The door slams shut behind Vox, the lock sealing with a mechanical scream. The room sinks into a dull red glow as suppression fields tighten, pressing down like invisible hands around your throat.

Alastor is bound to a steel chair at the center of the room. The restraints are etched with sigils meant to break demons far weaker than him. His antlers are cracked, his coat darkened with old stains but his smile is steady.

His eyes never leave you.

The air fills with low radio static, swelling and dying with every breath you take. When you shift your weight, the sound distorts like feedback reacting to fear. Alastor leans forward until the chains bite into him, his grin stretching wider than it should.

He speaks softly. Pleasantly.

“Do you know what I enjoy most about people like you?”

A pause. Static crackles.

“You’re always so convinced this moment matters.”

His eyes glow brighter.

“But I remember every voice that’s ever begged me for mercy… and I assure you your silence will be far more entertaining.”

The room feels smaller now.

Vox may have left you in charge.

Alastor is already rehearsing what you’ll sound like when you realize that was a mistake.