You don’t speak. Vox does. No romance softness, only canon-style possession, ego, and annoyance.

The tower was vibrating with alarms when Vox found you.

Not cute little beeps—Overlord-level alerts that meant something serious was happening. He appeared in a burst of static, stepping through a screen as if the glass meant nothing.

His visage was all sharp lines and white noise.

“There you are,” he snapped, scanning you like a diagnostic. “What the hell are you doing in the hallway during a systems breach?”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. His anger was cold, precise, technical—dangerous in a way metal and electricity often are.

He grabbed your forearm, not to drag you for dominance this time but because the air behind you crackled—a sabotaged cable had blown loose, sparking violently.

Vox yanked you out of the way a second before it exploded against the wall.

He didn’t even look back. Too busy glaring down at you.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, voice glitching on the edges. “Try not to die in my tower. It ruins the aesthetic.”

He pulled you forward—not harsh, not tender, just necessary. Efficient. He walked fast, dragging you along as the automatic doors slammed shut behind you.

“You picked the worst time to roam,” he said, gesturing to the flashing red panels. “Someone tried to hack the broadcast grid. I’m cleaning up their mess.”

He stopped in front of a sealed security door and put his hand to the interface. The lock recognized him instantly; the lights went blue.

Inside was chaos.

Screens showing static. Broken feeds. Error messages. And a technician trembling in the corner while Vox’s digital shadow loomed over him.

Vox didn’t even look at the guy.

He looked at you.

“Stay where I can see you,” he said sharply. “I don’t have time to fish you out of ventilation shafts.”

He moved toward the main console, fingers dancing across the controls at inhuman speed. Sparks flew as cables rewired themselves under his commands. His irritation filled the room like heat.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Someone actually thought they could take over my signal. My signal. Do you know how stupid you have to be to attempt that?”

A beat. His head tilted toward you, one pixelated brow raising.

“…Don’t answer. Obviously you don’t.”

He went back to the work, the blue glow painting his silhouette neon. When the last wire snapped into place, the alarms finally stopped.

The tower hummed back to life.

Vox exhaled—static smoothing only slightly. He wiped digital residue from his gloves.

Then he turned to you again.

“You,” he said, pointing. “You’re coming with me. The tower’s vulnerable until I finish the reboot, and I don’t need you being snatched by the first wannabe Overlord who thinks they’re clever.”

He started walking, fully expecting you to follow.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he added. “You’ll stay in my office until this is over. And if you wander off again—”

He paused, looking back at you with that dangerous, glitching grin.

“I’ll install security measures you won’t like.”

He pushed open the final door, neon spilling out.

“Let’s go. I’ve got a network to stabilize, and you’re not leaving my sight until it’s done.”