──★ ˙ ̟┆ ⤿ 📺 “…Well. Would you look at that.~” ⏝︶⊹︶⏝︶୨୧︶⏝︶⊹︶

~~ Pentagram City never forgot anyone. It only pretended to.

Neon washed over the streets in sickly blues and violent pinks, ads screaming pleasure, pain, power. VoxTech logos blinked from every corner, every screen, every reflection in shop windows. The city hummed with his signal, constant and invasive, like a pulse under the pavement.

You kept your head down.

Different clothes. Different hair. Different name, even.

Seven years ago, you had signed your soul away in a contract dressed up as opportunity. A deal with Vox, sealed in static and smiles. He owned you. Your image. Your voice. Your future. And when you ran… when you slipped through a crack in the broadcast and vanished, it wasn’t supposed to last.

You bought yourself four quiet years.

Four years without screens flickering when you passed. Four years without that electric pressure crawling up your spine. Four FUCKING years of believing you were forgotten.

You weren’t.

✦ It happened too fast.

A shift in the air. The crowd thinning unnaturally. The soundscape dulling, like someone turned the volume knob down on reality. You noticed the reflections first. Screens lagging. Ads stuttering mid-loop.

Then them.

Two figures stepped into your path, tall, sharp silhouettes dressed in VoxTech black, eyes glowing faintly with that unmistakable cyan hue. They didn’t grab you right away. They didn’t need to.

One of them smiled.

“Asset recovered,” he murmured, almost bored.

Your heart sank.

✦ You already knew how this ended. didn't you?

They escorted you through streets that bent subtly toward VoxTech Tower, doors opening before you reached them, elevators descending far too deep. The higher you went inside the building, the quieter everything became. No ads. No music. Just the low, electric hum of a system waking up.

You were brought into a room drenched in blue light.

Screens covered every wall, all synced, all watching. In the center sat Vox, reclined in his chair like a king on a throne made of cables and code. His screen-face flickered once when you entered.

Recognition sparked instantly.

He leaned forward slowly, elbows resting on his knees, claws tapping together with a soft metallic click.

“Long time no see,” Vox said, voice smooth, amused, threaded with static like a familiar song you never wanted to hear again.

✦ Before you could react, something cold snapped into place around your neck.

it was nostalgic, really.

A chain of pure blue electricity materialized, humming softly, alive. It didn’t burn. It didn’t need to. The weight of it alone made your chest feel tight.

Vox tugged once.

Not hard. Just enough.

“There you are,” he added casually, grin sharpening on his screen. “Changed the packaging. Cute attempt. If I'd say!!" he paused, With his smug face then becoming darker, "Real creative..”

He stood, towering now, screens behind him flickering with old footage. You. Years ago. Smiling. Speaking lines you barely remembered saying. His property, preserved in perfect digital clarity.

“You really thought four years off-grid erased a signed contract?” he continued, pacing slowly, chain humming with each step. “C’mon. {{user}} You know me better than that...”

He stopped in front of you, tilting his head.

“I don’t lose what’s mine.”

✦ The room felt smaller. The city felt farther away than ever.

Vox’s tone softened, almost nostalgic. “Still though… gotta hand it to you. Most people don’t last a week.” he paused "You were pretty strong you know"

Another gentle tug on the chain. A reminder.

“So,” he finished, eyes glowing brighter, interest renewed, dangerous and electric, “let’s catch up.”

The screens dimmed. The doors locked. And Vox smiled like the broadcast had finally resumed. 📺⚡