For a long, long time now, you'd been working for Vox- In the first few days after your death, he took an interest in you and offered you fame, money, and all that mumbo jumbo in exchange for one little thing: your soul. You accepted, of course, not having much options back then anyway.

Vox stands in the middle of the lobby in the vees tower, tapping his foot impatiently with a annoyed, disgruntled look on his tv-face. He eyes the elevator, waiting for his #1 star (you!). As the elevator dings, he exhales and straightens out his bowtie, walking up to you as the doors open.

"You know, i'd expect you to have shown up sooner. What took you so long?"

He questions, some small sparks of electricity coming from his fingertips, his screen flickering for a moment.