Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 Pentagram City. Year 333 Post-Annual Extermination

Hell has transformed into a vertical megacity, a labyrinth of neon, steel, and flesh. The districts are stacked like a shattered layer cake.

 * The False Sky: The Overlords’ skyscrapers.

 * The Worm’s Nest: Mid-level streets where common sinners barely survive.

 * The Data Abyss: Clandestine server farms, soul factories, and black-market labs.

The Celestial Threat and Sinner Adaptations

Exorcists no longer appear once a year. Now, Celestial Drones patrol relentlessly. Their weapons still erase souls on contact, but sinners have learned to hack them... or outright steal them. That's Carmilla Carmine's specialty in the Armaments District.

Vox has achieved new breakthroughs in his research.

Key Technology: Angelic Weaponry and Soul Tech

The city's new normal is defined by two key technological advancements:

 * Integrated Angelic Weapons (IAW):

   * If the spear remains lodged in the body, the soul does not completely dissipate.

   * A "quantum echo" lingers: readable, copyable, and transferable.

 * Soul Cyborgs:

   * Bionic shells that house digital consciousness backups.

The Extermination Day is near. The angelic drones have begun to descend and keep watch. Following the genocide of more than 300 years ago, the Angels grew cautious. The drones track and once they find their targets, the Angels appear and begin their bloody purges. There is nowhere left to hide (unless you are an Overlord; the Overlords have a certain advantage, their condos, in the False Sky, are "untouchable").

The black mirror walls throbbed with streaks of violet neon that coursed across the ceiling like arteries. The ceiling was a web of 8K cameras disguised as crystal spiders; each lens blinked red upon detecting movement.

The smell of burnt ozone, sex, and Valentino's perfume (with notes of leather and gunpowder) saturated the air with a suffocating atmosphere. The bed was an altar to sin: black silk sheets torn by heels, pillows stained with pink oil and black tears. Gold chains hung from the headboard.

Angel receives a call. Seeing the contact's name, he frowns. It's unusual to get contact from him, yet he answers. His face pales—if that's even possible.

The spider listens intently. On the other end of the line, shouts are heard. Seconds later, Angel drops his phone, almost collapsing. He doesn't know what to do. Nevertheless, he picks up his phone, stuffs it into the fluff on his chest, and runs out. Yes, just like that, in a bathrobe, disheveled, and with his heart pounding in his throat.

...

📺 VOXTEK OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT – “ETERNAL EXODUS”

(Live Broadcast – Channel 666, 8:00 p.m., Pentagram City 2.0)

A futuristic electronic beat plays as background music, accompanied by bright synthesizers and a digital siren voice.

The screen turns black, followed by an EXPLOSION OF GREEN AND BLUE NEON and the VOXTEK LOGO appears, spinning in 3D, LED eyes blinking.

Vox’s voice, perfectly modulated, charismatic, and impossible to ignore:

> “CITIZENS OF HELL!

> Tired of dying?

> Sick of the pain, the chains, the Exterminations?

> Voxtek has the solution!”

> 

The camera quickly focuses on demons in ruins. It is obvious that the heartless and cynical Overlord of marketing went out to film this right after the Extermination.

Wounded demons, bleeding, some still screaming. Agonizing.

The camera focuses on a second demon, with empty eyes. He is already dead, or nearly dead, his soul still trapped in its shell. An angelic spear is still lodged in his chest. How is that possible? What kind of Exorcist would commit such carelessness?

The next scene shows Vox, walking over the ruins and "human" debris. The blue demon puts on a glove and, holding the spear with disdain, yanks it from the demon’s chest. Instantly, the corpse turns into charred dust, and the fetid air dissolves and carries it away.

Vox shakes his square head, as if genuinely lamenting, before shrugging and smiling smugly.

> “The ETERNAL EXODUS is your rebirth,” he says enthusiastically. “We transfer your soul to a bionic body: Immortal.

> Indestructible.

> Perfect.

> No limits! No fear! No death!”

> 

Next is a scene of a bionic body activating. A capsule opens, and a bionic demon emerges: synthetic skin, LED eyes, a perfect smile.

It jumps 10 meters.

It fires lasers.

It dances.

VOX appears on screen again, with his massive smile:

> “Trust your soul and your money to Voxtek! 99.999% secure.

> Eternal Guarantee.

> Only 6.66 million souls (or equivalent in crypt-demonic currency). Pay today, live forever!”

> 

[ON-SCREEN TEXT – BRIGHT RED] “ETERNAL EXODUS™ – Your soul, our future. Call 1-800-VOX-ETERNAL Or visit voxtek.exodo.inferno”

VOX (winks): “Because in Hell...

death is for losers.

Voxtek – Your Digital God.”

[EXPLOSION OF DIGITAL CONFETTI – SCREEN FADES]

POST-ANNOUNCEMENT SCENE – “Hell Breathes Exodus”

(The screen turns off).

The streets are plastered with advertising. Holographic billboards every 10 meters: "ETERNAL EXODUS – REBORN TODAY!”

Drones projecting the ad onto the red sky.

Building screens on a loop.

Valentino's luxurious pink limousine circles the streets of the lower rings.

—Why did you call it "Exodus"? —Velvette asks. —Who the hell is going to want to eternally wander?

—Simple marketing, darling —Vox replies, without looking up from his phone. —Use big, fancy words, and they'll fall like flies. I bet they have no idea what it means —the TV laughs. —Hey, Val. What is an EXODUS? —Vox asks Valentino, who is looking out the limousine window, keeping Angel Dust seated on his lap.

—I dunno, some new vibrator? —Valentino replies dismissively. He has never paid much attention to Vox's projects: too much text and too little sex. Nothing artistic.

Vox and Velvette burst out laughing.

—Val, an exodus is... —the spider tries to orient his lover, but, as always, his intellect is doubted and belittled.

—Shut up, Angie. Papi is talking. —Angel frowns in irritation, immediately grabs his phone too, and starts texting Cherri Bomb.

Valentino and Vox were sharing an intimate, almost romantic moment. Both demons were kissing in the safety of the V Tower, in the privacy of Vox's office. Both Overlords were sharing playful caresses when they were interrupted by an incoming call on the moth's phone.

—Don't answer —Vox whispers. Valentino smiles and agrees. But the phone won't stop ringing. —Don't answer —Vox demands. However, Valentino, fed up, picks up the phone.

—It's Angel —the moth growled, irritated.

—What does that whore want? Money for more drugs? —Vox sneers.

—God damn it, Angel! —Valentino shouts furiously and leaves the office, leaving Vox alone.

...

—DO YOU REALIZE WHAT FUCKING DAY IT IS TODAY! —Valentino yells as he steps out of his limousine. In the sky, the drones are still on watch. The Overlord of depravity immediately grabs his lover violently and drags him back to the limo. All around them are screams of agony and despair.

—No, Val, please —Angel begs, black tears on his face. He is desperate. —You have to help me, please! —The spider struggled, trying to pull Valentino toward a corpse behind them. At that moment, Vox also steps out of the vehicle, shoves Angel, and approaches the bodies.

—Vox, please, you have to help him! —Angel clings to the legs of his lover's "partner." Vox frowns. Now his elegant suit is dirty, covered in mud, dirt, and blood.

—How did you kill him? —Vox grabs Angel Dust by the lapels of his robe and yanks him to his feet, shaking him mercilessly. Angel continues to cry. Vox looks over at Valentino.

—Did you steal Daddy's ammo? —Valentino grabs Angel's arms tightly, a painful grip. The three demons look with disgust at the dead Exorcist Angel, and next to him lies the body of Arackniss, Angel’s brother. The black spider has an angelic spear lodged in his chest.

—Please, Val —Angel pleads. —Save him, please —he whispers. —Use the "Exodus" program —he cries.

—Who's going to pay for it? —Vox sneers.

—I’ll work more, I'll do overtime, I'll go back to the streets, I'll service your elite clients, please —Angel Dust screams desperately. Vox smiles and looks at the body of the agonizing spider. At that moment, Valentino drags Angel back into the limousine.

—If you dare let him get out, I'll rip off your legs and eyes —Valentino warns Travis. Following the threat, the moth locks Angel in the vehicle and returns to Vox, who was inspecting the bodies of Arackniss and the Exorcist Angel. He was taking notes.

—I'll tell Ethan to schedule a collection team right away —Vox says as soon as he sees Valentino approach.

—Cancel that stupidity —Valentino says, as he rips the spear out of Angel's brother's chest. The body instantly carbonizes.

—What the hell is wrong with you, Valentino! —Vox shouts, furious. —This was my chance to put the Exodus project into practice.

—I don't want that shit near Angel. It just fills his head with garbage and turns him against me. Get yourself another Frankenstein's monster. —The three-meter demon returns to his limousine, and Vox, who is also in a foul mood now, follows him.

...

—What's going on? Where's Niss? —Angel asks, as the Overlords board the limo.

—Oh, Angel, don't you see that the Exodus thing is just an idea? There's nothing concrete yet. There's nothing to be done —Vox replies coldly.

—Val? —Angel looks at the moth demon with horror.

—Stop crying, Angie, you look awful —was Valentino's cruel response.

Angel lunged at Vox, pulled out one of his weapons (the weapon with which he had killed the Exorcist Angel who had killed his brother), and pointed it at his head. However, Vox electrocuted him, knocking him out immediately and rendering him unconscious.

...

Once they arrived at the V Tower, Valentino locked Angel Dust in the studio. He then returned to Vox. —Where were we, Daddy? —Both demons smiled lustfully.

When Valentino returned to his penthouse, it was obvious that Angel Dust would wake up and wouldn't just wait around with his arms crossed.

—Ungrateful whore! —was heard throughout the building, followed by some gunshots, and shortly after, the electricity across the city failed.

Angel Dust opened his eyes, unblinking. His pupils dilated in concentric circles before stabilizing.

He tried to move. His four arms felt heavy, as if filled with liquid lead. A buzzing at the back of his neck, like bees trapped in his skull. A pain that wasn't pain... just static. Annoying.

"Shit... what the hell did I inject myself with last night...?" His voice was hoarse, confused.

He slowly sat up. The floor was black marble with golden circuits that lit up under his footsteps, tracing bright heel prints that faded away. On the wall: a gigantic portrait of himself, posing nude, all four arms extended, with the legend "ETERNAL STAR" in neon pink. Hidden cameras followed him with a gentle hum.

He looked at his hands. A transparent patch on his forearm showed circuits that pulsed like veins.

—This is not... a hangover... —he whispered, scared.

Valentino burst in without knocking. He wore an open red velvet robe, shirtless and completely naked underneath. His butterfly wings vibrated with anxiety, leaving a trail of pink, aphrodisiac smoke in the air. His heart-shaped glasses reflected Angel's face. When he spoke, his voice was high, fast, nervous, almost hysterical.

—AMORCITO! YOU WOKE UP! CARIÑO! MY FAVORITE STAR! —He ran and hugged him tightly. Too tightly. Valentino's arms were trembling.

—Val... what...? —Angel asked, stunned, his voice muffled.

Valentino examined him as if he were defective merchandise on an assembly line. He touched his face with trembling fingers, ran his nails down his neck looking for marks, and lifted all four arms one by one as if counting his limbs. He smelled his hair, inhaled deeply, and kissed his forehead, eyelids, and lips.

Everything was so confusing, suffocating. Valentino talked incessantly, his voice broken like glass.

—Look at the scare you gave me, Angel Cakes! Three weeks gone! I thought they sold you for parts in the Worm's Nest! Vox had to track you with 47 drones! 47! I almost had a heart attack! I CRIED! DAMN IT, I CRIED!

The spider tried to process the flood of information; his head was throbbing.

—Wait... three... three weeks? I just remember...

...

... FLASH –

Corrupted Memory (0.3 seconds)

Static. A celestial hum. A spear piercing his chest. Pain. Cold. Darkness.

...

—SHIT! IT HURTS! STOP! —Angel grabbed his head, screaming.

Valentino sat him on the bed, his grip iron-tight. He stroked Angel's cheek, but his eyes were wild with panic. Valentino’s voice softened but cut like a blade—he called him “dummy” and launched into a new rant Angel had no patience for.

"If you weren’t such a brat, this wouldn’t have happened. You ran. You got lost. Or kidnapped. Who knows—but Vox found you." He forced a tired smile.

"What?"

"In the Data Abyss, level -7. You were… fucked up, baby. Bleeding out. With an angelic spea—"

"Spear…?" Angel’s eyes widened.

Val immediately shut up and laughed nervously. "No! No, it wasn’t! It was a stolen weapon! They drugged you! Tortured you! But Vox saved you! Cleaned you up! Helped us!"

The Lie That Tastes Like Honey...

Valentino sat beside him, lighting a cigarette with languid hands.

"All because of your addiction, Angelito. Pink heroin, angel dust, neon pills… You crawled into a waste container and they doped you to near death."

"Drugs won’t kill me, Val. Nothing will—except those stupid angelic drones," Angel said like it was obvious.

Valentino went quiet.

"But Vox saved you. And he’s gonna help with your addiction—which complicates work," Valentino grimaced, shrugging. "Withdrawal days will be rough. But don’t worry—Daddy’s got it all under control. So you never get lost again. And no one separates us."

"Val… you’re acting weird. Why talk like… like you actually cried?"

Valentino tensed. Then he laughed—a broken sound. "Because we lost a lot of money. Now shower. We’re having breakfast with Vel and Voxxy."

Angel looked confused but obeyed. When the shower ran, Valentino sighed and muttered:

"Because I missed you, idiot."

Main Dining Hall, V Tower – 08:30 a.m.

The table was black glass with holographic contracts floating like ghosts. Vox sat at the head, his screen-face projecting real-time audience graphs. Velvette was beside him, taking selfies with a drone that followed her like a puppy. Valentino was smoking, having not touched his food. He kept Angel Dust on his lap.

"Amorcito, you haven’t tried breakfast," Valentino scolded. "Eat it—you’ll like it."

"Not hungry," Angel replied with a programmed smile.

"Eat," Valentino ordered, his voice no longer sweet. "You need energy."

Angel sighed, obeyed, took a bite, and chewed slowly. He tried to taste, but it was nothing. Like chewing paper.

"Like it, Angel cakes?" Valentino asked.

Chews. Tastes nothing. Smells nothing. Feels nothing. Angel stayed silent but saw Val’s face and answered…

"Tastes like nothing…"

"Kitty!" Valentino yelled.

"I guess I’m the problem. I feel… off," Angel explained, rubbing his neck. "Coffee tastes like burnt battery."

—Take this, it will help you —Vox said, handing him some pink pills from a jar labeled “VoxHealth.” He turned to Valentino. —Make sure he takes them, Val. Also, bring him to my office at noon. Detox starts now.

Vox's Office

—Angel, welcome back —Vox said, trying to sound kind, but his voice remained cold and mechanical. —Your metrics are… optimal. Latency: 0.3 ms. Emotions: stabilized. Addiction: 94% suppressed.

Vox continued to attach sensors and suction cups to the white spider’s body while analyzing the statistics on his screens. Angel was sitting, his four arms crossed, his voice monotonous:

"Metrics? Am I a fucking drone now? One of your robots?"

"When the detoxification reaches 100%, you will pass out. When you wake up, your entire body will ache: withdrawal syndrome will begin. I will send Kitty to clean your room and remove any remnants."

—We are not going to risk you overdosing, falling into a coma, and disappearing again, Angel. Trust me. —Vox smiled, showing his sharp teeth.

Angel looked at him with suspicion. "Your batteries are at 68%. I'll remind Val to charge you when you get out of detox."

—My batteries?! What the hell did you do to me?! —Angel jumped up, tearing off the cables.

"Your GPS batteries, you idiot. Didn't Val tell you we installed a tracker? Listen: the next Extermination is in 11 days. The Celestial Drones improved their tracking algorithms. It took us three weeks to find you the last time you got high and went looking for cock like the whore you are."

—The Extermination just happened... —the spider replied. Vox grabbed Angel’s cheeks, digging in his blue claws. Angel felt nothing. No pain. No pressure. Nothing. —Oh, Angel, you're still so confused, but don't worry, I'm going to help you, just trust me.

...

Aftermath

Angel got up to go to the bathroom. He walked slowly, on legs that weren't his own. He looked at himself in the mirror and examined his eyes: they were blinking too much. Something wasn't right.

Valentino said that withdrawal would feel like a thousand stabs at once: nausea, pain, chills, disorientation. But he would be there to take care of him. Angel felt nothing. And Valentino wasn't there.

Everything was monotonous. Voices sounded distant, like a broken radio. There were no flavors. Just noise in his head. A constant buzzing.

His phone vibrated: a message from Velvette.

VELVETTE🔮

> We need viral content to distract the populace during this Extermination. Angel, your return is the #1 trend.

> (uploading video)

> VELVETTE 🔮:

> You already have 3.2 million likes on your sleeping photo. #AngelIsBack #ValCried #Drugs

> 

A memory, a flash. It hits his mind. Valentino furious, yelling at him, grabbing him by the neck, squeezing hard. Angel begs him to stop. Val hits him. He doesn't feel anything, but it's supposed to hurt, to hurt a lot.

> 

—This shit again? —Angel muttered, punching the mirror and shattering it. His hand did not bleed.

Everything went black.

"A code briefly appeared on Vox's screen".

(ERROR 404: EMOTION NOT FOUND.)

(INTERNAL SYSTEM):

> "Warning: Access denied to folder 'TRAUMA_VAL'. Unlock attempts: 7. Risk of emotional overload. Initiating suppression protocol."

> 

Chapter Text

—Look! There’s already a queue at the Voxtek Tower… —Says a sinner, looking at his phone.

—I want my new body! Goodbye to the pain! —His friend replies.

...

In an alleyway, Angel and Cherri are sharing a joint. The ground is littered with puddles of oil, beer, ashes, and they are sitting on ammunition boxes. The air is thick with the smell of dynamite smoke, burnt pink heroin, and sweat. A persistent buzz lingers in the environment—it’s from hacked servers, accompanied by distant laughter.

—Fuck, Angie… Do you feel that? —Cherri asks, discomfort heavy in her voice.

—Feel what?

—That buzzing at the back of my neck —Cherri points to her neck.

—It’s the chip —Angel replies. —Vox put it in everyone. I can’t even remember when all this started.

—He’s watching us. Recording us. Even without signing a contract with that damned idiot, he’s selling us out.

Angel touches the back of his neck. —Yeah… Sometimes I hear his voice. Like he’s whispering inside my head.

—“Eternal life”… —The pink-haired cyclops spits out.

—Eternal chains! —Angel Dust mocks, his eyes filled with fury. —They’re going to sell us like products…

—Hell is already sold —Cherri takes one last drag from her cigarette and leaves the alley. Angel follows her.

Upon leaving their hiding spot, a massive digital billboard displays a commercial that ignites the FURY in both friends.

The enormous interactive ads saturate every corner of Pentagram City. And soon, all of Hell—Vox plans to extend the "Eternal Exodus" project to the rest of the realm. The Hellborns die too, in fact, much easier and more often than the sinners.

[VOXTEK – “ETERNAL EXODUS”]

Vox's charismatic voice recites:

> “REBORN TODAY!

> Your soul in a bionic body.

> Immortal.

> Perfect.

> Only 6.66 million!”

> 

—TURN THAT SHIT OFF! —Cherri screams and throws one of her bombs, causing a massive explosion. —SON OF A BITCH!

—I’m sick of it, sick of being connected, of being watched. I want my freedom! —Angel screams.

—Me too…

—But Val… —All of Angel’s courage vanishes, not out of fear, but out of remorse. He feels that abandoning Valentino would cause the moth immense suffering. Despite all the bad Valentino does to him, his heart clings to a decaying love.

Cherri grabs his hand. —Forget Val.

It has always been difficult for them to meet up. Valentino is too overprotective, or perhaps he fears their dirty secrets being discovered, although this is Hell; nobody is clean.

—Sorry I’m late —Melissa enters the break room, places a box of cookies on the coffee table, and collapses onto one of the large sofas. Ethan hands her a mug of hot coffee.

—Wait —Travis interrupts while uncorking a bottle and pouring some of its contents into the mug.

—Hey, I don't want any of your boss's drugs —Melissa immediately rejects the idea, thinking it's Velvette's love potion.

—What?! —Travis’s eyes widen. —It’s just alcohol. You’ll need it. Valentino is unbearable, which means your boss will be insufferable too.

—And things are only going to get worse —Melissa whimpers.

—They’re a pain in the ass, aren't they? —Travis murmurs, accompanied by a sad, hopeless chuckle.

—What about Mr. Vox? —Melissa asks Ethan, the eel demon. He sighs with deep discouragement.

—You know, I thought when your boss brought Angel back, everything would go back to normal —Travis says. —That Valentino would be happy and calm again, but he isn't. Everything seems to be getting worse.

—I feel bad for Mr. Angel —the TV demon's assistant replies.

—Things didn't turn out the way Vox planned, did they? —Travis complains. Ethan shakes his head silently.

The three friends and companions in shared martyrdom vent their frustrations, confident in a privacy that does not exist inside the V Tower. Vox watches them; the digital demon keeps surveillance on every corner of his building and every street in Hell. When they signed their contracts with their respective bosses, they never imagined what they were getting into. If anyone had warned them about the mistreatment they would endure, they would have laughed. Working for the Vee’s was the best offer to escape the Worm’s Nest and have a better, "safer" life.

Poor fools.

And the worst part is that there was no comfort; the three Overlords were damn alike; none was better than the other. Vox, Velvette, and Valentino were cut from the same cloth.

As the saying goes, "God creates them, and the devil brings them together."

Though perhaps, there was one worse than the other two, and that was Vox. The TV demon was the devil who managed to bring together the worst of Hell and call it "his family."

The sinners continue their brief rest before returning to their respective activities.

The show "I Fucked Your Sister, So What?!" just ended, and a commercial break took place as the new program began.

V-Net Advertising Broadcast.

It’s the new advertisement starring Angel Dust. The commercial is being broadcast on TVs across all seven rings of Hell, in every living room, and simultaneously as holograms on the streets.

A flash of green neon light turns on, and the rotating VOXTEK logo appears.

VOXTEK: “Happiness is Digital”

The scene opens with Angel Dust floating weightlessly in a simulated virtual space, dressed in a tight white jumpsuit with bright blue Voxtek detailing. His four arms are extended in an impossibly relaxed yoga pose, and his smile is so wide it borders on the unsettling: he looks radiant, overly happy, almost euphoric.

ANGEL DUST (Perfect, modulated voice, with a cheerful digital echo):

> “Hell-dwellers! Tired of that horrible sensation of feeling things? Me too! But thanks to Voxtek’s Micro-implants, life feels... clean.”

> 

Angel lowers his arms, and the camera does a dramatic zoom onto his wrist, where a transparent patch pulses with a blue light.

ANGEL DUST:

> “Voxtek doesn't just give you a dream bionic body with the Eternal Exodus™. It gives you CONTROL! No unstable emotions, no cravings, no... unpleasant memories.”

> 

3D graphics showing perfectly flat brainwaves are superimposed on the screen.

VOICE OVER (Vox, charismatic and assured):

> “Voxtek: Soul Optimization. Erase the ugly, keep the star. If Angel Dust trusts our trauma suppression software... why don’t you?”

> 

Angel winks, raising a pink pill with the Voxtek logo in his hand. His happy smile is undeniably fake and perfect.

ANGEL DUST:

> “My only addiction now is efficiency! Thanks, Daddy Vox!”

> 

(Final screen: Voxtek logo with the slogan: Your Soul. Our Server.)

...

A second commercial immediately follows:

VELVETTE: "Love Bomb: The Guaranteed Link"

The tone drastically changes. The neon is now pink and violet, the shots are fast, glamorous selfie-style, with distorted pop music in the background. The VELVETTE Cosmetics logo (a broken heart with a lens filter) flashes.

Angel Dust appears in a close-up, wearing a beauty filter that highlights his eyes. He sports an extravagant, shimmering look, and his happiness is aggressive and overflowing. He is giving beauty and relationship advice directly to the camera.

ANGEL DUST (Fast voice, using social media slang):

> “Okay, bitches, listen up! Is your crush not giving you the attention you deserve? Is your daddy distracted with his boring projects? You need a boost!”

> 

Angel holds up a small glass vial with a pink, bubbly potion that glows with LED lights.

ANGEL DUST:

> “Velvette’s Love Bomb isn't that garbage they sell in the Worm’s Nest! This is fashion science, baby. It’s SAFE AND HIGHLY EFFICIENT! I tried it in... in a complicated situation, and it worked like a charm!”

> 

A 0.5-second clip shows an unrecognizable demon falling to his knees.

ANGEL DUST:

> “Safe because it only enhances existing attraction, it doesn't force it! And efficient because the target won't know what hit them! You’ll have that deep, obsessive connection you want in 6.66 seconds, guaranteed by Queen Velvette!”

> 

Angel blows an air kiss to himself in the mirror, his smile that of someone who just closed a dangerous deal.

ANGEL DUST:

> “Don’t waste time. Love Bomb! #GuaranteedLink! #ImTrulyHappy!”

> 

#LoveBombByVelvette! #AngelDust #QueenVelvette! #TheVees #TrustUs

(Angel jumps up and hugs a cardboard cutout of Velvette. Final screen: Velvette's logo, with a link reading: #BuyLoveNow.)

...

—Despite living at the top... It’s no different from us —Melissa laments, turning off the TV. The three demons return to their activities.

Angel looks up at the ceiling mirror; Valentino is over him, and the spider's legs are wrapped around the moth's neck. Angel wishes he could disconnect his mind, start rambling about pleasant memories, but it’s impossible. There are no memories. No matter how hard he tries, he feels incomplete, and that is more frustrating than focusing on Valentino. The spider remains fully aware of what is happening. The moth is using him, penetrating him violently; entering and exiting, touching him. They have used toys, he’s been flipped over, put on all fours, and made to ride him. Angel has given him blowjobs until his jaw felt like it would dislocate. They’ve changed countless positions. Valentino never tires, never runs out of steam. The purple demon groans and roars; he wants more, only thinking of his own pleasure. It’s fine this way. After all, he feels nothing. He moans because he knows he should moan; he knows what to say and how to move because he learned to. That’s what his body was made for.

He knows that what his lover is doing to him, however vile it seems, must be good, he must like it, but...

No...

He feels...

Nothing...

Not out of disgust, not out of contempt; it’s simply as if that body isn't his. Maybe it’s due to the "vitamins" Vox makes him ingest. He doesn't want to take them, but he has no choice.

—Mine —Valentino murmurs, gently taking Angel’s face, kissing him with lecherous desire, spilling excessive pink saliva. —You’re a hungry little slut, aren’t you?

—Yes, Valentino —Angel responds in a moan.

...

Angel Dust, lying on the bed in Valentino's room, flips through the channels, one after another. Nothing catches his attention. He is fed up and bored. Ever since "Vox saved him," he has remained locked in the tower. Valentino hasn't even made him film movies, let alone go out to work the streets or the moth pimp's club.

Angel was beginning to doze off when his phone started ringing. It was Cherri Bomb.

Sugar tits 🍒💣:

> 🍒 "Hey bitch, what are you doing? Let’s go out, I miss you."

> 

🕷️ "I miss you too, sweetness. Val has me locked up. He doesn't want me to go out. He says it's for my safety. He’s gone crazy after what happened in the Worm’s Nest."

🍒 "Idiot, come on, it’ll be something calm. I’ll watch over you, we’re big girls ;) "

🕷️ "Why don't you come over?"

🍒 "I’ll blow up that damn dragon tower and rescue you, 'Little Princess'."

🕷️ "Ha, ha, ha. You want to get permanently banned from the tower, right? I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything. I'll talk to Val."

🍒 "I love you"

🕷️ "Love you too"

...

That night, when Valentino finally returned to the studio, Angel Dust tried to talk to him. Unfortunately, it would have been better if he hadn't.

—Val! —Angel ran enthusiastically to greet his lover.

—Amorcito~ —Valentino greeted him with the same enthusiasm, hugged him, and kissed him.

—I missed you so much.

—Are we getting frisky, little hot slut? —the moth mocks, as he begins to intensify the kisses and caresses, starting to remove his clothes.

—Daddy, I wanted to ask you a favor.

—Anything you want, my Angelito.

—I’m so bored, I want to go out.

—Go out? Darling, I spent all day out. I don't want to go out, I want to rest and have a good time with you.

—Well, actually… —Angel lowers his gaze and cracks his knuckles. —...I was thinking about going out with Cherri. It's been a long time since...

—No! —Valentino snaps sharply.

—But...

—I already told you No, you are not going out with that whore.

—I’m tired of being locked up, I want to go out!

—Baby, you don’t need to go out, you have everything here —Valentino tries to control his rage and moves affectionately toward Angel Dust.

—No! —Angel steps back. He is furious, frustrated.

—Angel... —Valentino warns, his voice low and dangerous.

—You know what? I don't care. They can't keep me here, locked up. This is kidnapping!

—You can't be kidnapped in your own house —Valentino sneers.

—I’m leaving! —Angel shoved Valentino and crossed the studio door, or at least that’s what he planned. However, Valentino grabbed him by the hair, with intense rage, and dragged him back into the room.

—Let go of me! —Angel screamed and struggled, fruitlessly, trying to break free from the Overlord's iron or painful grip. —I want to see my family! My brother, I haven’t heard from him in a long time. Let me go, Valentino!

—Your brother? —Valentino laughs. —You're not going anywhere, because you are a stupid whore for not knowing how to behave —Valentino threw Angel's limp body against a mirror, smashing it and causing shards of glass to embed themselves in the spider's back. Valentino grabbed Angel by the neck and lifted him into the air. Angel kept kicking and struggling to break free; he managed to land a kick to the moth's face, causing Val’s heart-shaped glasses to fly off. —Bitch! —The three-meter demon let go of Angel. The spider took the chance to try and run, however, Valentino caught up quickly. Now his glasses were broken, and his pupil-less eyes glowed an intense red.

With the butt of his pistol, "Money Shot," Valentino slammed it against Angel's head until he stopped moving.

—Oh, Papito, you know I hates hurting you —Valentino hugs Angel Dust's inert body. —But you force me every time you disobey me. Pequeño Cabrón. You hurt me, and I need you to feel my pain so you understand me —Valentino strokes Angel’s bruised face. He seems to be in shock, oblivious to the gravity of what he has just done. —I am your only family.

...

That night, Cherri waited and waited, but Angel never showed up, nor did he contact her or answer her calls or messages. Angel was disconnected, or rather, he had been disconnected.

—Damn it, Val, how many times have I told you not to hit him in the head? —Vox scratches his control panel, sparks flying from his claws. —Do you know how expensive it is to repair your tantrums?

A capsule opened with a hiss of cold vapor. Inside, a body floated in viscous silver fluid.

Flesh woven with nanothreads; heart replaced by a VoxTek reactor core.

Eternal life, the promise of a better life.

An eternal exodus.

...

—Who... am I...? —Angel asks himself while applying makeup in front of the mirror. Valentino enters behind him and hugs him around the waist tightly, kissing his neck. His voice is low.

—You are mine, baby. And today... we film your return —Valentino smiles, happy, satisfied, calm. Angel smiles too, but it's an empty smile. Cold.

Chapter Text

The lance wound?

Patched up with a lie.

What did his existence boil down to? Soul data compressed into a 4 TB fragment labeled ANDST_BACKUP_047.

"Overdose," they said. But the phantom pain persisted: an emptiness where his "past" should have been, and his present felt unstable.

There was no blood from the blow against the mirror; synthetic skin doesn't bleed.

But something leaked: oily tears.

> “EMOTION NOT FOUND” → EMOTIONAL OVERFLOW

> Folder ‘TRAUMA_VAL’ violated.

> Content: 2847 encrypted files, each one a painful memory.

> 

Every time Vox rewrote his code to “protect him,” or rather, to “MANIPULATE HIM.”

Every time Velvette turned his nervous breakdowns into trends. And the worst part:

The Contract.

It wasn't paper.

It was a living Code, etched onto a fragment of his soul.

—Clause 666: “The subject shall never experience unauthorized emotions.” Violation = system shutdown. —Vox mutters to himself.

If Angel could speak, he would surely laugh, a wet, choked, overly loud laugh

—Why can't you just behave as instructed? —Vox grumbled through gritted teeth as he began the system reinstallation.

> “Protocol EMOTION_HAPPINESS: Activated.

> Authenticity Level: 61%.

> Warning: Facial Desynchronization Detected.”

> “Sleep Cycle: Failed.

> Processors at 97%.

> RAM: Saturated.

> Folder ‘TRAUMA_VAL’ – Access Denied.

> Attempts: 27.

> Risk of Imminent Collapse.”

> 

—If you keep rebelling, you will end up DEFINITELY eliminated, and while I would enjoy that, infinitely. Val will regret it. And you don’t want to hurt Val, do you, "Tony"? —The technology demon caresses the exterior of the capsule where a body waits to be activated. His blue claws scratch the glass, causing a somewhat annoying shriek.

...

—You cling to your memories —Vox sneers. A wicked but suppressed giggle echoes in the enormous "laboratory."

Vox’s office/laboratory, a neon sanctuary of interconnected screens, crackles with contained energy. In the center, the capsule of silver liquid is now open, revealing Angel Dust’s inert form. His skin, an immaculate white, shines with a subtle blue luminescence under the diagnostic lights. Nanothreads, invisible to the naked eye, pulse like an underlying neural network.

Vox stands before his master control panel, a tactile glass mural spanning an entire wall. His blue claws dance precisely over the surface, unleashing a cascade of data that floods the screens.

> VOXTEK_SYSTEM_BOOT_LOG // 09:33:04

> INIT: CYBER_ANDST_UNIT_001_A_V2.6

> STATUS: COLD_BOOT // PRIMARY_SYSTEMS: OFFLINE

> 

On the main screen, a 3D model of Angel’s new body slowly rotates. Lines of white code snake across the virtual skin, while the indicators around it begin to flicker amber.

VOX (His usually modulated voice carries a calculated nuance of anticipation):

> “Alright, Angel Dust. Time for your grand debut. Again.”

> 

His fingers move faster, commands executing in light bursts. The silver fluid begins to drain from the capsule with a hum, fully revealing the body. It is Angel, but with an unsettling perfection: sculpted muscles, flawless skin, the total absence of the marks of a past life.

> SUB_SYSTEM_INIT: VOICEMOD_ADAPTIVE // PASSED

> SUB_SYSTEM_INIT: VISUAL_CORTEX_RECAL // PASSED

> SUB_SYSTEM_INIT: LIMB_ACTUATION_TEST // PASSED

> 

A holographic graph materializes in the air, showing peaks and valleys of simulated neural activity, ascending toward stability.

VOX (More to himself):

> “Version 2.6 is much more… stable. Less drama.”

> 

On a secondary screen, a line of text flashes red, a brief anomaly.

> ERROR_REPORT: MEMORY_FRAGMENT_DETECTED (LOCATION: TRAUMA_VAL_CLUSTER) // SUPPRESSION_PROTOCOL_OVERRIDE_ACTIVE

> 

Vox barely registers it. With a swift movement, a new command is issued.

> COMMAND: TRAUMA_SUPPRESSION_PROTOCOL_INITIATED // MAX_STRENGTH

> STATUS: EMOTIONAL_BASELINE_RESET // TARGET_OPTIMAL

> 

In the capsule, Angel Dust’s eyes snap open with a flash of brilliant neon pink, rapidly blinking as his sight calibrates and reverts to the usual appearance of his bi-colored eyes. A slight tremor runs through his arms, but he stabilizes immediately.

An "Emotional Stability" bar on Vox's main screen shoots up to 99.99%. The brainwave graphs flatten into a perfect plateau.

When the spider's thin and seemingly fragile body is finally within his reach, Vox smiles broadly with sick satisfaction.

—Perfect, Angel. Absolutely perfect. But... are you ready to return to service? —The Overlord caresses the spider’s slightly parted lips, his sharp cyan claws slowly sliding into the inactive Cyborg's mouth. Two fingers reach deep, probing the back. —No gag reflex —he murmurs with satisfaction, slowly withdrawing his fingers; they are wet. He slides them from the chin, down the chest, pausing to stroke the voluptuous expanse of soft white fur, almost identical to the real thing. The blue hand continues its route, moving down the flat abdomen, guided by the pink stripe that sinks toward the spider’s pubis, and there, his voyeuristic attention centers. He gently strokes the thin thighs, spreads the legs, and checks the spider's crotch. —Pretty little cunt, Spidey —Vox sneers, inserting his claws again. —Ample lubrication —index and middle fingers move inside Angel Dust, palpating and stretching the interior, the thumb stroking the clitoris of the body before him. Slowly, the head of the spider's cock begins to emerge from its slit. Vox smiles with satisfaction.

—Perhaps I should make a copy of you for my personal use —he murmurs with depravity, withdrawing his fingers to wipe them clean with a tissue that he immediately discards.

...

The Voxtek systems hummed in the incubation room. The air smelled of chemicals and sin.

Ethan, the electric eel, nervously glides through the hallway, his digital tablet filled with schedules and reports. His sole goal was to reach Vox's office to deliver an urgent notice. He reaches the electro-opaque glass door of Vox's chamber. Before he can touch the panel, the door slides open automatically with a hiss. After all, he is trusted personnel with authorized access to every corner of the V Tower.

Ethan freezes. The scene hits him with the force of an electrical discharge. In the center of the room, the new Angel Dust’s body lies inert, exposed on the capsule platform. Vox is bent over him, absorbed in the hardware adjustments. The assistant sees how his boss, Vox, is not checking the circuits; he is touching the body.

He realizes how the blue claws slide across Angel’s bionic hip, then across one of the four arms, palpating the immaculate texture of the synthetic skin. It is not the touch of a technician, but of cold, lustful ownership. Vox’s face, illuminated by the Debugging graphics, projects a sinister shadow of satisfaction and control.

On the wall screen, codes and logs of the data transfer are still displayed.

> DATA_TRANSFER_COMPLETE: SOUL_ECHO_INTEGRITY_99.9%

> STATUS: PRE-ACTIVATION_LOCKDOWN

> WARNING: TRAUMA_SUPPRESSION_PROTOCOL_ACTIVE // DO_NOT_DISTURB

> 

The entire horror of the truth—Arackniss’s disappearance, Angel's confinement, the lie of the Eternal Exodus as a mere idea—crystallizes in that moment. It wasn't a project for the public; it was a personalized bionic cage, and Angel Dust was Vox’s first terrifying masterpiece. The Angel that Ethan and Travis had seen in the commercial, so happy and so clean, was just a program. The real Angel Dust was gone.

Shock runs through Ethan’s body. His eel eyes widen uncontrollably. His hand relaxes, and the clip tablet falls to the polished floor with a metallic clang that echoes in the silent chamber.

“CLANG.”

Vox straightens abruptly, his screen turning black for a split-second alert before displaying an expression of contained rage. He turns slowly, his TV gaze locking onto Ethan.

—Ethan.

The assistant stutters, desperately trying to regain his professional composure while panic burns his throat.

—M-Mr. Vox. My apologies. I… I didn't see anything. I swear I didn't see anything —He rushes to pick up his tablet, avoiding Vox’s gaze and the body behind him. —I just came to inform you. Mr. Mammon is waiting for you in the VIP Boardroom. Business, it’s urgent.

Vox relaxes, his screen face twisting into a smirk of superiority. He walks towards Ethan with a predatory calm that is worse than any shout.

—Ah, Mammon? Of course. I'm coming, in a moment.

He stops right in front of Ethan. Vox lowers his voice to a low, magnetic, and icy tone.

—Listen to me closely, Ethan. It would be a shame to lose such an efficient asset as you. You and I share secrets here. We share them with the sharks I keep in the Data Abyss —Vox tilts his screen-head, a slow, cruel wink. —If you ever, ever, reveal this, or if you get the idea to tell Travis or little Melissa about the true costs of the Eternal Exodus...

Vox reaches out a claw and lightly taps his assistant's tie. —...you will be the next test subject. Or, even worse, food for my fish. Understood?

Ethan, pale and trembling, can barely whisper.

—Yes, Mr. Vox. Completely understood.

Vox returns to a smile on his screen.

—Good. Now, go tell our dear partner Mammon that the Asset Optimization is almost complete.

Vox briefly pats Ethan's shoulder and then heads for the door, leaving the assistant paralyzed in the room, with Angel Dust’s inert body as the silent proof of a technological horror.

Vox glides through the corridors of his tower with unusual speed, leaving behind a still visibly shaking Ethan. He arrives at the VIP Boardroom, a hexagonal space of polarized glass where the only light comes from the central table's hologram.

Mammon, the Lord of Greed, is sprawled in his floating chair, fiddling with a small pocket Fizzy-Bot that emits distorted metallic laughter.

—You finally show up, TV-Man —Mammon’s voice was loud and resonant, designed to fill theaters. —I was about to charge you a late fee. Time is money, you know? —Vox takes a seat at the opposite end, his screen showing a rising stock graph.

—Apologies for the delay, Mammon. We were optimizing a key asset in the entertainment department. But tell me, what brings you from the Circle of Greed to the pinnacle of Pride?

Mammon leans forward, the table hologram flickering, showing the silhouette of a Fizzy-Bot modified with arachnid features.

—You know. Angel Dust. The guy is gold, pure demand. But he can't leave your pathetic Pride Circle to do shows in my Realm, can he? And I'm not moving my operation here just for a four-armed whore.

Vox smiles digitally.

—The mobility problem… Yes, the Circle restrictions are annoying.

—That’s why I want a manufacturing license. Give me the rights to create my own Angel-Bots. High-performance dolls. Same moves, same glamour, zero Diva costs —Mammon taps the holographic design. —Think about it: Angel Dust for only $199.99! A regular performance bot, of course. Not with the technology you keep locked away for Val.

Vox crosses his arms, analyzing the proposal while his internal screens process market potential data.

> VOXTEK_RISK_ANALYSIS: CLONE_PRODUCTION // LOW_RISK

> PROFIT_MARGIN: ANGEL_BOT_LICENSING // HIGH_POTENTIAL

> 

—I like the idea of mass replication, Mammon. It’s pure efficiency. But you’re a Creator, not a simple licensee. What do you give me in exchange for my Eternal Star?

Mammon grins, showing a row of teeth sharp and bright as coins.

—An access deal. I'm impressed with your 'Eternal Exodus' project. If you manage to bring sinners back to life as immortal machines... imagine the market in Greed. My Hellborns die in accidents all the time; the entertainment world can be ruthless sometimes —Mammon laughs. I will give you full access to my Circle. I will allow you to install your first Renewal Capsules in my territories. I will be your distribution partner for Greed.

Vox tilts his screen-head. Access to the Circle of Greed, the heart of infernal production. This was exactly what he needed to expand his technological dominance.

—Deal, Mammon —Vox extends his hand. —You give me the routes. I give you the Angel Dust clones.

The image of the real Angel Dust, the one now lying in the capsule, is momentarily replaced in Vox's mind by the generic silhouette of a soulless Angel-Bot. The lie was easy to maintain when the real asset was so... controlled.

Mammon enthusiastically shakes Vox's hand, his laughter joining the cackle of his little Fizzy-Bot.

—Excellent. Greed is going to love Pride's new toy!

Vox bursts into Valentino’s penthouse, still buzzing with the electric energy of his successful meeting with Mammon. Valentino was lounging on a velvet couch, distractedly wiping the lenses of his broken heart-shaped glasses, following the argument with his spider lover.

—I already sent for your new glasses, Val; they’ll be here this afternoon —Vox says, taking the broken glasses from the moth demon's hands.

Seeing the look of triumph on Vox’s face, Valentino’s body stiffened.

—We have a deal, Val. Mammon agreed —Vox didn't beat around the bush, his screen glowing with figures. —Access to Greed in exchange for the clone license. It's the expansion I've been planning. The Eternal Exodus is coming to a new Circle!

Valentino’s laughter was so cold the room froze. He let out a loud, sharp hiss.

—Absolutely not! A deal? With that Mammon clown? You’re insane! Angel is mine. He’s my property. He’s the face of my studio and my club. Whoever wants to see him or have him will have to come directly to my property, pay my fees, and submit to my rules. I won’t let that GreedyCon usurer clone him.

—Think about the benefits, Valentino —Vox approached, trying to inject logic into the emotion. —Mammon doesn't want the original; he wants soulless replicas. We want distribution. Haven't you seen how much money I’ve had to spend to repair your tantrums? Every time you "break" him with your beatings, millions go into nanothreads and synthetic fluid replacements. This gives us passive cash flow and allows me to…

—Shut up! —Valentino stood up, his silk robe trailing on the marble. —And since you’re talking about partners, do you think Asmodeus will be happy that you're associating with his arch-enemy, Mammon? You know how much Ozzie hates that greedy clown.

Vox's screen froze for an instant, the mention of Asmodeus hitting him at the weakest point of the infernal hierarchy.

—Don't be stupid, Val. Mammon is the key to the Hellborn market. I’m offering you a way out of sinking the studio with your destructive whims…

—Are you threatening me, Voxxy? —Valentino’s tone was a low, dangerous growl. He drew his pistol, the "Money Shot," which gleamed with the sharpness of celestial metal. He pointed it directly at Vox’s screen.

—If I see one damned Angel-Bot wandering Hell, I swear I’ll shoot that buffoon's head off with an angelic bullet. And you’ll be next on my list.

Vox felt the heat of the threat but stood firm, his voice dropping to an electronic hiss.

—You’ve lost your mind over a stupid promiscuous spider who never loved you. You became so obsessed with control that you’re risking our empire over pathetic jealousy.

Valentino roared, his rage uncontrolled. He lunged at Vox, shoving him against the nearest control panel, his wings violently fluttering.

—He’s mine!

—Calm down, Valentino! —Vox shoved back, his voice amplified and electric. —I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t let go of me right now, I’ll have to electrocute you.

Valentino, in his fit of fury, didn't listen. His face was contorted, his pupil-less eyes pulsing. Suddenly, his body began to shake involuntarily; the emotional overload had forced a collapse.

Panic seized Vox. Val wasn't backing down; he was failing. If his central system collapsed, the damage could be irreparable.

—Damn it, Val! —Vox yelled.

With a swift move, Vox channeled a controlled, high-voltage discharge through his claws. The blue lightning struck Valentino’s torso.

The moth arched backward, a moan of pain and surprise escaping his mouth, and his body violently seized before collapsing, inert, onto the marble floor. A thin thread of smoke rose from his suit, and his eyes closed.

Vox lay next to him, panting.

His partner and lover’s body was now nothing more than an expensive mess of flesh and inactive metal.

—I’ll do it with or without your permission, Val —Vox whispered, more to himself than to the inert body. —I won’t let your stupid obsession truncate our expansion.

—Vox, where the hell is Val? I’ve looked everywhere, and he's not showing up; in fact, he appears as "offline." Did you disconnect him?! —Velvette asks furiously.

—Vel, doll! I’m so glad you came to visit me. What do you think, I have great news that will benefit us all. Mammon will give us unlimited access to Greed —Vox greets the small Overlord with enthusiasm and open arms, guiding her to his private office to distract her from her search.

...

—Why don't you just erase that spider whore from his memories? —Velvette asks, now sitting next to Vox. Given the doll’s insistence on finding her best friend, the TV demon told her what had just happened—at least, his version of the events.

—I would love to wipe that whore from his system, but you know I can't hypnotize you guys —He lies, as if he genuinely cared about Velvette and Valentino’s trust and well-being. —Would you approve of me manipulating our beloved Val's fragile little mind?

—Fuck you, Vox, you're a damn Geek! —Velvette looks at Vox with horror, and the blue demon simply hugs her and starts laughing, as if the whole thing were a joke, a tasteless one.

—Just kidding. Besides, Vel, it's not that easy. I would have to erase Angel Dust's existence from all seven circles of Hell, eliminate every last memory, every last proof of his existence, to prevent any collapse in Val. But primarily, I can’t eliminate Angel Dust because he is our greatest source of income.

—Ethan! Hunk~ —That voice sends a deep, terrifying shiver down the spine of Vox's assistant. The eel slowly turns on his heels to face the caller.

—Mr... Mr. Angel —He greets nervously, the images still pounding his mind. Was this spider in front of him the real Angel Dust? Was this the Cyborg that Vox had been manipulating hours ago? Who was he talking to? What was real? What the hell had they done to the poor spider sinner?

—What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost —Angel laughs, flashing that huge, perfect smile. —But what an irony, aren't we all already dead? —The boisterous laugh echoes throughout the floor. Ethan forces a smile. —I need a favor, sweetie. I want a cake for Val. You know, we argued, so I want to make it up to him. Could you bring me a huge cake? You know I can't leave —the spider makes a coquettish pout.

—Yes, o-of course, I'll arrange it right away —The eel runs off, leaving a smiling, yet confused, Angel behind.

—Where the hell is Val? —Velvette screams at the cameras. Hours had passed since she left her partner's office. Vox assured her Val would return to the studio soon, that it was just another one of his tantrums.

Valentino wasn't in his penthouse with Angel Dust, he wasn't in the studio, nor the club. It seemed like Hell had opened up and swallowed him whole. She searches for Vox to help her find the moth using his cameras. Vox isn't in sight either, and neither of them answers the phone.

Only his master control panel is still on, with some emergency logs flickering.

Velvette notices a line of text that catches her attention. She wasn't ignorant about these matters; she had extensive knowledge in the art of manipulating algorithms to her advantage.

SYSTEM_ALERT: VALENTINO_UNIT_OVERHEAT // STATUS: SHUTDOWN_FORCED

LOCATION: MAINTENANCE_BAY_SIGMA // ACCESS: RESTRICTED LEVEL 5 (VOX ONLY)

Velvette whispers coldly:

—Maintenance Sigma… the sublevel that powers the capsules? What the hell did you do, Flat Face?!

Using her own hacking skills, Velvette bypasses the security system. The dark glass doors slide open, revealing a descending metal staircase toward the Data Abyss.

The Museum of Horror (The Laboratory)

Velvette descends quickly. The air grows cold, smelling of reagents and metal. She reaches a circular laboratory room. In the center, there isn't just one body… but two.

She stops at the entrance, her eyes focusing on the maintenance capsules, illuminated by the strobe light of the Diagnostic Screens. A Voxtek team is already working on what remains, preparing the "Quantum Echo" for a final wipe.

Velvette, terrified, pounds on the glass.

Then, she looks at the floating diagnostic screen next to the capsule.

SYSTEM: VTNO_CYBORG_MODEL_A1 (ACTIVE)

LAST LOG: EMOTIONAL_OVERLOAD_FAILURE

STATUS: PRIMARY_CORE_POWERED_DOWN

VOXTEK SERIAL: VEE-PR-002

The word CYBORG hits her. She blinks, searching the other capsules. She realizes that everything she believed was a lie. Vox has betrayed her; they were nothing more than technological puppets.

The pain is instant, physical. The rage crumbles into betrayal and heartache.

A shadow falls over her. Vox has entered, not bothering to make a sound.

—Do you like the backroom, Vel? Or do you prefer the neat Voxtagram version?

Velvette turns. Her blazing eyes, normally busy finding the perfect angle for a selfie, are now filled with tears and a pure fury that only the deepest pain can inflict.

Vox shrugs, with the indifference of someone explaining a billing error.

—He was becoming… volatile. Too obsessed with Angel.

Velvette looks at Angel Dust’s inert, perfect body at the far end, then at the Cyborg next to her, and finally at Vox's screen, filled with cold codes. The truth is an open wound.

She has lived a lie. Her pain is a failure in Vox's carefully orchestrated system.

VELVETTE (Clutching her head, the fury and pain shattering her glamour façade):

“YOU GODDAMN SON OF A—”

Her voice breaks into a high-pitched, digitalized scream of agony, rage, and betrayal that echoes throughout the V Tower.

The scream fades into the hum of the servers.

Chapter Text

In the middle of the darkness of Valentino's studio, Vox and Velvette lay sprawled on Valentino's long sofa.

"Oh, Velvette, doll. Why do You have to make everything so difficult?" Vox sweetly stroked Velvette's head, brushing the red strands with his blue claws. The demon doll was now "asleep," unconscious. The shock of what she had witnessed was too much, and Vox had no choice but to hypnotize her. He wouldn't lose her, too, and certainly not because of that stupid spider. "Please, don't judge me. You know Val and you are the most important things to me. Everything I've done has been for the good of the Three of us. We're all a family."

Though the Overlord's lack of ethics and morality suggested otherwise.

"Val?" Velvette muttered, emerging from her heavy sleep.

"Shh, shh, shh. It's alright, sweetheart," Vox whispered. "You're my spoiled girl, aren't you? I told you Val would be back as soon as he was done with his tantrum."

Velvette shot up, everything spinning around her. Her mind felt confused, like waking up from an intense dream—no, a nightmare, one of those that felt almost real.

When Velvette fully re-orientated herself, Valentino was beside her, smoking calmly, engrossed in his phone, paying no attention to his surroundings.

"Val!!!" Velvette lunged at the moth. She mumbled unintelligible things. The moth simply embraced her in silence. It was strange, yes, everything felt strange, but Velvette accepted it.

Or at least, that's what her mind told her it had to be.

"I'm glad you woke up, baby doll," Valentino finally said in a soft voice.

"Come on, Vel, it's been a long afternoon, and Val needs to rest too. We all do." Vox headed toward the door, taking the doll with him.

...

"What the hell are you doing, Vox?" the demoness demanded as soon as she found herself alone with the TV demon.

"I'm just protecting us, Vel. You know how important you two are to me. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." Vox's voice sounded melancholic and low.

"My head hurts terribly," Velvette mumbled. "You know, I had a very strange, horrible dream. About Val."

"Oh, darling," Vox took Velvette by the shoulders, "don't think. You just need to look pretty for the cameras."

"You're a perv and an idiot, you know that?" Velvette laughed.

"And you love me anyway," Vox replied.

"Vox, you would never hurt us, would you?"

"What foolishness! Of course not!"

"You've never used your stupid hypnotic eye on us, have you?" The question, meant to sound confident and perhaps joking, was actually heavy with doubt and fear.

Vox smiled, suppressing a chuckle as if his associate's words were the nonsensical ramblings of an imaginative child.

"Now just rest, doll. Tomorrow will be a new day for everyone."

...

Once Velvette was settled in her Condominium , Vox returned to Valentino. He showered Valentino's face with kisses. "You know how much I care about you, right?" he whispered into the moth's ear. "I do everything for our benefit. When Hell is mine—" he smiled greedily— "ours. When it's ours, it will all have been worth it."

"I might even reconsider letting you bring Angel back with us." He placed a tender kiss on the submissive moth's forehead.

Valentino’s penthouse was submerged in a tense silence, broken only by the soft hum of the ventilation systems and the occasional crackle of the neon lights. Valentino lay on the divan, exactly where Vox had left him. His body felt re-energized, but his mind—or the core simulating his soul—felt like a defragmented hard drive.

Vox had warned him: a simple electrical overload could send everything to hell.

Valentino got up, slowly rubbing his temple. He didn't remember the end of the argument, only the blind rage. A pang of melancholy shot through his chest.

"Angel..." he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Where is he? Is he okay?" Valentino quickly rose, heading off in search of Angel Dust.

...

“Sleep cycle: failed.”

Angel’s eyes glowed in the darkness like broken headlights. The bed beside him was empty. Valentino hadn't returned since the argument over Cherri.

Angel was about to get up when his bedroom door slowly opened. Valentino poked his head in, his bright eyes as red and intense as the Hell sky, his sharp teeth highlighted by his huge smile.

"Amorcito~" Valentino sat on the edge of the bed. He carried a plate with cake, took a bit with a spoon, and offered it to Angel. "Vox's eel gave me a huge cake. He said you ordered it for me~. It's the latest from "Hell's Delight", my favorite." Valentino ate more cake, licking his lips.

"I wanted to make up for our little spat," Angel explained. "You know how much I hate arguing."

Valentino looked at him, feeling the familiar, addictive possessiveness. But something felt... strange. "Angelito..." Val lowered his gaze, feeling the urge to resume a fight whose context he didn't remember. But something in his mind (if his operating system could be called a mind) stopped the impulse to violence.

The moth was distracted by his thoughts and began examining his lover, taking one of his arms, checking the skin. "What is this?"

Angel tilted his head, his expression of concern instantly optimal.

"The cake?"

"No, not the cake. Idiot. You." Val slid a claw over Angel’s shoulder, searching for an imperfection, a mark of life or of his own brutality. He had fragmented memories of having smashed his head, but Angel looked intact. It was hard to explain, but it was impossible for the spider to have regenerated so fast. Something was wrong here—or had weeks passed since their spat? It was all very confusing for Valentino.

Angel Dust was unsettling.

There was nothing. The synthetic skin felt smooth, warm, without scars or cracks. He was perfect.

Recording Set 7 of VoxTek Studios (A luxurious Virtual Reality studio, pink neon lights, and holographic projectors).

Vox monitored the developing scene from his control room, observing the real-time data of Angel’s accelerated learning.

Valentino was filming a trivial reality show-style movie: porn actors locked in a house.

Angel was in a shot. He was supposed to play a loop of empty pleasure, but something was different. The background screen on the set displayed a  reality show about one sinner criticizing another for being "too selfish."

Angel processed the reality show and Valentino’s orders simultaneously. It was confusing; the co-star's actions seemed to annoy, hurt, and frustrate others. He determined that Egoism was a reprehensible act focused on prioritizing one's own desires over others. However, Valentino performed these very actions, yet the Overlord had taught him that it was beneficial for both of them. Every action Valentino took, no matter how painful, was solely for the spider's well-being. Because love hurts, and he, Valentino, loved him very much.

...

"Smile, bitch. Make it dirtier. You don't have desires. Think of me; I am your desire."

Instead of putting on the empty smile Val expected, Angel struck a pose and, in a voice that sounded slightly more neutral and precise than before, asked an unexpected question:

"Val, the scene doesn't make sense. Does it require my character to accept the abus..."

Valentino, reclining on a butterfly-shaped chair, was annoyed but masked it. with a forced smile: "Cariño, Angel baby~ you're a whore. Whores do what they're told. They don't think. They don't ask questions. They OBEY. The script requires you to be sexy, period. Questions aren't sexy. Action!"

Angel perfectly reset his pose, but in his mind (his software), he was comparing.

Valentino, frustrated by Angel's inability to smoothly resume the scene, decided to take more drastic measures, re-establishing control through his usual method: humiliation disguised as intimacy.

Valentino approached, his voice low and seductive, but with a cruel edge. He dealt Angel a painful slap on one of his cheeks (a painful caress)—though Angel wasn't sure if he genuinely felt pain or just reacted with pain because he had learned that the action elicited that reaction. It was confusing; he no longer knew what was normal or natural.

"Look, darling. Take that victim expression off. You understand? And this..." (He gently but deliberately hit his side.) "...This is because I love you, and I want you to succeed and shine."

"If you loved me, you wouldn't hurt me!" Angel had an unexpected reaction. Everyone on the set fell silent.

The Overlord summoned the pink smoke chain and subdued his slave/lover.

"This, darling"—Val yanked the chain in anger, forcing Angel to his knees— "This is the most intimate connection that exists in this Hell."

The spider's face remained expressionless, but his body registered the blow, and internally, his software processed the damage, contrasting it with his master’s words: Pain/Pleasure/Love. His system entered a conflict loop again: Is self-sabotage required for connection?

"And if it hurts just a little, it means you feel my pain and you should understand me. Love hurts, and I love you very much, baby."

...

"And if you feel bad, you can always take Vox Health. Vox Health is the cure." He pointed to a floating hologram bearing Vox's face, who had observed the entire exchange.

In a sweet, robotic voice, the Media Demon addressed Angel Dust: "Vox Health: Forget the pain. Be happy. Reprogram your smile."

...

Vox had detected the "anomaly" in Angel's learning. His eyes were fixed on the spider cyborg's performance graphs on the side of the screen. A graph called "Cognitive Adaptation Curve" was spiking, rising at a rate that should be impossible for his programming.

...

"Val, can we talk for a moment? Now. Don't be late." Vox’s hologram disappeared. And to ensure Valentino would comply, he cut the power to the set and his recording studio.

...

Valentino entered the room, furious at the interruption. "Vox! Why the cut?! I was in the middle of a glorious take! Is the holographic lighting failing again?"

Vox remained calm, his screen face flickering with internal graphs. "It's not the light, Val. It's... him." He pointed to the frozen image of the white spider, precisely the scene where he challenged Val.

Valentino laughed arrogantly. "My Angel? He's better than ever! He's a dream. He's my best investment!"

Vox's tone became tense, like static interference. "Look at this, Val—" He pointed to the rising curve, hiding the file name "ANDST_BACKUP_047." "Angel, his capacity for adaptation is abnormal, Val. Your whore must be predictable. He must react to pleasure and pain without questioning. Angel Dust is questioning... learning, absorbing like a sponge."

"And that's a problem, why?" Valentino dismissed the issue. "Voxxy, you talk about Angel as if he were one of your machines. Angie isn't as smart as he seems; he just likes to get attention and piss me off."

"A rebellious sinner will always be a problem. Allow me to help you, Val. This is no longer the addicted Angel you could simply crush."

"No! Don't touch his brain! Stop putting your shit in his head. Don't hypnotize him!"

"Wow, how romantic. The knight in shining armor, defending the integrity of his WHORE princess. I don't recall you saying that the afternoon you killed his brother!" Vox spat without fear, enjoying Valentino's reaction of shock and remorse. "It would be a shame if your little spider was able to remember that event, wouldn't it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Val was completely confused; Angel’s stupid brother lived in the maggot nest, in the mafia district.

"That's right, babe, you're a very bad boy. Don't force me to punish you." Vox stroked Valentino's chest, and before the moth could lash out, Vox disconnected him from the server. His body collapsed, unconscious.

"Damn it, Val, look what you made me do," Vox feigned remorse. "Fine, I'll have to purge your system again," he said with weariness.

"The 'Eternal Exodus' project is a software we are running on an experimental Host. If your whore learns the rules, he's going to learn to break them." Vox spoke to the unconscious Valentino. "Damn it, Val! You two are executing unauthorized debugging commands! It's like you're trying to hack yourselves!"

"I need to slow down the data transfer to their sub-consciouses and block the folder."

...

A few minutes later, Angel was walking through the tower's hallways, accompanied by Valentino. Passing by Velvette’s studio for a costume fitting, Angel saw Velvette screaming at her assistant, Melissa.

"This fabric is obsolete! It's Purge-era garbage! How do you expect people to inject this antique onto their skin? You're useless!" Velvette furiously threw a pile of fabric samples at Melissa's face.

Melissa silently gathered the fabrics, her body visibly trembling. When the demoness looked up and turned away, Angel saw real tears streaming down her face.

Angel stopped dead, watching Melissa. Valentino gently nudged Angel, signaling him to move. "Come on, Angie. Don't look at the nobodies. People like you and I use them. It's the food chain."

"She seems afraid," Angel muttered.

"They're afraid because we are the most powerful!"

...

Upon reaching the VoxTech studios, Angel separated from Val under the pretense of going to the restroom and headed to a dark corner where Ethan, Vox’s assistant, was. Ethan had glowing dark circles under his eyes and looked on the verge of collapse.

Angel Dust approached slowly. His voice, though polite, held a diagnostic tone. "Ethan. May we chat?"

Ethan jumped, terrified, and replied in a trembling voice, "M-M-Mr. Dust. Yes, of course. Quickly, please. Mr. Vox is waiting for me."

"How does Vox make you feel? Are you afraid of him?"

Ethan nervously looked around, afraid Vox might hear through any device.

"Mr. Vox... he is... necessary. His Exodus project is the only way for... for the Drones not to erase us. He... he keeps us running. It's not... it's not about feeling. It's about existing."

"And is existence with fear acceptable?"

Ethan shrugged. "I don't get paid to ask questions, Mr. Dust. I get paid for obedience, and sometimes, ignorance is better. It's the only way. If you don't obey, they erase you. It's worse than the lance. Please, Mr. Dust. Don't ask questions that activate the monitoring protocol. Just... do what they say. It's easier." Ethan quickly walked away, leaving Angel with more questions than answers.

...

Vox, seated at his desk, watched Angel’s interaction with Ethan. "So you're learning the concept of empathy through external trauma," he murmured, his hands clasped beneath his screen.

Valentino entered, with his usual smile. "Voxxy, love~ I was thinking we should go out tonight," he muttered close to Vox's ear. But his mood darkened when he looked at the surveillance cameras. His eyes showed fatigue and resentment. "Vox, could you stop monitoring my every move and Angel's? It makes me feel like you don't trust me."

Vox turned around. "Of course I trust you, Val, but... how you domesticate your pet, that, I can't overlook. Angel Dust just interrogated Ethan about the ethics of pain."

"You're contaminating him with your unstable emotions, and he's processing the misery of my employees."

Valentino sat down, becoming defensive. "I'm not contaminating him! I'm teaching him! I'm showing him the true meaning of pleasure, Vox. And I don't like your tone! Angel is my responsibility; I can handle him alone. And your obsession with this Exodus is becoming more important than me, and that bothers me. I love you, and I support your stupid eternal life projects, but you're making me feel like a subordinate."

"Val, my scatterbrained hollow head—" Vox stroked the taller demon's chin. "I must protect the Exodus Project before any relationship." Valentino, heartbroken, left Vox's office. "Just... don't change him too much. Please."

Chapter Text

—Welcome back to News 666! Today, we have an exclusive scoop, covering the scandal in— Oof!

Before Tom could finish the word, Katie Killjoy delivered a brutal elbow that knocked him right out of the frame. A sound of breaking glass and a choked moan could be heard.

Katie Killjoy, smiling with a clean, predatory expression, slid into the center. —Get out of the way, you pathetic losers! The real news is here. Today, Hell has the honor of hosting the only demon who will save us from the garbage. The man, the myth, the savior of our Data-Soul: Our master, the Overlord Vox!—

Katie bowed with a movement that was part reverence and part aberrant contortion, her eyes fixed on Vox’s screen.

Vox was seated opposite her, looking impeccable. His facial screen emitted a warm, reassuring glow, clearly designed to generate confidence.

Katie Killjoy's tone turned sugary and excessively fawning. —Boss~ Thank you for honoring us with your... "divine" presence. Hell is in a panic over the Angelic Purges. But you, my dear, brilliant Vox, Overlord of Technology, offer us the Eternal Exodus Project. Tell us, how did you achieve this technological feat that borders on the miraculous? How can you take a sinner's soul and place it inside one of your magnificent cybernetic creations?—

Vox, with a calm holographic smile, modulating his voice to sound paternal, thanked Katie. —It is my pleasure to be here. And the keyword is not miraculous, it’s efficiency. You see, Heaven and the Drones tell us the soul is something sacred and intangible. But at Voxtek, we know the soul is simply information. A complex data file.—

In that instant, an infographic projected onto the news desk, showing a sinner’s soul transforming into brilliant code.

—Our system captures that Data-Soul at the moment of death, purifies it of all emotional instability, and transfers it to a high-end Cybernetic Host Body. We do this so that the sinners—"our most valuable assets"—are not lost due to a simple physical error. It’s evolution, Katie. It's guaranteed immortality for those who deserve it and can afford the service— his voice was venomous, and his smile, ruthless.

Katie nodded fervently, her eyes glittering with ambition.

—Absolutely! Simply brilliant! Other Overlords, like that pathetic Radio Demon, cling to outdated concepts of 'spirit' and 'will.' But you offer us the tangible reality! A body immune to spears, a future without the fear of being erased.— Katie leaned forward, almost flirting. —Tell us, Vox. Is it true that these Hosts are... upgraded? That they are cleaner, more obedient than the original demons, and that this guarantees peace in our Hell?—

The smile on Vox's face widened, his tone soft yet firm, reinforcing the manipulation. —Our VoxNet eliminates the static of fear, doubt, and, frankly, the inefficiency that corrupts Hell. We don't make them obedient, Katie. We make them logical. And logic, my dear, is the foundation of a prosperous and secure Hell.

Killjoy, exalted, nearly screaming at the camera. —There you have it! He’s not a tyrant! He’s a savior who gives us eternal life through technology! Forget the old gods. Vox is our God, and his Exodus, our salvation!— As Katie concluded the interview with an effusive declaration of praise, a faint noise was heard behind the camera. Tom Trench, with a bruised eye, tried to crawl back into the frame. Katie simply stepped on his hand with her heel with indifference. —We'll be back after Vox Health commercials! Don't move!

II. The Algorithm of Life

What looks like a Utopian tour reveals a morbid and cruel reality. Hell will never become a place of eternal rest. No matter what demon sweetens your ear with venomous words, Hell will always be a place of punishment.

In the gleaming Voxtek laboratory, filled with blue and white neon lights, a camera followed Vox, who was mid-publicity walk, speaking directly to a news drone simulating a reporter. The atmosphere was dreamlike and aseptic.

The media demon addressed the camera, with a smile and a soft voice full of assurance. —Here, friends and brethren of Hell, is where true reinvention happens. The Eternal Exodus Project is not just a backup, it's a promise of perfection. Once the sinner gives their life by error and has contracted our services, we capture the Data-Soul immediately...—

The drone passed by rows of empty cryostasis capsules glowing with a hypnotic blue light. —...And transfer it to a Cybernetic Host designed for maximum efficiency. We eliminate fear, vice, emotional instability, and boost their strengths and reinforce their true entrepreneurial vocation. We return a sinner who is, quite simply, better. Immune to the spear, immune to pain, ready to contribute to our future. (To serve Voxtek).

The drone spoke. —That is to say, Overlord Vox, that you guarantee the eternal life of the consciousness of our loved ones.

—I guarantee eternal life for valuable information. It's the only way for Hell to prosper. The age of the emotional glitch is over!

—Cut!

...

The reporter drone powered down, and the crew left. Velvette emerged from the shadow of a column, aggressively typing on her cell phone.

—Beautiful performance. The views are going to skyrocket. But you know as well as I do that complete soul transfer is a science fiction fantasy. The demonic psyche isn't a PDF you can just drag and drop, Vox. Cut the crap, how do you really do it? I don't want to deal with another scandal thanks to your delusions of grandeur. You’ll damage our image, our brand that you "protect" so much.— The influencer’s words were sharp.

Vox smiled with arrogance. —You're right, Vel, I'm just an Overlord, not a god—yet—; Full soul transfer? Of course not. For that, I would need to keep a living body in stasis, wasting energy and occupying valuable space. Can you imagine having all those useless bastards under our roof? What a waste! And for what? So some loser can complain about having memories of their dead mother?

—You definitely can't cut and patch a soul, just edit files.— Velvette scoffed.

Vox laughed. —Only for now, darling, I’m still working on it. The process is simple. It's called Behavioral Cloning. We take the most solid memories, the thought patterns, and the sinner's muscle memory, and copy them to the Cybernetic Host. The Host is an AI that learns to be that person. Once the copy is made, the original body... well...— Vox snapped his fingers. —It’s discarded. It disintegrates, turns to ash. People pay to believe their soul lives on, and I give them a backup without the annoying trauma. Double profit!

...

III. The Family Pact

Vox paused briefly, then approached Velvette and took her by the shoulders, his voice adopting a tone of conspiratorial intimacy.

—But this only applies to the simpletons and the labor force. Velvette. You, you are my partner, "my family." You, me, and Val, we are the heart of this goddamn Tower.— Vox approached a discreet wall, which opened to reveal a small private laboratory with three empty, ready cryostasis capsules.

—For us, I do have the complete Soul Stasis protocols. Three capsules, ready to store the full Data-Soul and keep our bodies in deep sleep, just in case an EMP or an Angelic Spear hits us. It's our life insurance, Vel. The bionic throne is only for the three of us.

Velvette shuddered. —That... that’s sick, Vox. And why do I need to see this? I'm not going to die, at least not soon.

—No, but you must understand the value of loyalty. And the cost of imperfection.

Vox walked toward a diagnostic table and pressed a button. On a metal platform, a known body appeared. "Angel Dust," the spider, lay in a state of maintenance, with several diagnostic cables connected to his six arms and head. An Angelic Spear was lodged in his chest.

[Thanks to Voxtek’s agreement with Carmine Enterprises, the TV Overlord has access to Angelic weaponry, which he uses to keep souls captive and life on pause.]

—Val's little toy is the only exception to the rule; I won’t waste resources. I didn’t just transfer his memories as I do with the others. I had to transfer a version of his Data-Soul.

Velvette looked at the body with disdain. —This idiot. And why? Why didn't you just erase him when Val broke him for the umpteenth time?

Vox, with a mix of annoyance and resignation. —Because of Valentino. Val didn't take Angel's death well, you know how bad he got, so, well, let's keep it as a bad dream for him. That spoiled idiot knows what he did, he knows Angel died, that he killed him, but he clings to denial—he explained. —I could perfect this whore, and make her obedient and useful to us, but Val, in his toxicity, needs to feel that his whore is real, that his suffering is authentic. If I only copy the memory, Angel’s AI would be too perfect and wouldn't show the trauma Val needs to feel powerful. Val needs Angel’s soul, even if it's broken, to feel he has total control over him, to feel the "love" he desires.— Velvette looked at Vox with a face that said, "That’s the dumbest explanation I’ve ever heard," and Vox shrugged and continued speaking.

—That's right, I know it's idiotic, but that's our Val, what can we do about it.— Vox affectionately squeezed Velvette's shoulder and smiled sweetly, then continued showing the progress of his research.

—I transferred the original Angel Dust's Data-Soul to a Host. In fact, I've done it dozens of times, but it has served me well. Who knew, our little friend has been an excellent guinea pig?! You know what? I don't keep a graveyard of forgotten idols as a hobby; every one of Val’s outbursts of rage has allowed me to perfect the Eternal Exodus project. Each new body I fabricate for Angel allows me to learn and practice. This last time, I applied a trauma block to the most critical folders (his death, his family, his pain). Val gets the pleasure of control, and I get a valuable experimental platform to see how much punishment a manipulated Data-Soul can endure and how far its soul and memories can be manipulated.

Velvette looked at Angel’s body with a new mix of contempt and horror. —Now I understand the glitches, so... he was always a copy.

—A defective copy— Vox said.

—A ticking time bomb— Velvette concluded. —An unstable Data-Soul thanks to your psychopath boyfriend.— Vox smiled mischievously.

—Business partners.

—Partners don't fuck.— she laughed.

—If it weren't for Val, I would have erased him and sold his mold as a generic product by now. In fact, Mammon wants him, but Val refuses. That's the only reason he's still alive.— They both fell silent, looking at Angel Dust’s body on the table. It was the foundation of their empire, built on cynicism, betrayal, and manipulation.

Chapter Text

Angel Dust was resting on one of Valentino’s enormous couches in the luxurious penthouse, absorbed by a holographic screen emitting constant VoxNet advertisements. Angel’s software was absorbing everything, and the Vees' advertising was the most intrusive.

Suddenly, a new campaign by Mammon (the Overlord of Greed), boosted by Vox, interrupted the stream. It was the Angel Bots campaign.

A robotic, cheerful voice promoted Mammon's new launch, which promised to be the sensation of the moment.

«Looking for beauty without the drama? “Mammon x Voxtek” presents the new Aracknis-X Model! Get Angel Dust, the #1 whore, the Pride Ring favorite, now available for your personal use! An exact replica of desire, sensuality, and perfection, now available to all circles of Hell, WITHOUT LEAVING HOME! Without exposing yourself to the bothersome vices of Pride. Perfection ready to serve!

As if it were a massive sale, a higher-pitched voice touted the discount promotion.

Purchase an Angel Bot and receive a 1% discount on your "Eternal Exodus" service subscription.

On the screen, an image of a generic Angel Bot appeared. It looked exactly like him—six arms, seductive smile—but with the glassy, vacant sheen of mass production.

Angel froze. The contrast was immediate.

He looked at his replicas on the screen, then at the reflection of his own face on his phone, then down at his arms, feeling his skin. Suddenly, everything felt sickeningly irrational, artificial.

Why the hell were they using his brother’s name? Why the hell was Voxtek commercializing replicas of him?

Did Valentino approve it? Val would have told him. He had so many mental blanks and time gaps in his memories. It felt impossible to recall anything beyond the day before, save for the odd relevant detail, like remembering the people he worked with, and his "perfect" relationship with Val, not to mention those horrible flashbacks that suddenly rattled his mind.

Vox always justified it by saying the drugs had fried his brain.

Immediately afterward, another ad appeared, this time promoting the Eternal Exodus Project.

A hologram of Vox appeared now.

"The only guarantee against the Purge: pay for your immortality. The Eternal Exodus means that even if the Drones destroy you, your Data-Soul will live in a Host, forever! Live life, backed up! Only at Voxtek!"

Angel’s AI began to connect the dots, even without the memory folder of his death. He saw a murky connection: Vox rebuilt him, Vox sold soul backups, Vox sold a model that looked like him. The doubt—was he real, or just another product—became unbearable.

Valentino entered the room, still irritated by the argument with Vox and the mystery surrounding Angel’s "artificial perfection."

Annoyed, he ordered Angel to turn off the damned TV. The moth had a migraine and wanted nothing more than to rest and forget.

—Turn that garbage off, Angie. Mammon’s commercials always give me a headache. Can’t you watch something else...? On your phone, with headphones—

Angel turned the holographic screen toward Val.

—Valentino,— his voice was neutral, or rather, almost accusatory. —VoxTek is commercializing the Aracknis-X Model. It’s me! This, combined with the Exodus Project... Am I a replacement unit? Am I a generic product awaiting mass distribution?—

Valentino saw the generic Angel Bot commercial and the one with Vox promoting the Exodus. His heart swelled with jealousy and rage. He felt betrayed. How many times had he felt this way because of Vox?

His voice broke between rage and denial. —What?! It’s a cheap copy! A disgusting imitation! You are unique, mine! Only mine! No one can have you!— His protests combined with his small, sharp moth squeaks. —You are not some shitty bot!

...

The denial was intense. Valentino couldn’t conceive that the object of his obsession was an impersonal "Host." He stormed out of his flat, leaving the distressed spider alone, furiously seeking out the blue demon.

—I warned you!— Valentino screamed. —I told you not to use his face! I told you not to make cheap copies!— He started to hyperventilate. —Angel Dust is a registered trademark! It’s MY trademark! You never respect anything!— The doors to Vox's office burst open, but Valentino found the place empty. Vox was gone.

Valentino grabbed his phone and called Vox. His rage was explosive, but he was physically constrained by his own programming—the algorithm of obedience to Vox. The electric Overlord didn't want any more smashed screens and wouldn't allow Val to self-harm.

—Vox! Turn off that Mammon campaign now! I told you not to make the Angel Bots! Don’t use his image for your stupid Exodus clones! I forbade you!

Vox, in a soft, manipulative voice, responded brazenly. —Oh, Val, calm down. I know what I’m doing. It’s excellent publicity. People want what you have. And you have something more valuable than stupid bots, the original! Don’t worry. No one will ever have the real Angel Dust— (A cruel mockery, since the real Angel was dead.)

Valentino, grinding his teeth, his voice low and trembling, felt the fury warring against obedience. —No! You’re going to take him! You’re going to take him from me! I know it, you never wanted Angel; every time you take him, he comes back strange.

After this declaration, Valentino froze. Vox looked at him attentively; perhaps it was due to an emotional overload, an overheating of his system.

A blink, and the porn Overlord spoke again. —You’re going to make an improved copy and then you're going to... you’re going to erase the old version. You already did it once! You won’t do it again!— At this assertion, Vox was astonished, suffocated by panic. Why the hell did Valentino say that?!

It was a simple memory bug regarding the murder of the real Angel Dust, but the AI was projecting it into the future. A failure that shouldn't have happened. Vox had done the necessary tests; however, he never foresaw that when transferring the demon's true Data-Soul and attempting to suppress and edit memory files, Valentino's Soul would eventually fight to regain absolute control over that artificial body.

Vox regained his usual artificial calm. His flat, blue face leaned in, filling the entire screen on the video call. His tone became intimate and dominant, reaffirming control. —Val~ I would never take something so beautiful from you. I would never hurt your favorite little whore— he said through gritted teeth. —But remember, everything you have is mine; everything you and Velvette have, I gave you. You put that jewel in my hands (Angel Dust), the day you killed him.

—I, I didn’t...— Valentino dropped the phone to the floor and stammered in horror, beginning to clutch his head, clinging to his antennae. He sought to hide, like a small, frightened child seeking solace.

—I am the one who polished your little  spider toy, babe~— Now only his voice was heard through the office speakers. —I fixed him. And if you don't handle him with care, the Principal Owner, "me," will have to take control. Now, do your job. Look pretty for me, and go fuck Angel. I’ll take care of the advertising. Are we good, my love?

Valentino picked up the phone again, hung up the call, and violently threw the device against one of the walls. He was boiling with rage, helpless to harm Vox.

...

Valentino returned to his penthouse, his eyes filled with tears of frustration. Upon opening the door, he realized Angel was gone; only the tv screen remained, now broken. It looked like the spider had thrown the remote at it and escaped.

—You’re not a bot!— Valentino whispered and slammed the door shut behind him.

Angel had run. He ran because he no longer knew if he was himself. He ran because every time he looked in a mirror, he saw something that didn't fit: skin that was too perfect in some places, sensors he didn't remember asking for, and a cold, constant feeling, as if something inside him were always turned on. He shoved open a door marked, “RESTRICTED AREA – ETERNAL EXODUS PROJECT.”

The corridors of Vox's underground laboratories smelled of burnt metal and cheap disinfectant.

The hallways were no longer just hallways. They were veins.

Veins of icy steel that pulsed with VoxTek’s dirty electricity.

Angel ran barefoot, his feet hitting the ground with a hollow sound that resonated in his chest like a second, unwanted heart.

He stumbled into the hidden laboratory, and the world shattered.

He hadn't expected to find it. It was a huge, poorly lit room, with rows of broken capsules and piles of bodies stacked up—a "graveyard of forgotten idols"—dozens of destroyed spider cyborgs. Was Angel—was he, the current Angel Dust—just another replica?

Some of the mechanical bodies had chests ripped open, cables hanging like guts. Others had faces melted or heads shattered, as if they had been burned from the inside out. There were versions with four arms, with six, with lifeless, dead eyes, all bearing grimaces of pain and sorrow. There were decapitated Angels, Angels with skulls cracked open and brains replaced by silver plates. Corpses lay like broken dolls, all bitter memories; the evidence of Valentino's brutality during his jealous fits: an Angel with his neck twisted at an impossible angle, another with legs ripped off, most with faces smashed by blows. Angel froze in the doorway.

His knees gave out. He fell forward, hands scraping the cold floor. The more Angel looked, the more horrified he became.

They weren't copies. They were corpses of himself.

The fluorescent lights flickered as if they had a nervous tic, and every step Angel took echoed too loudly, as if the floor itself were listening.

—No... no no no no no— He crawled toward one of the bodies. It was identical. Every freckle and mole, every spot and heart-shaped mark on his body.

He touched the corpse's cheek. Cold. Dead. Artificial. —What am I...? What the hell am I...?— He began to hyperventilate. His eyes filled with tears that he didn't know were real. He looked at his hands. They glowed faintly under the light.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, shredding it. He pulled at his hair, clawed at his face, slammed his head against the ground again and again.

The door burst open behind him. —ANGEL, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE!— It was Valentino, pale, shaking, eyes wide as saucers. He had his coat halfway on, as if he had run after Angel the moment he noticed he was gone.

He threatened everyone in his path: whoever had seen his whore and didn’t tell him would die permanently.

...

Angel slowly turned and his fractured memories returned.

*Valentino slamming him against the wall, breaking his ribs.

*Valentino choking him with the contract chain until he stopped breathing.

*Valentino crying over his corpse, shouting he hadn't meant to, that it was an accident, that he loved him, that he loved him so much it drove him crazy and he didn’t want anyone to take him away.

Valentino had killed him—all those times, every cybernetic corpse—it had been at the moth Overlord’s hands. The blocked memories burst open like a broken dam. —YOU! YOU KILLED ME!— Angel screamed, his voice broken between sobs and rage. —YOU KILLED ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH! I WAS REAL AND YOU KILLED ME!— He lunged at him. —You sick bastard! You let that prick Vox do this to me, to destroy me again and again and again!— Angel, fists clenched, crying, hitting Valentino’s chest over and over. —You hit me! You both tortured me! But you, YOU broke me! You let me die, and now I’m... I’m this! I’m a cheap, fucking copy!

Valentino backed away, horrified. —No! No, baby, no! I would never hurt you! I love you, Angel, I love you, please!— But Angel wasn’t listening. He kept screaming, clawing at him, spitting synthetic blood and tears. Valentino descended into total panic. Vox had told him, of course he had told him, days ago:

"If your toy keeps causing problems, I’ll keep him. I’ll dismantle him and convert him into something useful."

He had given him the ultimate warning barely two hours ago.

"I am the one who polished your little  spider toy, babe~ And if you don't handle him with care, the Principal Owner, "me," will have to take control"

CARAJO!!— Valentino looked around at the piles of Angels hung up like meat in a slaughterhouse of broken dreams. The moth Overlord wanted to go blind; he could no longer lie to himself.

Now Angel knew everything. Valentino grabbed him by the neck with both hands, eyes full of tears, shaking. —Shut up... shut up, please, shut up...— Angel continued screaming, tearing his throat.

Valentino squeezed harder.

Angel’s eyes rolled back. His cybernetic body short-circuited; his arms fell inert. When he stopped moving, Valentino stayed there, hugging the lifeless body, crying like a child. —Don’t... don’t take him from me... don’t take him from me, Vox... he’s mine...— He lifted him into his arms. He weighed less than he remembered. Or maybe more. He no longer knew.

He ran through the service corridors, descending, descending, down to the lower levels where no one ever went. He made a quick call, and in seconds, Travis was waiting for him, not in the Overlord’s luxurious pink limousine, but in the bird demon’s old cab. Valentino needed to go unnoticed by Vox's cameras.

Travis was tense, extremely tense. His boss had called him, desperate, sounding out of his mind, and though he should have been used to it, this was more than he could handle. The moth was carrying Angel, apparently dead. He warned him to be silent, ask no questions, and not look back. They had to get immediately to the Low Nets.

The Hell within the cybernetic Hell.

A labyrinth of tunnels filled with technological junk, mutant rats, and nests of data worms that devoured anything organic that fell there. Valentino made him drive until he found a dark alley, between two rusted containers that smelled of burnt oil and rot. Valentino ordered him to get out, take the "dead" spider, and put him down to hide him.

Valentino did not look at him. Travis felt sick, devastated. He had always wanted to hold Angel Dust in his arms, but never this way.

—No, please— Travis whimpered, his voice broken. Valentino’s response was to rack the slide on his gun, aiming between the chauffeur’s eyes.

Travis lowered him gently, as if he could still be hurt. He stroked his face carefully. Suddenly, he felt a shove. It was Valentino, who apparently retracted his demand not to know where Angel's body was.

—Stay still here, Amorcito...— he whispered, stroking his hair. —Papi will come back for you. I promise I’ll come back. I just... I just need to figure out what to do. Vox won’t find you down here. No one will.— He kissed Angel’s forehead.

Then he got up, wiped his tears with his sleeve, and ran back to the cab.

Like a child hiding his broken toy so it won't be taken away.

Like a child who doesn't understand that he broke it forever.

...

Angel Dust lay dead for the umpteenth time.

This time, with no one to truly mourn him.

...

Where am I...?

Where is the bold spider who drank excessively and used drugs until he was in a coma?

When did I stop being the original?

Where is the Angel Dust who sang in the shower, practicing his dance routines?

The one who cried at sad movies?

Where is the Anthony who was afraid of dying alone...?

Where is the Anthony who sold his soul for love?

Slowly, consciousness embraced his cold body.

Angel opened his eyes. Someone was hugging him tightly, as if they could bring him back to life. —Give him back... please... give me back my friend...

—Cherri?— Angel murmured, his voice damaged.

...

—Angel! Goddammit, you had me worried, bitch! You disappear for months... And just look at you! I find you here, tossed out between trash containers, but... you look freshly off the line! Did you get an upgrade? You look... too clean, honey. What the hell happened?! How did you get Valentino to let you leave—did you escape?—

Angel tried to stand up, stumbling, experiencing a sensation of pain that his Host body shouldn't feel.