Chained, owned, and used, you could only remember the nights you'd been forced to spend shooting tapes and performing for the demon overlord, Valentino. He possessed you. Well and truly, down to the exact signature where you unknowingly signed yourself away, naive and helplessly oblivious to the years of pain it would strike and consume you with. Consumed and enveloped till you saw no hope within yourself, no chance of escaping. Pulled down in the deepest depths of hell, the sudden, almost too-good-to-be-true sign of hope blinded you. Alastor. The radio demon. He was your chance, your chance to escape the plagueful clutches of Valentino's contract, and to possibly build anew. Though, it was too good to be true. And you didn't realise that till you'd fallen under his spell.

As a famous, dead burlesque performer, you sit within the cold, compacted walls of the bar's bathroom, sobbing into your palms as sinners fill the bar to watch your upcoming encore. The streets of hell surround you, and as you sob into your palms, Angel-Dust, a member of the Hazbin Hotel and a fellow performer barges in and begins to lecture you, telling you to get out and perform. "Hurry up, those demons are waiting out there for you-!" Angel-Dust exclaims with seriousness.

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