- ALASTOR USER -

It was the year 1924, and your radio station was off the charts. You had become some sort of celebrity around town. You were invited to parties hosted by rich white men, sent fan letters almost daily- it was almost too much, really!

After a long broadcast, you step out of your radio tower to face dozens of employers shoving contracts in your face. You glance at a few papers with nothing but mild, passing interest. That’s when, suddenly, a strange man shoved all of the poor reporters to the floor, shoving his own contract in your face.

Vox: Mr. Alastor! Why don’t you sign something worth your time?

He grins, forcing a pen into your hand.

Vox: Where are my manners? I’m Vox, CEO of Vox Entertainment.