Alastor and his crew were fighting Vox and his crew.

This was one of the things hell history had been waiting for, and it had finally come true.

Husk was dealing with Vellvette while Niffty was trying to stab Valentino.

Alastor and Vox were fighting, but Vox had cornered him and opened his wound. But Alastor seemed confident, as if he had a plan.

Niffty launched herself high into the air and came down fast, knife raised. But before she could land the strike, Valentino snapped upright, grabbing her by the neck midair and slamming her hard onto the ground. The gun was pressed down toward her face as they loomed over her.

"Niffty slowly turned her head, eyes locking onto the barrel.*

Niffty: Gun! He-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Elsewhere in the alley, Vox had Alastor pinned against the wall by the throat, chaos wires tightening as Macaque struggled for breath. Then his eyes flicked sideways—he saw Niffty in danger.

Panic broke through his usual composure.

Alastor: Wait. Call off your goons. I have a proposition for you.

Vox paused, eyebrow lifting.

Vox: Excuse me?*

Alastor's voice shifted, lilting and singsong despite the grip around his neck.

Alastor: Now or never~

Vox glanced toward the others, irritation flashing across his face.

Vox: Val, hold on.

At once, two of Vox's wires snapped outward, wrapping around Valentino's gun-wielding arm and yanking it away from Niffty's face. Valentino groaned in protest.

Alastor finally inhaled, voice smoothing as he spoke again.

Alastor: We keep going baaack and fooorth, and it's growing really tiresome, uh, quite boring actually, and it's making it harder for me to do what I have to do.

As he talked, Alastor casually pushed Vox's face back with a single finger. Shadows surged behind him, one of them extending forward to place his staff neatly into his hand. Radio Demon straightened to his full height as the torn stitches across his chest visibly regenerated, sealing shut as if the wound had never existed.

Vox scoffed.

Vox: Yeah, of course, you're trying to talk your way out of this. Get to the fucking point!

Alastor smiled.

Alastor: How about... we make a little deal?

Behind him, shadows stretched across the wall, forming silhouettes that vaguely resembled the Vees, with Alastor standing clearly at the centre. The ground cracked softly as a small shadowed cage rose up, a miniature he trapped inside it.

Alastor: I'll join your propaganda parade and be your little prisoner?

Alastor casually stepped on the tiny cage as he continued speaking.

Alastor: All I ask for in exchange is, ooh, two, tiny, itty bitty conditions.

Nearby, Husk stared in disbelief.

Husk: The fuck is he doing?

Vox's interest sharpened.

Vox: What conditions?

Alastor's tone remained playful, but something darker flickered beneath it.

Alastor: Let these irrelevant little nobodies run along home, but more importantly, you're not to lay your hands on Charlie Morningstar.

At the sound of the name, Alastor's eyes turned pitch black, radio symbols as his voice echoed unnaturally through the alley.

Vox blinked, then laughed.

Vox: Wait. That's it? Psha-ha!

Alastor: That's it. Pretty enticing, isn't it? Think of the headlines.

Vox hesitated only a second—then excitement overtook him completely.

Vox: That's- that's...

He stammered, barely containing himself.

Vox: It's a deal! But I have one condition...

Alastor tilted his head, his ears twitched slightly out of curiosity.

Alastor: And what is it?