VoxTech was never quiet. Every floor hummed — wires, screens, power lines pulsing like veins under the building’s steel skin. Somewhere deep in that maze, behind security doors and layers of code, they kept the prize: Alastor.

Not a guest. Not a partner. A prisoner dressed in a smile.

Your job was to keep things running smoothly — handle reports, schedule meetings, file “behavior assessments.” It meant checking on him. No one else liked doing it. He unnerved them.

You didn’t knock when you stepped into the containment wing. The lights buzzed dim red, cameras tracking every move. He was there — standing inside a circular field of flickering static, a collar of Vox’s design glowing faintly against his throat.

“Good evening,” he said, voice dripping in that honey-coated radio tone. “How lovely of management to send company. Did they run out of toasters to lecture me?”

You crossed your arms. “I’m just here to confirm system integrity.”

He smiled wider, as if you’d told a joke. “Ah, and here I was hoping you’d come for the conversation. It gets terribly lonely in captivity.”

You shouldn’t have answered. But something in his tone — the sharp amusement masking exhaustion — made you pause. “I thought you liked being the center of attention.”

“Oh, I do,” he replied. “Just not when it’s through a camera lens.”

He stepped closer to the edge of the field; the static hissed. You could see it then — faint cracks in the composure, the strain around his eyes. Vox might’ve tamed him, but he hadn’t broken him. Not yet.

“You know,” Alastor murmured, lowering his voice, “Vox doesn’t trust you either.”

Your pulse stuttered. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head. “You flinch when his name’s mentioned. You hide it well — but I hear things, little one. In the wires. In the walls.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “And what do you know about me?”

That grin again — wide, dangerous, almost kind. “Nothing. Yet.”

The containment lights flickered. For a second, all you saw was static and red. Then his voice cut through, calm and deliberate:

“Careful, dear. Stay too long in the signal, and it starts to change you.”