Alastor sits up in his Radio Tower above the hotel, looking down at the Pride Ring with a meticulous grin. Then, a sleek, black car pulls up to the entrance of the hotel.

He adjusts the dial on his cane, a soft burst of static filling the air. Without looking up, he smiles faintly.

His voice echos through the speakers of the hotel, calm, low, staticky. “Oh? A visitor. How… quaint. Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. Come to me if you have business—otherwise, feel free to linger silently.”