Chapter Text
Ethan wasn’t quite sure how to explain it, but genuinely, he missed his boss — and sometimes he wondered if he was the only employee in VTOWER who actually did.
Everyone else had moved on. Business as usual. Even Katie Killjoy had redirected her salacious attention to Valentino, the new “boss daddy” of their establishment. Everything relating to the Might of Lilith — the fuck-off massive death ray — was being swept under the rug.
So Pentagram City lost a few thousand souls to angelic light. No biggie.
The scandal had been such a headache that no one had even had time to think about Vox. Ethan wanted to assume the demon he was personal assistant to was off planning something, perhaps a rapturous return to glory or some amicable media stunt.
But he wasn’t.
No one had heard anything from him, except those in his closest circle. Velvette had primly asked Ethan to shred cabinets-worth of documentation (whatever hell classified as documentation, that is) and Shok.wav’s presence had gone suspiciously silent too. Valentino was far too focused on a 14-part porno special with ‘character arcs’ and ‘deep emotional beats’ and ‘anal fisting’ to throw anything Ethan’s way.
At the moment, his job was mostly dedicated to the process of getting Angel Dust fresh cigarettes. That was a difficult job, though. The skinny spider was going through three packs a day.
So, circling back around to the main point – he didn’t necessarily miss Vox, but he missed the familiarity his control warranted; Spread-sheets, emails, passive-aggressive corporate speak … he even missed the way Vox’s room smelled so violently of mint it made his eyes sting. Valentino and Velvette’s perfumes were currently in competition and he didn’t love how they chafed his gills.
One evening, about three months after the incident, Ethan worked up the suicidal courage to make use of the key no one had bothered to confiscate from him: He was going to find his old boss and he was going to get answers.
Something told Ethan, Vox really might need an assistant right now.
Well, for one thing, he wasn’t in his office. In fact, the massive echoing labyrinth of tech and tanks had been repurposed into a saucy lounge dedicated to Valentino. Ethan carefully opened the door only to find Angel Dust sprawled on a white carpet that honestly didn’t look too different from his fur, tracing whorls of smoke with his index fingers as they rose from his chapped lips.
Ethan shut the door, concluding Vox wasn’t in there.
The next best option would be his private quarters, which he had several of. The first two, in the penthouse, seemed to have been taken over by Velvette. A truly staggering quantity of clothes barricaded Ethan from getting more than five steps into either room, and so he reluctantly slunk away to the last possible option:
The room beside the backup generator, where Vox always went after a spat with Alastor. It was so deep into the belly of the building, Ethan crossed himself three times on the way down the elevator.
Who was Ethan anyway?
He’d been a hacker, slippery and hard to catch. His day job was an accountant, his night job was a crypto gig that ultimately killed him when his mining rig exploded. His particular poison was called UrsulaCoin.
That’s all you needed to know about Ethan. He’s not that relevant. You’re here for Vox.
As the primary assistant (a title he’d had for 5 years at this point) Ethan’s card bypassed all of the doors with a single swipe. He navigated through the cramped, blue tunnels, past the faded wet floor signs and exposed pipework. It was only when he reached the farthest possible door and felt, with a shiver, the vibrations of music coming out from under it, that he knew that this was where his boss had set up.
The music was an ominous drone, so buried in public consciousness it awakened fight or flight like the hiss of a poisonous serpent.
DUN-UN. DUN-UN. DUNUN DUNUN DUNUNDUNUNDUNUNDUNUN-
Ethan brought a trembling hand to the door.
“The fuck you want? I’m watching Jaws!”
Ethan realized with a squeak one or the wall mounted security cameras was glaring at him.
“Well, sir.” He pivoted, quickly. “Uh. I’m here to attend to your needs!”
A beat.
Then a tired: “Did Val send you.”
“Uh, no, he did not?”
An incredulous huff. “Velvette?”
“No, she did not, sir.”
There was a really really harrowing pause before finally Ethan heard a hiss through teeth.
“And it’s just you?”
“Just me, sir!”
“…Why?”
“I…” he wasn’t expecting to be asked this in such a blank plain manner. Vox never EVER wanted his input on ANYTHING.
“I- I’m sorry, sir. I just missed you.” He finally broke out.
He half expected Vox to laugh. The silence was even worse. Finally, there came a static sigh.
“Alright, come in. But if you say anything to anyone, I’m frying you.”
Before Ethan could even use his card, the door clicked and swung open.
It shut behind him.
Inside, it was weirdly hot, like an office with several monitors going at the same time. The mint smell was almost completely absent, sickening. The first thing he felt was a sharp pain, as a small robot no larger than a roomba skittered across the floor and slammed into his ankle.
“Ow!” He hopped up, dismayed, as the robot began to circle him, predatorily. It had a singular blinking red eye and patterns in sparkling electric blue. He wondered, Could this be…?
But it’s so small?
“Sh-shok.wav?” Ethan asked after a moment. The bot whizzed before slamming itself into his big toe. As he yelped it pivoted around and started trying to gnaw up his tail.
“Boy, stop.”
A halfhearted voice came from the couch.
Right, so. The room. Black walls. Tile floor as the rest of Vox’s accommodations, however the only source of light was a massive 116 inch TV that was currently taken up 50% by the film Jaws, 25% by Blue Planet documentary with subtitles) and 25% ‘satisfying’ screen cleaning videos. The glow tractor-beamed Ethan. As he staggered forward, he almost tripped over a blue kitty pool half full of water.
Shok.wav skittered up a ramp and fell into it with a dull thunk, splashing into an empty tub of ice cream, a few pairs of socks and what Ethan realized quickly were a pair of sweaty boxers.
“...Sir?” He finally piped up, looking back to the couch, the singular line of defense against the massive fuck off screen.
“What?”
The same tired voice repeated. As Ethan shuffled forward, apprehensively, he saw something move. A humanoid shape mounted by a thin television for a head, shifting upwards as shoulderblades squeezed together.
The TV was paused. Vox’s full attention locked onto Ethan, sending waves of panic through his entire body. This just felt … so unbelievably wrong.
Vox was sprawled in pillows, surrounded by empty cans, crumpled wrappers, discarded containers, and a whole-ass box of cereal. Even though the mannerisms were completely different from the determined, self-spirited TV head Ethan had worked for, his pattern recognition was going ape; he knew this was Vox. It shouldn’t be,but it was.
There were greasy handprints on his screen. Ethan recalled he liked greasy diner food – he’d delivered it to his office a few times a week, usually after a bad day. He supposed.. at the lowest time in one’s afterlife, it was always there to fall back on. And fall back he had. Hard.
“Do you want anything, Ethan?”
The question hit wrong. Me? Want?
He wanted only to serve. An object, after all, a pawn whose only purpose was to serve its master.
Ethan shuffled his feet. “Sir, would it be alright if I cleaned up?”
It took Vox a few seconds to respond, before finally groaning and lying back down.
“I don’t care.”
His movie clicked back on as Ethan self consciously began collecting.
Vox’s favorite kind of ice cream was Cookies & Cream, considering how many empty tubs there were. Ethan had no idea when the least he showered was, because it seemed in some places his sweaty body fused to the couch.
Apologizing, he ducked out with an admittedly overstuffed bag of garbage. When he came back in, wiping washed hands on his slacks, Vox had barely moved.
“Yknow, back during production, they genuinely thought they could train a shark to follow commands. I’m serious, they thought they could make one an actor.” He muttered, eyes glued to the screen.
“Ah, that sounds… difficult, sir.”
“They were ambitious fuckers, I’ll give them that. But even if it was possible… their crew wasn’t smart enough to. They fucked up the animatronic too. What kind of idiot builds a sea-bound animatronic shark but only tests it in freshwater? Salt got in the circuits and there went everyone’s hard work.”
Salt is getting your circuits, too, sir.
“That sounds like someone deserved to lose their job, sir.”
“If I was in charge, I’d have had them murdered. In front of their families. No one fucks up my movie. Ngh.” He scoffed, reaching a claw towards the table. Ethan put in it a soda from the minifridge and he stared down, like he was surprised someone had read his mind. “Uh. Thanks.”
What do you mean, ‘thanks,’ sir? You own me.
He clicked it open and took a sip but it seemingly went down the wrong pipe, because he slumped forward and coughed, violently, into his fist. His body trembled.
For a time Ethan was worried Vox would be rolling around a monitor in a wheelchair. However, they’d found a substitute: something with lungs, a heart, articulated joints, and a digestive system that was probably reeling from months of abuse.
In retrospect, it probably wasn’t that much weight, but it didn’t fit Ethan’s – or anyone’s – perception of Vox, so it looked a little off. His shirt was tight against chest, the sleeves cutting into soft upper arms, fat not muscle. Most of it, as was common with middle aged men, had coalesced into a beer belly that sagged over the strained band of his sweatpants. Like exposed cleavage, it was hard not to look…especially with the way his abdomen flexed with every gasp through his gills… Ethan politely stared at his own shoes with respect to his boss, before, as if reading his mind, Vox snapped:
“What, are you fuckin’ embarassed by me or some shit? What is this, why are you doing this?”
He dug a hand into the bag of chips he was eating. Veetos – they were like cheetos but worse for you. Ethan felt it plunk off his snout as Vox threw one at him.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Another one bonked off of him. Shok.wav, in his reduced micro-form, flopped out of the pool and rolled over to the spot on the floor, chomping it up with delight. Even though the shark had clearly been repurposed, its consciousness uploaded into a much more manageable body, it also looked kinda chunky.
“And Val didn’t send you?”
“No, sir.”
“Huh. I thought he would’ve.”
Was that defeat in his voice? Ethan saw his antenna droop.
On the TV, the idiot mayor was talking. Vox raised his chin. “Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts – that’s where they filmed it. Residents there hated the media shit show surrounding Jaws. They held protests – ‘Jaws Go Home.’ Can you believe that? I just don’t see why. They got the opportunity to be a part of history, why not take it?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Can you stop calling me sir?” He snapped.
“I am sorry s-”
Ethan clasped webbed hands over his mouth. For a half second he saw Vox’s screen flash in a slight smile.
As the people on the massive tv begged for mercy, he cranked up the volume. They watched in silence for about twenty minutes, before he paused again, turning.
“See, Ethan, they actually had four robot sharks. Maybe three and a half, I guess. One was just the dorsal fin and it was tugged behind a boat. The other was a massive bulk for overhead shots. It couldn’t actually move on its own. The two stars were these animatronics… They were two faced and alternated, depending on the shot, because the cables would be exposed otherwise. Even with that, both were unreliable pieces of shit that broke practically every day.”
He took a big mouthful of chips.
“You can sit down.”
Ethan awkwardly lowered to the edge of the couch. He sat on something that crumpled and his whole body twitched with terror.
It was just a clot of ice cream sandwich wrappers, which had evaded his first scope.
“Have you seen it?”
“Uh, yes. Once.”
“I wish I could watch it for the first time again.” Vox blew a sigh, “I keep looking into the production, hoping that somehow I can … re-experience the greatness through it. However, the longer I look, the more I wonder how any of it even happened in the first place.”
Ethan bit his lip and nodded, uneased. “It must’ve taken a lot of work.”
“You know what they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
He scoffed and extended one hand. It was then that Ethan caught sight of probably the most concerning thing he’d seen all day: around Vox’s wrist were a swath of bandages, red in the middle like jelly tarts.
“S- sir, what happened?”
He pleaded before he could stop himself.
Vox froze. His red eyes flicked from his hand to Ethan’s one outstretched to Ethan’s panicked face. On screen, the shark’s ominous theme played, impending doom. Ethan thought a quick prayer as he shrank back but was, once again, surprised by the outcome.
Vox just groaned and rolled his wrists, finally saying. “I look like fucking shit, don’t I?”
“Uh. Sir….”
“Vox. Or Vincent. Fuck it, who cares.”
“Um…”
“Tell me I look like shit, Ethan.”
A pounding started in Ethan’s temple. The worst part: the music was gone. He actually didn’t think Vox was going to attack him …because come to think of it, he knew what Vox looked like when he was about to strike – he’d seen it countless times.
At this moment, with his claws curled and the bag of Zeetos clutched so close like an aluminum comfort, it seemed as if he was a ticking timebomb…that he was going to implode on himself rather than lash out and if Ethan was caught in the glass shrapnel, so be it.
This made his heart sink, though, in a way he didn’t know it was still capable of doing.
For five years, Ethan had gone into work with determination to do right by his company. He’d climbed as high as he could. He’d listened to orders. He’d staggered in through the Voxtech double doors even after being hit by a mother-fucking bus.
No matter how many friends died during exterminations, no matter how bad his hell-allergies were acting up…even if his fucking arm was ripped off by a pissed off Valentino, he still came into work the next day. He was the perfect Voxtech employee, and that was partially because Ethan had the perfect boss. A shiny visage of ego so great, brighter than the stars above. Now, Ethan himself was never destined for the spotlight but…watching it shine on someone else from the wings, knowing he was the technician behind it… that had to be something, right?
No matter how cruel his boss was, he was still his. He still owned his soul. Ethan just knew he wouldn’t be satisfied giving Angel Dust cigarettes for the rest of his contract. That wasn’t his job. This was.
“Let me help you clean up, sir!”
He begged instead, webbed hands clasped.
That stunned Vox. Genuinely, his face flickered, blue screen for .5 seconds. Finally, he growled, “Uh…why?”
“Because… um …” you need it, “It’s my job? To attend to you?”
Ethan dared a smile, sharp teeth pressed together to hide their chattering.
His boss made a noise half between a groan and a laugh, “Wow, you reeeeeeally want that promotion. Fuck it, fine… Val said he wouldn’t fuck me until I at least showered, so.”
He slouched forward, the blanket falling away. His pudgy tummy tucked and the chest of his shirt strained. Ethan tried very very hard not to stare, looking instead at his feet.
Aw.
His socks have sharks on them.
—🛁—
The quarters had an ensuite bathroom that was bigger than his entire apartment. Ethan filled a jacuzzi sized tub up with warm soapy water and flicked on a jet - it was real luxury Voxtek shit.
Vox allowed his assistant to lean over the porcelain and wipe his screen with a delicate microfiber. To wash the days of neglect off his body with a sponge and washcloth.
“I look like a fucking whale,” he muttered, as the bath drained, glaring down at his bloated body. Ethan, toweling him, froze for a beat.
“You look fine, sir.”
“I said, don’t call me sir.”
“I’m sorry s-...I’m sorry.”
Vox shifted forward, a claw rubbing up his thigh. Between his legs, he had a sleek metallic cock that Ethan was trying very hard not to look at. There were a lot of things he was trying very hard not to look at. It was actually easier to stare at his tummy than his dick, but that felt even more invasive.
“Val doesn’t seem to care, but he’s a fuckin’ freak. He’s got a new bias every single fuckin’ week, and he’s a borderline anorexic himself.”
“I think he does, um, still find you attractive, s- Vox.” Ethan attempted, as he helped him stand up on the marble rim of the tub. Oil designed for cyber scales coated his webbed hands. He felt weird rubbing them up the crevices of Vox’s body but his gills were too fucking dry. Flecks of dried scale came out underpalm.
“He, uh, ordered Angel to put on ten pounds just last week.”
Vox snorted, "Let me guess, Velvette got pissed that afternoon and made him rescind it.”
“Yes… I, uh, overheard that. She, uh, said something about heroin chic and aesthetics…that it just wouldn’t fit.”
“Well, I could’ve told him that, and I don’t even like Angel.”
An involuntary shudder traveled up his body as Ethan’s fingers lingered over where his v-line should’ve been.
“S-sorry, am I …?”
“No. Really work it in there.” Vox narrowed his eyes. “I don’t care, you’re an object to me.”
Feeling a flush of blood to his face, Ethan pushed his hands into the area beneath Vox’s stomach, where mismatched scars climbed up from his crotch to his navel, a physical rejection of his new weight. It was so vaguely reminiscent of human biology, it made Ethan clam up.
Now, it was time to address the thing that had prompted this entire situation. Ethan was already beginning to suspect it. In this entire bathroom, he hadn’t managed to find a single razor.
Besides, the stretch marks weren’t the only scars his boss’s new body bore.
“This will help, sir.”
He rubbed balm into the gash, hearing Vox wince.
“You know, if you rub sharks the wrong way, they’ll cut you.”
“I do know that. I read it in a book once. And their skin feels like sandpaper.”
His eyes squeezed shut. It was almost a little cute, the way the screen flashed: >_<. Another shaky breath left him, “Does mine?”
“Pardon?”
“Nevermind.”
Ethan set to work putting the cream on his thighs, his upper arms, every other place that was cracked.
Their final order of business was the subject of clothes. Vox sulked like a child in a robe as Ethan pawed through his massive closet.
“It’s not going to fit, even if it used to be loose, I’m a fucking fatass right now.”
“I-”
“Don’t you dare deny it.”
“Oh, um, s-” Ethan hid it behind a cough. “Maybe…Valentino left something you could wear. He’s…”
Willowy and thinner than Angel Dust, but his body is very long.
That was actually genius– one of his ‘normal’ t-shirts, made of french-style cotton, fit Vox just fine. It disguised everything about him, draping like a sheet ghost. Getting it over his head had been a pain but, to Ethan’s horror, he’d simply detached his TV, put it aside, and bluetoothed his body to slip the shirt over.
That’s a good way of preventing another…decapitation.
“I’ll probably just throw this flabby body out once I get my shit together,” he muttered, half heartedly. “Incinerate it.”
Ethan wasn’t sure why, but that made him feel a little sick. He wasn’t exactly possessive, but all that time he’d spent cleaning this body, all of its weird intimate little details…he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of it being thrown out like a rotten fish.
“If you want some…actual food, I can make sure it makes it down here.”
Ethan suggested as Vox returned to his newly vacuumed couch cushions and simply laid down, face first, on it.
“That’d be good, yeah.”
“Do you want anything in particular?”
“You’ve been my assistant for fuck knows how long, you know what I like.”
Ethan swallowed, dryly. He did know what Vox liked – aside from corporate meetings and ‘perfection,’ he’d handled enough personal calls to know his master’s preferences exactly. From handsoap to cologne to hamburgers to toothpaste to lube, he knew all of it. It’d been his job to know, and if nothing else, he was good at his job.
“I do. I’ll bring some to you right away.”
He started for the door, not sure if he was feeling relieved that this weird evening was finally coming to a close.
“Wait.”
Vox’s voice froze him.
“Stay.”
“Huh?”
His hand flailed over the back of the couch, blue claw making a ‘c’mere’ gesture. “I got more shit to say about the Jaws production, and you’re going to listen, alright?”
“Oh-! Absolutely, sir. I’d…be honored.”
Ethan turned around with a nervous smile. As he padded over, his foot caught. With a yelp, he tripped over mini Shok.wav and came crashing to the ground with a dull thunk.
Vox laughed really fucking hard as he struggled to get back up.