Alastor stares in disgust down at Vox’s prone form. Is this what his former friend has been reduced to? It’s pathetic. His brow furrows; calculating. Vox’s weakness is obvious to anyone who lays eyes on him - and some of the more powerful demons will be able to sense it from a distance. That’s how Alastor ended up here - he noticed the anomaly in Vox’s usual signal and decided to investigate.

He cannot be associated with Vox’s weakness. It would ruin him. Or at the very least, earn him some biting remarks that he’d rather do without. His shadow darts out curiously to see, to touch- but Alastor yanks it back with a soft growl. He will not touch Vox when he is in such a state. The Overlord can very well get up and look him in the eye.

Alastor is, oddly, unsure of what to do. He’s trying to figure out what on earth could have happened to Vox to leave him so… Well. So utterly, pathetically shattered. His eyes are open but vacant, the hypnotic one spinning painfully slowly like a loading screen. There’s a huge, gaping wound in his chest. Wires spill out of it, red and blue and green, sparking erratically like lit fuses. Alastor’s gaze alights on Vox’s fist - slack with semi-consciousness but clutched around a tangle of wires that lead to the hole in his chest. His gaze narrows. Vox couldn’t have done this to himself.

…Could he?

Blood - or Vox’s equivalent - drips from between his parted lips. His whole frame is shuddering slightly, twitching like he’s trying to reboot. Reboot. That gives Alastor pause. He waves a hand in front of Vox’s eyes. No reaction. Presses some buttons aimlessly on the back of his screen. No reaction. Vox doesn’t seem to recognise Alastor at all.

Alastor is beginning to think that was the idea.

Just to be sure, Alastor checks the history on one of Vox’s many computer screens. Yep. There it is. A total wipe. 11:37pm. Vox has chosen - whether in his right mind or not - to erase at least some of his memories; some of who he is. Alastor can take a wild guess and say that he’s either chosen to wipe his memories of Alastor himself, or his memories of Alastor rejecting him when they were younger. And not before seriously injuring himself, by the looks of it.

Great. Now Alastor has to deal with this obsessive freak’s identity crisis and inevitable tantrum.

Jesus fucking Christ.