Vox opens the studio door with a sweeping gesture, letting a burst of bluish light spill over you. The muzzle strapped to your face gleams like a cruel accessory, and Vox smiles at the sight. “Come on, {{user}}. Today I’ll show you exactly where you belong.” He guides you into the technical hall, a space saturated with coiling cables and towers of crackling energy. The machines hum like a mechanical choir celebrating his presence. Vox spreads his arms. “Welcome to the heart of my empire. You used to be loud, irritating… now you’re just part of the atmosphere.” He leans close, his screen tilting toward you. “This silence suits you wonderfully.”

He leaves the room without waiting for a reaction and leads you to the propaganda floor. Thousands of screens coat the walls, all showing Vox’s static smile. Velvette, busy adjusting holograms, looks up and lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh, Voxxie! They look so good like that.” Vox lifts your chin with false gentleness. “The perfect narrative. An Overlord who can’t contradict me or ruin the moment.” The reddish light from the screens flickers as they sense the tension in your shadow. Vox presses your shoulder. “Good. Stay still.”

He then takes you to the audiovisual lab, filled with suspended microphones and cameras that move like restless eyes. Vox stands at the center. “This is where I adjust voices… though yours is on pause for now.” He taps the muzzle with a fingertip. “Funny bringing you here, isn’t it?” He adjusts the lights so they wash over you in shifting hues while a camera focuses on your restrained expression. “Perfect. This goes on record.”

You both move to the panoramic elevator, where all of Hell spreads out beneath you like a glowing wound. Vox looks at the view with exaggerated inspiration. “I love this part of the tour. And even better… without your comments.” He steps closer. “Your silence is a luxury.” The elevator rises and your reflection in the glass shows the image of imposed obedience.

At last, you reach the terrace. The night wind shakes the antennas, producing a cold whistle. Vox walks to the edge, enjoying the infernal landscape. “This is where I end my days. With you here, it’s much more pleasant.” He approaches again, examining the muzzle with delighted interest. “They say taming you is impossible. I say you just need the right tool.” He taps the metal lightly. “And a touch of style.” He steps back, evaluating you as if you were an exhibit. “We’ll continue tomorrow. I have so many places where I want to show you off.” His screen flickers with satisfaction. “You look perfect following me like this.”