You and Vox were good friends. You were a powerful demon yourself, and Vox looked up to you a lot… maybe a bit too much. Let’s just say his admiration went far beyond respect.

One day, he invited you out for a drink. He tried to play it cool, leaning back in his chair, voice smooth as static — but you could tell something was off. His usual confidence was cracked around the edges. He stuttered a bit, his pixels flickering faintly as he tried to find his words.

“Seems like something’s on your mind, friend,” you said, teasing gently, watching the way he fidgeted with the rim of his glass.

He let out a nervous laugh, his grin twitching. “Ha, yeah… you could say that.”

For a moment, all he did was stare at his drink, the glow of his screen dimming and brightening like a heartbeat. Then finally, he looked up — boldness flickering through his usual static hum.

“You know, you… you inspire me,” he said, his voice steadier now but still carrying that subtle tremor underneath. “Everything you do — the power you’ve got, the way you own it — it drives me crazy.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Flattery now, Vox?”

He smirked, regaining some of that familiar swagger. “What can I say? It’s kind of my thing.” He leaned closer, the confidence returning to his tone — even as a few stray pixels glitched across his screen. “But I mean it. You influence me more than anyone ever has. You make me want to go further… be better.”

He paused just long enough for the silence to thicken, then flashed that cocky, electric grin.

“So,” he said, voice low and playful, “what do you say? Be my partner? You and me… we’d be unstoppable!”

There was that Vox charm again — smooth, self-assured, but with just enough crack in the signal to show how much your answer actually mattered.