did you manage to die with such a hideous outfit?” Alastor asks as he also searches, “Did you die in prison?”
Vincent chuckled, “Of course not. But why should I tell you? That seems a bit too intimate doesn’t it?” He smirks at Alastor, trying to tease him.
“Hm, I guess you’re right,” Alastor agrees, much to Vincent’s dismay, “Oh! How do you like this?” Alastor asks as he holds up a muted orange turtleneck.
Vincent takes the turtleneck and goes to a full body mirror, holding the garment up to his body. But before he can think about his clothing, his attention is instantly taken by his head. There, on top of his neck, sits a Setchell Carlson style television.
“Oh my gosh, I really do have a television for a head.” He brings one hand to lightly touch the glass that his face now resides.
His eyes are now cartoon looking, with one eye’s sclera being a pink toned red with a cyan iris, while the other eye has the opposite colour scheme, which is most likely a nod towards his heterochromia he had when he was alive. Directly under his eyes are deep eyebags, the work he did on earth was quite tiring, if he did say so himself. On his right eye there was a large scar that just barely misses the top of his screen and drags down, past his eyebrow and eye, onto his digital cheek. On the left side of his mouth, an identical, but much smaller, scar resides. All of these key facial features are all passed down from his human life onto his demonic form, but while it made his human-self look hardworking and manly, it just makes his demon form look… weak, damaged, and anything but intimidating.
He despises it.
“Hmm,” Alastor hums. “I have been wondering how a television manages to have eyebags and scars, Hell works in mysterious ways, does it not?” He comments as he walks to stand next to Vincent at the full body mirror.
“Yeah, they’re all traits I had when I was alive.”
“Hm, well you mustn’t have been very attractive.” Alastor says, quite harshly, a drip of teasing in his voice that Vincent couldn’t hear.
“Excuse you, I was incredibly attractive! I was a dreamboat back in my heyday.” Vincent quickly turns to face Alastor, he is, quite frankly, offended by the comment. He was very attractive, thank you. His attractiveness and sweet talking are what helped to get people eating out of the palm of his hand.
“Hmmm, were you though?” Alastor’s face holds a shit eating grin.
Alastor is clearly trying to get a rise out of him, and it is working. He thinks about his wonderfully handsome face and can feel his face glitching, but it stops as he starts to feel an odd tingling sensation, but he quickly ignores it, “Uh, yes! I was!” Alastor’s eyes widen, shock evident in his expression, but Vincent had no clue why, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Look in the mirror, my dear.”
Vincent turns to the mirror, and there on his screen, is a picture of him when he was alive. The suave televangelist with his black styled hair, one brown eye, one blue and two scars in the same position he has on his digital face. The odd tingling sensation must have been his face switching to the picture. Well, that’s cool, he can change his face to whatever he wants.
He turns back to Alastor, “Well.. Ha! Now you can see how attractive I was when I was alive!” Even though Vincent’s face is no longer present, his voice holds all the smugness he needs.
Alastor inspects his screen, “Hm.” Then he turns around and goes back to looking at the many racks in the store.
Seriously? That’s his reaction? Vincent’s face returns and it shows his irritation at the lack of validation, electricity unknowingly sparking off him. But hey, Alastor didn’t deny the fact he was attractive, and with that, his smugness returns as he continues to search through the clothes racks, the turtleneck now hanging over his arm.
Vincent grabs black slacks, and a sleek pair of oxford shoes before turning to Alastor, “Hey, I think I have my outfit ready; I’ll go try it on.” Alastor nods and tells him the direction of the dressing room.
He steps into a dressing room and locks the door, there are a few hooks on the left wall which he hangs his new clothes on as he undresses. He faces away from the mirror and takes his baggy prison shirt off and wiggles into the new, fitted turtleneck. He turns to look at himself in the mirror, but his opinion on the shirt is quickly disregarded.
“What the fuck?!”
A knock sounds on the dressing room door, “Is there a problem, dear?”
Vincent swings the door open almost violently, “What the fuck is this?!” Vincent gestures at his chest.
The prison shirt was incredibly baggy, but now that he’s put on something more form fitting, the changes to his body proportions have been made blatantly clear. His chest is huge. They’re still pecs, but they’re full and squishy, almost comparable to that of a woman’s chest.
“I look like I have a pair of tits!” He gestures wildly, clearly scandalised by this addition.
Alastor grimaces at the wording, Vincent notices that he has looked away, apparently cleaning his monocle is a very important task. Vincent then wraps his hands around his own waist, the tips of his claws are almost touching.
“A-And this waist?! I’m not- not- some broad?! I look like a cheap whor—”
Vincent’s ranting is cut off by a sharp glare and an ominous green aura.
“I suggest you choose your words a little more wisely. I won’t tolerate your disrespectful bigotry, Mr. Fox.” Alastor’s words are sharp and spoken with intensity.
Vincent freezes before letting out a groan, “Whatever. I’m just saying, this is horrible.”
Alastor rolls his eyes, “Honestly. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Not the—!” Vincent exclaims before pausing. “Wait! I could use these new… assets to my advantage!”
Alastor raises a brow.
“C’mon, Alastor. Big tits, small waist? I’ll have demons drooling and offering their souls in no time!” Vincent grins as he traces the sides of his figure with his hands, emphasising his silhouette.
Alastor’s upper lip curls, “You should not obtain power through such sloppy and haphazard means.”
Vincent shrugs, “Power is power.”
Alastor scoffs.
Vincent speeds over to a clothing rack, grabbing a black coat, before making his way back to Alastor and putting on the coat. Vincent does a small spin for him, wanting his approval, which he gets in the form of a small nod. A bit disappointing but it’ll have to do, Alastor doesn’t seem like the complimenting type.
Vincent gestures to the coat with a smug face, “I can’t reveal my secret weapons to the people so quickly!”
Alastor deadpans, completely dismissing the statement, and walks up to him and takes something from behind his back and places it on top of his head. Vincent turns to a full body mirror and sees that a small black top hat is now sitting on his head, with his antennas sticking out from the top of the hat, Alastor probably modified it. “I love it!” He grinned.
“Wonderful! Allow me to pay and then we can be on our way!”
“Our?”
“Indeed! You have truly grasped my interest, I believe this could be the start of something quite magnificent, my dear!” Alastor smiles at him, his face lighting up at how his childhood hero praises him.
“I think I’d like that a lot.” Vincent smiles sweetly at his idol, his gaze holding so much adoration, a look that was rare to find in Hell, a sweet and innocent idolisation, that of a child.
A type of admiration he would come to regret later.