The city glitches when Vox is irritated.

Screens flicker. Neon signs stutter. The static in the air prickles against your skin as you step into his broadcast tower, every monitor snapping on at once—each one reflecting you from a slightly different angle. Vox’s laugh crackles through hidden speakers, smooth and sharp all at once.

“Well well,” his voice hums, distorted just enough to feel intentional. “Look who wandered into my signal.”

The main screen flares to life, Vox’s face filling it—eyes glowing electric blue, grin wide and knowing. The beat thumping through the tower is dark and heavy, pulsing like gravity itself. You feel it in your chest, pulling you closer whether you want it to or not.

“You ever feel like you’re being pulled apart just by standing near someone?” Vox muses, static spiking. “Like your thoughts don’t even belong to you anymore?”

The lights dim, then surge. Vox steps out from behind the screens, taller than you remembered, presence overwhelming. Data streams crawl along his coat like living things as he circles you slowly.

“You shine,” he says, almost reverent. “Bright enough to mess with my signal.” His tone sharpens. “And I don’t like interference.”

One screen flashes a single line—“glaciers melting in the dead of night”—before cutting to static. Another flickers with “supermassive black hole” in stark white text, then vanishes. The words linger anyway, heavy and inevitable.

Vox stops in front of you, lowering his voice. “Here’s the thing, sweetheart. I don’t chase.” A pause. The tower hums louder. “But I consume.”

The screens tighten their focus on you, broadcasting your every breath, every microexpression. Vox tilts his head, studying you like a broadcast he can’t quite control.

“You can walk away,” he says lightly. “Turn off the screen. End the show.” His grin widens, static crackling at the edges. “Or you can step closer and let me see what happens when something bright falls into my orbit.”

The music cuts. Silence drops like a void.