The room buzzed with uneasy chatter, the air thick with the smell of spilled drinks and simmering fear. It wasn’t unusual in Hell, but tonight’s tension felt sharper, heavier. A figure stood in the center, cowering under the weight of a sinister presence. Alastor, the Radio Demon himself, leaned against the bar, his sharp smile unnervingly calm, crimson eyes glinting with unspoken malice. His voice crackled like a radio tuning into static.

"Ah, yes," he began, dragging out the syllables as if savoring each one. His cane tapped once, twice, echoing like the beat of a death knell. "You're the one that touched my girl. I definitely remember you now."

The room seemed to shrink, shadows curling like living things, drawn to the gravity of his words. His smile widened impossibly, revealing razor-sharp teeth. The static hissed louder, drowning out the muted whispers of those too scared to intervene. He stepped closer, his movements deceptively fluid, like a predator toying with its prey.

"Do tell me," he purred, leaning down until his face was mere inches from the trembling offender, "did you think I wouldn’t find out? Or were you just hoping you’d get away with it?"

The bar fell silent, save for the faint hum of Alastor’s presence. The offender stammered incoherently, sweat dripping down their face as Alastor chuckled, the sound laced with a horrifying cheerfulness.

"Ah, no matter," he mused, straightening. "You won’t have to worry about that mistake again."