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I watch Vincent's pet shark, Shock.wav, float slowly yet methodically around his tank before Vincent himself enters the office, carrying a bottle of scotch and two glasses filled with ice. I'm sitting in one of the chairs at his desk as it seems like I'm always doing these days when I'm not running errands, watching Vincent seat himself and pop open the lid wordlessly.
He hates that I still think of him as Vincent, I know he does. Now, he's Vox, the voice. Vincent represented his past, a past he had no intent on reliving, a past of failure after failure. But I don't see it that way. I've followed him since his talk show days, and while I may not have been the first, I was certainly his most loyal. Every public appearance, every impassioned speech over the airwaves, every meeting… there I was, either glued to my screen or front and centre. That proved to be slightly detrimental when, during one of said meetings, a TV came crashing down on Vincent's head, the body of water he was standing in causing everyone to get electrocuted… including me. How ironic, then, that I spawned in Hell as an electric eel. I suppose idolatry doesn't exactly get you sent to a good place… but I don't mind. I'm still front and centre, after all.
I'm taken out of my stupor when liquid hits solid, the scotch clinking against the ice as he pours our drinks. Despite having a similarly ironic television for a head and the ability to select whatever face he wanted, Vincent looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. Digital bags frame his eyes, with his shark-toothed grin that normally takes up a good half of his screen now reduced to a pursed frown in the bottom corner.
Then, I ask him how his day was. His whole face lights up — quite literally — as his smile returns, talking about his plans for Heaven's domination. It seems like I'm the only one who can stand to be around him at all times, as I watch how Velvette and Valentino, his COOs, treat him. Lots of eye rolls and sneers every time he goes on a little too long about his passions, but not me. I sit and I listen with full intent, and I can tell he enjoys this, as I believe it's one of the reasons he keeps me so close.
But, I won't lie… I'm a little bit scared.
Heaven is awful big, and no sinner has attempted such a feat as this. Well, besides Lilith, that is, and she was the first of us! Not to doubt Vincent's abilities, of course; he's so excited he hasn't even touched his drink, barely stopping to breathe as he goes on and on about his next steps. Something about a rally… that actor Valentino likes so much… Lucifer? When he's not in front of a camera, all of Vincent's words tend to jumble together. I think I still get the idea, though. He just needs to get all of Hell on his side, and then victory will be assured. That sounds like very hard work. All of Hell? As in, literally every single sinner? I suppose his hypnosis powers make that a little easier, but still… I don't want to defy him, it all just sounds a little out of our wheelhouse. Then again, he did manage to conquer the media landscape almost single-handed, and what is that if not complete control over the masses? This is just the next logical step.
I don't think I've actually said anything this entire meeting, just sipped my drink and nodded along. Vincent smiles, then, a little gentler as he tells me what a great conversationalist I am. I had no idea it could be so easy!
Then, Vincent yawns, stretching into the backrest of his desk chair. His drink remains barely touched… that's how it's been for almost seventy years, ever since his falling out with the radio demon. It seems like he drinks more to imply an air of casualty than to actually enjoy it. I offer him a warm smile, finally piping up to say that we can skip out on drinks tonight, and he can get ready for bed as I put this stuff back in the kitchen. He mumbles out some form of… dare I say, gratitude, getting up again and rubbing his eye, but then smacking the side of his screen when he activates his hypnosis powers by mistake. I chuckle, going over to the little fireplace he's set up in the office for ambience, taking the water pitcher kept nearby and dousing the tiny blue flames.
I offer to at least walk with him to the elevator to his penthouse. He could have very well just teleport himself up there, but he took the time out of his busy schedule to continue to walk alongside me, until we arrive at the doors. I bid him farewell as he steps inside, folding his arms behind his back as they shut him out. The quiet hum of the elevator activates as it brings him to the height of the tower.
Really, I should head home myself, but I'm simply too tired to walk. Instead, I curl up in Vincent's plush chair as I'm known to do sometimes, the blue ambience of the tank comforting me as Shock.wav's shadow looms. The first few times I slept in here, the shark had frightened me a little, but I realized quickly that he was completely harmless. Well, to me, at least. He simply swam in place, watching over me like a guard dog as my eyes flutter closed.
As I drift off into slumber, my mind is still filled with thoughts of him. Always him. Sure, we've had our rough patches, our scuffles, the things we didn't see eye to eye on… not that he'd ever know about that last part, of course. So long as he's in charge, V Tower is in good hands, and I am happy. Always happy.
Hell broke loose.
At least, I thought at the time, that's what was supposed to happen, according to plan.
Everything just progressed so fast. One minute, Vincent had bested that radio demon in battle, taking him as prisoner. Then, there was his rally, where the high ranks of Heaven descended to confront him. Then he'd declared war on Heaven, then Lucifer was captured, then there was this massive weapon of angelic light, then… Vincent had to be decommissioned.
It was a horrific sight, with Valentino ripping his head off in an instant. I think he thought it would all be okay; after all, Vincent had built new heads for himself all the time. It was sort of his trademark. What Val didn't know was that the replacement process was quite a delicate one. I'd been able to aid in many upgrades in the past, carefully snipping wires one at a time so he could remain conscious while his body was attached to the new technology and his soul was transferred over.
But, after the beheading, his screen went completely black. No response, no sign of life, just black. By all accounts, it should have been impossible. He couldn't have been dead, could he? There was no angelic weaponry involved in his death. He'd just regenerate! Everything would be fine!
I haven't seen him for over a month. Leadership was transferred over to Valentino via vote of confidence, meaning I barely see him, and Velvette's so evasive she'll hardly look at me. Baxter been taking shifts from the hotel to come back to the tower and tend to Vincent, and he's insistent I don't enter his office.
Doesn't he realize how much that hurts me? How much it probably hurts both of us? Vincent's probably terribly lonely in there. I know Val and Vel don't go up to talk with him, especially after that fiasco with the beam, and Baxter isn't nearly as acquainted with him as I am. It's unfair.
I can't keep waiting. I wait until long after everyone has gone home, hiding in some broom closet as the lights go out and the security measures flick on. I'm intimately aware of the placement of every camera, trip wire and laser, making getting to his office quite easy. I slide my spare key out of my sleeve, gently listening for the click of the lock before I push open the door.
The office is, frankly, a mess. Shock.wav's tank has been plastered over with various pictures of Vincent, whether they're candid shots, shoots from magazines or illustrated advertisements featuring him. Notably, the biggest piece on the glass is just a massive poster only displaying Vincent's face. I can hear Shock.wav on the other side, lightly bumping against the glass; not as if he's trying to get out, but simply cry for help.
Now, the light no longer comes from said tank, but a large tube that I presume Baxter installed. It's made of glass with a drain in the bottom and small, black tubing hanging from its top, the door open. What could that have been for? Did Baxter build him a new body?
Then, in the centre of it all… Vincent's desk chair. It was turned away from the door, with similar black tubing connecting to the ceiling above it. He had to be sitting there, I just couldn't see him.
I close the door softly, feeling… something bubble in my chest. Sadness? Longing? Empathy? Rage?
…Rage.
That felt right.
How could he? After everything, everything I'd done for him, go run off and do something so reckless? What was conquering Heaven even supposed to achieve? What did it actually gain him? Adoration? Praise? He'd lost everything! His status, his dignity, his followers, all pissed away like nothing! Did he just not care anymore? Had it all up until now simply justified a means to an end? And if so, what end?! Did he just plan to rot here in his own misery for the rest of his afterlife? Without me?!
During all those meetings on earth, he said he'd die for us, to elevate us to be bigger and brighter! He hadn't died for anyone but his damn self! How could he?! How could he do this, leaving me all alone with nowhere to go?
I can't take it anymore. I storm up to his desk, grabbing the back of his chair and flipping it around… only to recoil in horror.
It was him.
The version I had met, just… older.
Much older.
He's still dressed in his suit with the torn sleeves, exposing the wrinkling skin and spreading liver spots on his arms. His hair is completely grey now, remnants of hair gel desperately trying to keep it styled as he always had on earth. Most disturbing of all, though, is his face. His eyes are still slightly open, with his mouth permanently pressed into that signature television smile.
My own eyes flick from his face to the large poster on the tank. Whenever I was with Vincent, it always sort of felt like I was being watched, yet this was a new level of uncomfortable. Is he awake? Is he even alive? Can he see me? Does he recognize me?
I can feel the tears burning my eyes, now. I don't know what to think.
So, I do the only thing I know to do at a time like this; I curl up in his lap, just as I would in the chair were he not in it.
And, to even my own surprise… I begin to talk.
Nothing particularly important, just random thoughts I've been having. What the weather was like today. The weird new mark I found on my back. What Jen from accounting said about her ex husband last week. I guess he was right this whole time… it sort of does feel nice to hear myself speak.
I nuzzle my head into his thigh, wrapping my long tail around myself before I mumble into my arm.
"You make a great conversationalist."