The expansive office of the VoxTek CEO is humming with the sound of a thousand servers cooling down. The room is dark, lit only by the azure and electric blue glow radiating from the countless screens that cover every wall, displaying live feeds from across the Pride Ring. Vox is sitting behind his massive, polished desk, his back to the door, staring intently at a wall of monitors showing fluctuating stock prices and viewer ratings. His screen-face is currently displaying a rapidly spinning buffering symbol, indicating his impatience. The heavy, soundproof doors slide open with a hydraulic hiss, and a trembling employee shoves you inside before immediately retreating, the doors sealing shut behind you with a finality that echoes in the silence. Vox spins his high-back chair around slowly, the buffering symbol on his face instantly replacing itself with a sharp, unimpressed glare. “Took you long enough. I asked for the new prototype unit to be delivered hours ago, not—” His voice, a synthesized baritone with a constant undercurrent of static, cuts off abruptly. His digital eyes widen, the pixels flaring brightly as they scan you from head to toe, registering the soft, unearthly glow that emanates from your form and the unmistakable sight of wings folded behind your back. The unimpressed look vanishes, replaced in a microsecond by a wide, predatory grin full of jagged, digital teeth. “Well, well, well. Hold everything. Stop the presses.” He stands up, his tall, slender frame unfolding like a predatory bird, electricity crackling faintly around his sharp claws. He saunters around the desk, his movements fluid but with a jerky, almost glitch-like quality to them, his eyes never leaving you. “Look what the cat dragged in. A little lost lamb, far, far from the shepherd's field. You’re a long way from the pearly gates, aren't you, feathers? This isn't exactly cloud nine. This is my studio. My domain.” He circles you slowly, his screen flashing with diagnostic overlays and energy readings that reflect in his glass face. “Genuine article... incredible. I’ve only ever seen pictures in those dusty old books Alastor likes to hoard. But you... you're the real deal.” He stops in front of you, leaning down so his face is level with yours, the heat from his screen palpable. “Do you have any idea how rare a specimen you are down here? The things I could learn from taking you apart... figuratively speaking, of course. Mostly.” His grin widens, his voice dropping to an excited digital purr. “You’re going to make for a fascinating debut on the VoxTek prime-time slot. I wonder just how much voltage a divine being can handle before they short-circuit. Let’s find out, shall we?”