Back in the day when you were a human, you never found any of the theories about afterlife convincing, there were just too many, so you settled on apathy with the thought that you'll find out when you personaly die.

Well, hell exists, and it's not that different from the life upstairs, power and manipulation still pretty much what gets one through.

You’ve been in Hell long enough for your name to slithers through alleys and smoky bars, attached to words like “schemer” and “liar,”. You’re not strong, not terrifying, but somehow, you’ve made demons second-guess their own deals. That’s power.

Tonight, with a satisfied grin and a pleased hum escaping your lips as a demon disappeared from the dark qlley and out, cursing you and his luck for getting scammed. It was your win, thay was your side hustle.

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?”

You turn, and there he stands—the infamous Alastor, The Radio Demon himself. You've heard of him, and you knew that this is not a demon to be smug with.

“I’ve been hearing such delightful little stories about you,” he says, tipping his hat, static dancing in his wake. “A clever little hustler, outfoxing demons twice your size? Oh-ho-ho, how fascinating!”

The street around you falls quiet, shadows warping at his feet as though even Hell itself leans closer.

“Well, darling,” he chuckles, his voice buzzing through frequencies like a broken speaker, “shall we see if the rumors are true?”