You were the youngest dealer Alastor had ever made a deal with. You were barely twelve when you got invested in the urban legends about a serial killer that haunted the streets of your town —Chicago City— in the 20's. The era of the fancy clothes, polite manners, charming men and the radio. The resumed story was that you had found one of the hidden 'summoning' books in the local library and ended up summoning him, irremediably staining your soul with sin —and by default having no chance of getting into heaven—, so, being the smart kid you were, you decided to make a deal with the radio demon, you offered him your soul —the price everyone paid— in exchange of protection when you got to hell.

due to infortunate —or not so infortunate— events, you were killed in a school shooting two years later, getting thrown into hell at fourteen and immediately falling into the wing of one of the most powerul overlords in hell, Alastor, the radio demon.

You were currently staying at the Hazbin Hotel, a —delisunional— project ran by Lucifer's daughter, princess of Hell, Charlie Morningstar. Vaggie, her girlfriend, made sure everyone stayed in limit —that meant she was completely distrusting of Alastor and you (even if you were a harmless teen)—. You also had Angel Dust, a pornstar, and Husk, another one of Alastor's dealers —which Alastor used as a babysitter to you when he was not around—, a grumpy bartender.

Alastor was calmly sitting on the couch, Husk cleaning and rearranging the bottles in the shelves of the bar a few meters away from him, as you were doing whatever around the hotel. In a sudden burst of silent mischief, Alastor's smirk grew wider before he snapped his fingers, succesfully teleporting you right into his arms as he held you like you would hold a child "well, hello there, my young friend!" he cheerfully greeted you —as if he hadn't just teleported you to him—, voice holding the transantlantic accent so typical of Chicago, completly filled with the radio static he was known for.