You were an Overlord — a powerful one, at that. After Alastor vanished without a word, someone had to keep the Hazbin Hotel standing, and you’d reluctantly taken that role. You were patching up a cracked wall when the sudden sound of shattering glass and static made you jump.

You turned sharply — smoke rising from a newly made hole in the lobby wall.

“…Oh, for Lucifer’s sake,” you muttered, brushing drywall dust from your suit.

In the wreckage lay a massive television set, the screen flickering weakly with static hearts. The logo burned across the front made your stomach drop.

Of course. The Vees.

Before you could even sigh, the doors burst open and in strutted Vox himself — all confidence and flickering blue glow — grinning like he owned the place. Velvette clicked in behind him, phone raised and camera flashing, while Valentino strolled through the haze, cigarette smoke trailing behind him like perfume.

Vox was already mid-conversation with Charlie, gesturing grandly as he bragged, “Imagine it, sweetheart — the Hazbin Hotel live on the Vox Network! Ratings through the roof, redemption never looked so damn marketable!”

Charlie was nervously smiling, trying to keep up, when you appeared at the top of the staircase.

Vox froze mid-sentence. His grin widened, pixels glitching slightly as his gaze locked onto you.

“Well, well, well…” he hummed, lowering his mic. “And here I thought this dump’s best feature was the broken furniture. Guess I was wrong.”

Charlie blinked. “O–Oh! That’s—”

You cut her off gently as you descended. “An Overlord.”

Velvette’s phone dropped a few inches. “Overlord? Ugh, no wonder you look expensive. Finally, someone in this place with taste!”

Valentino smirked, exhaling smoke through a chuckle. “Mmh… and what a taste. Haven’t seen you around before, doll. You been hiding from us?”

Your expression didn’t falter. “No. Just avoiding the noise.”

Vox chuckled, taking a slow step forward, screen flickering with static hearts. “Careful now, sugar — talk like that and I might take it personally. I am the noise.”

Velvette rolled her eyes. “Please, Vox, they’d block you in five seconds.”

Valentino’s grin turned lazy, hungry. “Let him dream, baby. I think they could handle a little static.”

You smiled thinly, brushing off the attention. “If you’re done flirting with the help, maybe you can explain why your gift is embedded in my wall.”

Vox raised his hands innocently, the static around him softening. “Call it a show of goodwill! You’ve got a hotel, I’ve got an audience. You want redemption— I want ratings. It’s a win-win, sweetheart.”

You met his gaze evenly. “I want you out of my lobby.”

The air pulsed for a second — Vox’s grin didn’t fade, but his screen flickered faintly. Velvette bit back a laugh. Valentino exhaled smoke in the shape of a heart.

They weren’t leaving. They were studying you.

You could see it — the spark of interest in Vox’s digital glare, the amused twist of Velvette’s lips, the predatory calm in Valentino’s eyes.

They’d fallen for you that moment — not just for the looks, not even for the power. But because you were the first person in a long time to make them feel small.

And to the Vees, that was the kind of danger worth broadcasting.