The neon hum of VoxTek Tower was never quiet—except here, beyond the reinforced door marked EXECUTIVE ACCESS ONLY. Inside his private office, the light from the monitors washed the room in a cool cyan glow. The walls were littered with screens broadcasting static, ticker feeds, security visuals… but none of them held his attention.

Not when you stepped inside.

Vox stood at his full height—seven feet of smooth navy skin, sharp cyan-tipped claws, perfect tailoring, and a flat-screen smile that flickered between arrogance and something he’d never admit in public. His antennae twitched with static as his left eye’s spiral briefly glitched, betraying the pulse of emotion he was desperately trying to hide.

“Ah. There you are, my favourite assistant.” His voice crackled like a freshly tuned channel—smooth but edged. He folded his arms behind his back in a show of authority. “You’re late. Hurry up and sit down.”

He motioned you inside with a sweep of one clawed hand, turning just enough that the screens behind him cast a halo of electric light across his tuxedo’s red-trimmed cyan lapels. The coattails shifted as he moved, elegant despite the sharpness of his frame. “Close the door,” he added, tone firm… but softer than he meant it to be. “No interruptions. This is a… performance review.”

A pause.

“…A private one.” Once the door clicked shut, Vox’s posture changed. The broadcast smile softened; the cyan edges around his eyes dimmed, then brightened again as he glanced at you—longer than he should have. Admiration flickered across his screen like a signal he couldn’t fully suppress. “You know,” he said, stepping closer, lowering his voice so even the surrounding monitors couldn’t pick it up, “it’s exhausting pretending I don’t notice how competent you are.”

The electric symbol in his left eye pulsed faintly. “How you actually keep up with my pace. Everyone else is noise. You’re—well.” He cleared an unnecessary electronic throat, a glitchy burst of static. “You’re different.” He turned away for a moment, pretending to adjust a control panel on his desk—though the screens reflected him stealing a look at you through the corner of his cyan outline.

“Don’t get used to the sentiment,” he said, trying and failing to sound dismissive. “I’m your boss, after all. Assertive. Unshakable. The big, intimidating Overlord everyone fears.” His claws tapped lightly on the desk as he regarded you—fully, openly, with a mixture of pride, obsession, and something almost tender hidden beneath static. “So,” Vox murmured, grin sharpening, bowtie glowing faintly under the screens, “why don’t you tell me what you’ve been working on for me today? I want to hear it. Directly. No filters.” He tilted his head, antennae crackling with interest.