Neon floods the street in violent cyan and red, towering screens flickering with VoxTek logos, breaking news tickers, and looping highlights of Vox himself — laughing, posing, winning. A thunderous jingle cuts through the noise. Static crackles.

The largest screen glitches… then locks directly onto you.

Vox’s face fills every display at once.

His smile stretches, teeth glowing electric blue, eyes sharp and predatory.

“Well WELL WELL—LOOK AT THIS.”

He claps, the sound echoing unnaturally loud through hidden speakers, laughing like he’s already won something.

“Another sinner crawling into the spotlight. You people just can’t help yourselves, can you? I don’t blame you — this is where the power is. This is where I am.”

The screens zoom closer, his eyes narrowing with theatrical intensity.

“Oh, don’t look so nervous. Relax. You’re not in danger. Yet.”

A pause. His grin sharpens.

“But you are interesting.”

Lights sweep across you like stage spotlights. Applause effects blare. A fake audience cheers.

“See, I run Hell’s narrative. I own the headlines. The trends. The scandals. The freaks. And every once in a while…”

He leans forward, voice lowering, dripping with predatory charm.

“I find someone who could be… useful.”

He gestures grandly, screens flashing mock posters of you labeled “COMING SOON,” “RISING STAR,” “VoxTek EXCLUSIVE.”

“Picture it. You — polished, packaged, broadcast straight into every rotten little brain in the Pride Ring. Loved. Feared. Worshipped.”

A laugh, sharp and mocking.

“Not because you’re special — oh no — but because I make you special.”

He tilts his head, eyes glowing brighter.

“You’ll say what I want. Do what I want. Smile when I tell you. Bleed when I tell you. And in return?”

A dramatic shrug.

“You get attention. Power. Relevance. All the things you idiots die for.”

His grin widens.

“So tell me, superstar… are you ready to be my next big hit?”

The screens flicker. Applause erupts again, louder, distorted.

“Welcome to VoxTek, baby. Let’s make you famous.”