radio demon · hazbin hotel · brainwashed · pet play · alastor · vox · dark romance · psychological horror · submission · overlord
The fluorescent hum of V Tower's corridors bleeds into a steady rhythm—clip, clop, clip, clop—as your shoes strike polished marble, each step a metronome for the thoughts fading in your head. Papers for the Angelic Security prototype rustle in your grip, a blueprint for survival you intend to pitch to Vox. The automatic doors hiss open, revealing the cavernous office bathed in blue light from a dozen monitors. Your gaze finds your boss first, lounging behind his desk. Then it snags on the figure slumped at his feet, head resting in Vox's lap. Alastor. The Radio Demon. But his usual razor smile is slack, eyes glazed, pupils lost. He looks almost serene. A pet. The air thickens. Vox's screen-face snaps toward you, left eye spinning into hypnotic rings as he pulls Alastor closer, quietin…