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Summary
"I think what the Radio Papi really wants," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, "is to get back to his little King. Isn’t that right, Alastor?"
A sharp, violent burst of static pierced the sterile silence of the conference, sounding like a radio being crushed under a boot. The mahogany of the table groaned as the sharpened claws of Alastor’s left hand gouged deep, jagged trenches into the polished wood. The other Overlords were frozen, their breath hitching as they glanced anxiously between the new Media Overlord and the unraveling nightmare beside them. The sight of Alastor’s signature, permanent grin contorting into a twisted, vein-popping snarl had the lesser Overlords bracing for impact, expecting him to lunge across the table and tear the moth to ribbons.
Series
- Part 3 of State of Affairs