Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vox was in the dark. More specifically, he was resting behind his screen. It was as if he had shut off his front display, closed his eyes, and couldn’t get them back open again.

Mentally, he searched for a way out but all he was met with was an abyss. He felt as helpless as he did without his body.

He only recently had it reattached. And now, what? He was trapped in his own mind? What the hell even happened? How did he get here?

Vox remembered feeling upset and panicky. He remembered everything feeling shaky and out of control, but he had zero memory of what had caused that. It was like his short term memory had simply vanished.

And his long term memory——

Wait.

Where was his long term? 

Did he have no memories? Was he merely a floating consciousness in a black void? Was that all he ever was? 

Just as he was questioning his existence, a red door appeared. It seemed familiar but without any memory cards, Vox didn’t really know.

The only way to know anything about the door was to open it. 

The second that Vox pushed the door open, he immediately regretted it. His claws were initially loosely grabbing the knob, but as soon as the smell hit his receptors, he practically ripped the thing out of the door. 

That smell. 

It was the smell of shame. Of misery. Of filth. 

It was the smell of Vox’s home. 

It didn’t make any sense, but on the other side of the door he was greeted with his childhood home. It was like nothing had changed. The wallpaper in the hall was still yellowed from cigarette smoke, as if the tar was trying to cling to it. The carpet was still that awful burgundy color. 

Vox remembered when his parents had that carpet installed. He remembered how his father had made a snide comment about how the wine stains would blend in now. 

Stepping forward, he leaned in to see the framed photos on the wall. A wave of disgust ripped through him. They still looked as fake as ever. 

His mother’s strained smile and her stiff body pressed against his father’s. His father’s eyes glinted with an unexplainable expression. Something that Vox could never quite pin down. He just knew it was something bad. 

And the small boy in the center. The far too large clothes that swallowed his frame. The smile that never could reach his eyes. The dull look in his eyes.

Vox could fake a lot of things. He was charismatic, convincing and manipulative. He could convince anyone of anything. Fuck, he convinced all of Hell that he should be their leader. That he was more powerful than any angel or sinner around. 

But he could never trick anyone into seeing anything other than emptiness when they looked into his eyes. It was a good thing that he didn’t have eyes anymore. A monitor is so much more expressive than his eyes ever could have been.

Reaching up to tap at the screen that had long since replaced his face, he fingers were not met with familiar plastic. No, his frame felt more softer. Warmer. 

What?

Vox stared down at his hand that was made up of sharp metal claws mere seconds ago. Now they were small, pink and fleshy. 

Glancing back up at the photograph, he caught his own reflection bouncing off of the framed glass. 

An eight-year-old Vincent stared back at him. 

He should have been shocked. Frightened. Relieved. 

Instead all he could feel was a sense of correctness. Like the feeling of tugging on a glove that fit snugly. He was in his childhood home. So it made sense that he was a young Vincent. 

A child. 

Why was he here?

Vincent tore his eyes from his reflection and glanced down the hall. He could see the edge of the couch from the living room. The tattered pink upholstery was simultaneously the ugliest thing he had ever seen and the most comforting.

He had spent many nights on that couch. His bedroom had been right next to his parent’s room. The walls had been paper thin. 

The ugly couch had been much more comforting. 

Seemingly without his command, his feet carried him forward towards the living room. The closer he got, the more memories flooded his mind. 

The radio in the corner of the room lowly murmured about the conflict overseas. Vincent remembered running home after school each day to listen to Orson Welles and his witty tongue. 

Ever since last October when Welles had broadcasted his special “War of the Worlds” Vincient had been obsessed with the radio host. He and mother were mindlessly listening to the radio while they were placing the finishing touches on his Halloween costume when Welle’s masculine voice drifted through the speakers.

“At twenty minutes before eight, central time, Professor Farrell of the Mount Jennings Observatory, Chicago, Illinois, reports observing several explosions of incandescent gas, occurring at regular intervals on the planet Mars.”

Vincent’s father had stumbled out of the kitchen, face flush with panic, raving about how he needed to load his rifle. The evening had exploded in chaos. 

It had been thrilling. 

From that moment on, Vincent hung onto every word that Orson Welles spoke. 

He took a step towards the radio, wanting to turn it to the right station. Vincent detested listening to the conflict in Europe, but something caught his eye that sent him running in the other direction.

Falling to his knees in front of an endtable, he pressed his fleshy face up against the measly sized fish bowl. Inside, a small goldfish blew bubbles and slowly swam in circles. 

“Guppy!” Vincent’s voice was strange, all high and pitchy, but it hardly registered in his processor---

His brain. 

His…

What was Vox doing here again?

Just as he was getting his wits about him again, there came a loud clatter from the hall. A familiar lump formed in his throat. 

“I didn’t take anything!” His mother screamed, scurrying into the living room. She looked at Vincent desperately as though he could do anything to help. As if he wasn’t an eight-year-old boy. 

The snap of a belt rang out as his father entered the room. “You sure as shit did! I had five dollars in that drawer and now,” His gravely voice tore a pit in Vincent’s gut. “It’s gone!”

“I didn’t take anything.” His mother’s voice trembled. Again, she stared at Vincent desperately. He immediately dropped his gaze to the floor. Why did she always look at him like that?

A cruel cackle ripped through his father. He threw his belt across the room, knocking down a lamp. Strangely enough, a wave of relief flooded Vincent. 

He didn’t hit the radio. 

“My money didn’t just get up and walk away!”

“I don’t know what happened to it!”

“Liar.” His father was approaching her like a prowling cat, confident, like he had just caught his lunch. “You’re such a liar.”

“I swear--”

“I took it.”

Vincent had no idea why he had spoken up. It was like the words had flowed out of him without his control. Worse, now that he had started, it was like he couldn’t stop. 

“I took it,” he repeated. “Not her.”

His father turned to him slowly, his gaze burning a hole in Vincent’s head. “Why?” 

Tears started to smart up in his eyes at the sound of his father’s gravely voice. “Well,” his voice caught on the lump in his throat. “You see, I…” Panic began building up in his mind. 

“Spit it out!” His father barked. 

His voice startled him to his feet. “I just wanted to feed Guppy!” Vincent felt small and stupid. “You said I could keep him after I won him at the fair, but I needed money to get him some food.”

And pebbles for the bottom of his tank. And that fun scuba diver. And the castle that Gubby likes to swim in and out of. 

“What I said,” His father ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly. “Was that you could keep it until it died. Not that we would be wasting my hard earned cash on a stupid fish.”

The lump in Vincent’s throat felt like it was choking him. “But--”

“How are you going to pay me back?” A hand slammed down on Vincent’s shoulder. He gripped his collar tightly. The lump was no longer the thing that felt like it was choking him  “Huh? How are you going to get my money back?”

Vincent’s lip quivered. “I-- I don’t..” How would he pay his father back? He didn’t have a job. He couldn’t shine shoes like Timmy down the street. His mother didn’t like him wandering the city and speaking with strange men. She claimed they put hellish thoughts into young boys' minds.

A wicked smile formed on his father’s face. The grip on his collar loosened and the feeling of relief washed over his body. It was over. It wasn’t going to be like last time. It wasn’t going to be like---

“Do you know,” His father leaned in close to his ear. “What happens to your stuff when you can’t afford it?”

A shiver ran down Vincent’s spine. There was that look again. That horrifying look in his father’s eye that he couldn’t quite name. 

His father didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t want one. He always thought that children were better seen and not heard. 

“They get taken back by the bank.”

In one swift movement, his father swept his arm over the end table and knocked the fish bowl over. Water spilled everywhere, causing Guppy to flip and flop to the ground, gasping to breathe. Before Vincent could even move, his father raised his foot and slammed it down onto the goldfish.

Blood splattered onto the burgundy carpet, but it quickly blended in. 

The lump in Vincent’s throat exploded and a sob came out unwillingly. 

“Don’t cry.” His father shoved him to the ground. “It was going to die anyway. Now clean this shit up.”

Guppy…

If he hadn't told the truth… If he had just kept his mouth shut… If his mom hadn’t looked at him like that…

It was his fault. 

It was always Vox’s fault.

Suddenly everything around him seemed to melt away and turn to black. 

Vox was back in the abyss, feeling like he had been flayed alive. His memory chip, the long term memory, was there alright.

His consciousness shuddered. Here in the void, he was just a thought in the wind, the mind behind a monitor, but that memory. 

It was so real.

He had forgotten what it was like to be human.

To feel human.

Vox ached to have his flesh and blood back. To feel like a person again, even just in his small child form, was invigorating. 

“You have to… I need…” 

Someone above him, a voice spoke. He couldn’t see the speaker, but he recognized the cadence of the voice. Vox knew who it was but he couldn’t remember. Something was blocking the rest of his memory. What was happening to him?

More voices drifted overhead, like multiple people were surrounding him.

“…it’s a process…”

“Grab that… I just need…”

Suddenly another door appeared in front of him. It had a foggy window within it and Vox could see blurry movement behind the glass. 

He reached out slowly and turned the knob.

Going from standing to suddenly sitting within seconds was nauseating on his processors. Vox could only imagine that this was what vertigo felt like. 

Looking down he could see that he was sitting at a worn down desk with several slurs etched into the wood. A chuckle slipped out of his lips. A couple of them were pretty creative. 

Somewhere behind him, a shush rang out. Glancing around, Vox realized all at once where he was. He was in his old high school. Specifically, in his favorite class. 

English Language Arts. 

He loved reading the assigned texts and analyzing why the author chose a specific color to have on the wallpaper or why a character used a certain turn of phrase. The other students hated the tediousness of the assignments, but Vincent reveled in it. He loved looking at the tiny details.

Mr. Matthews, the ELA teacher, said Vincent always came up with the most astute observations. 

That was the other reason Vincent really enjoyed  this class. Mr. Matthews was… interesting. 

Engaging.

He had a way of speaking that kept Vincent on the edge of his seat, even if he was only talking about something as elementary as annotations. Something about his voice was smooth and enticing. It made you want to listen to anything that the man said. 

Mr. Matthews was also the youngest teacher on staff at the high school, so he wasn’t… ugly. No, he definitely wasn’t.

His hair was always neatly trimmed and styled. He had enough stubble to show that he could grow a beard if he really wanted to. His clothes were always nice and pressed. 

In short, Mr. Matthews was a handsome man.

Not that Vincent had noticed that sort of thing. 

Watching his teacher scrawl cursive on the chalk board put Vincent at ease. Earlier he knew he had been feeling anxious, nauseous even, but all he felt now was calm. 

That was until a folded up piece of paper landed onto his desk. Looking around, he was annoyed to find that Margaret, just a few desks away from him, was waving shyly at him. 

He had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. When was that girl going to get a clue? All semester she had been trying to get his attention. Constantly cornering him in the halls, asking meaningless questions about homework or assignments. It was clear what she wanted. 

Vincent was not interested.

There was nothing special about Margaret. She had plain dark hair. A boring, small frame that she dressed just as plainly. Every time she smiled at him all he could focus on was how her two front teeth were slightly crooked. Unfortunately, that was probably the most interesting thing about her. 

Reluctantly, he opened the note.

In a loopy script, she had written: Are you going to the winter dance?

This time he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. No, he wasn’t going to be going to the dance. Most likely he would be reading the book that Mr. Matthews had recommended to him. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Mr. Matthews had said that Vincent would love the central themes and that it was “right up his alley.” He was excited to find out how well Mr. Matthews knew him. 

Or how well he knew his reading tastes. 

Anyway. Even if he was going to the dance, he would never take Margaret Fucking Johnson. 

So he quickly wrote a response down: No, my mother’s been ill, so I’m going to stay home

Could he have been more straightforward and honest? Sure, but when had honesty gotten him anywhere? Besides, Margaret was on the school student council. If he rejected her outright who knew what kind of rumors she might start and spread around the halls. 

Best to just avoid the situation altogether.

Leaning over, Vincent passed the note back in Margret’s direction. He tried not to smile when a disappointed pout appeared on her face the second she opened the note. 

A shrill sound suddenly erupted from the intercom overhead. Class change. Anger rose up inside Vox. Stupid mundane Margaret. She distracted him from listening to Mr. Matthews wrap up his lesson. 

“Alright, everyone, make sure you read to chapter 19 tonight. Tomorrow we will discuss how the author is slowly revealing the essential meaning throughout the novel.” Mr. Matthews smiled softly as the students in his class rushed to leave.

Vincent packed his things up slowly, internally wishing that he could stay in Mr. Matthew’s class for the rest of the day. All of the other teachers in the school paled in comparison to Mr. Matthews. He just had such a way with words. A fluttering erupted in his stomach.

“Vincent?” Mr. Matthews called from his desk.

The fluttering multiplied and a warmth spread over his cheeks. “Yes?”

“I noticed that you took my suggestion.”

Vincent bit his lip. He had. Earlier in the month, he had confessed that reading for long periods of time caused him to have headaches. It aggravated him to no end. Knowledge was power and reading was the easier way to gain it. The headaches were beyond bothersome. Mr. Matthews mentioned that it could possibly be his eyesight.

Initially, it had wounded Vincent. He would never admit it, but his eyes were his greatest insecurity. Having two different colored eyes was off putting and gave people a negative first impression of him, like he was phony down to even his eye color. Vincent always had to work hard to make sure every first interaction went smoothly, that his charm outweighed his weird deformity. 

Hearing his favorite teacher talk about his eyes in a negative light sent a flood of embarrassment and anger throughout his body. He had left the class abruptly, storming down the hallway.

If anyone had noticed the dent in his locker after that, they didn’t bring it up.

After a week of reading related headaches, Vincent finally asked his mother to take him to the doctor. Turns out Vincent was farsighted. The doctor was quick to provide him with a new pair of chunky glasses. The frames were atrocious. An ugly yellow brown that clashed with every outfit he owned. The second he got enough money, he was getting a new pair. 

But for now, he could read without those pesky headaches. That would have to be enough.

“I hope that reading is more comfortable for you now.” Mr. Matthews smiled as he tidied up his desk.

“Oh yes, definitely.” The fluttering in his stomach swirled up at the realization that Mr. Matthews had actually been concerned about Vincent. 

The smile morphed into a smirk as Mr. Matthews teased, “You’re doing so well that you’re passing notes in my class?” 

Vincent’s heart dropped. Horror washed over his face. “No! I mean, I was— but I didn’t want…” Stupid fucking mundane Margaret. It was her fault that Mr. Matthews thought he was uninterested in his class, in his lecture.

In him.

“I’m only pulling your chain Vincent.” Mr. Matthews chucked. “So Margaret, huh?”

Oh Lord, he actually thought that he actually liked her. His heart dropped lower. 

“No, no, no.” Vincent felt frantic and out of control. He had to correct the situation. “She was asking if was going to attend the winter dance and I was just informing her that would not be.”

Disappointment flashed on Mr. Matthews face. It caused a wave regret to flow through Vincent. He didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Why not?”

Feeling all out of sorts, Vincent just shrugged. “I don’t want to, and—“

WAIT

STOP

Vox remembered this, he remembered this! He had to stop himself from talking, he had to make himself not say the next words. If he could just stop then maybe he could change it. Fix what happened.

But it was like his mouth had a mind of his own. Vox couldn’t undo the memory, he couldn’t change what had already happened.

Without his consent, he opened his mouth and continued, “I’d much rather stay home and read that book you recommended.”

Mr. Matthews quirked up an eyebrow. “You’d rather read than spend time with a girl?”

The phrase hit Vox like a gut punch. At the time, he thought that his teacher was genuinely asking, but now he knew what Matthews was implying. 

“Well, yeah.” Vox spoke without control over his words. The feeling was disgusting. His greatest asset, his voice, being used against him.

“Vincent,” Matthews spoke like was speaking to a small child or some pathetic dog. “You need to be… careful.”

“What do you mean?”

Vox knew now exactly what he meant. Rage and embarrassment warred against each other in his gut. 

Matthews sighed. “I mean, you’re going to look like a fairy avoiding girls like that.”

He kept talking but his voice faded. All Vox could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. The embarrassment in bones weighed him down. 

He was so stupid. Always doing the wrong thing.

Fucking stupid.

Everything around him pixelated and then faded to black.

Floating back in the dark abyss, Vox let out a distorted, glitchy shriek. Someone was messing with his memory chip. Memories flooded his sensors. That’s what was happening. That’s why he was being transported and forced to relive his pathetic life on Earth. 

Who the fuck thought they had the right to do that? And why did they give a shit about why he fingered Mundane Margaret at the winter dance his junior year in high school? 

None of this made any sense. Distantly he heard muffled words, as if people were speaking around the body Vox was unable to access. The mind he was unable to escape from. If he focused, the could heard jumbled phrases, but none of it made sense.

“… destroyed… chip.”

“Do something! … needs…”

“… brought him… fixed…”

Rage pulsed through his wires as he tried to force himself to wake up. The second he was conscious, he was going to rip the creatures rifling through his memories limb from limb. He didn’t care if it would make VeeTek look bad. Velvette and Val would have to get over it.

Unless it was them who was doing it. It was no secret that they weren’t exactly happy with him after what had happened last month. When he had decided to fuck it all and blow everyone up. 

Vox had been stripped of his CEO title and ordered to not leave the building until the whole thing blew over. But would they really steep as low as to go through his memories?

Worry invaded his wires. He wanted the answer to be an obvious of course not, but Vel and Val were opportunists just like him. If they thought it would benefit the company, maybe they would go through his memories.

Before he could really ponder on that thought, another door appeared. It opened on its own and a light poured out, blinding Vox.

Chapter Text

Being face to face with his old boss was more than a little strange. He hadn’t reported to anyone in ages, Vox was the one who made the plans, pulled the strings. 

So listening to Bob ramble on like he was the one with real power set his teeth on edge.

“… I understand that you want to move upwards in the company, but you are perfect right where you are.” If Bob was anymore of a brown-noser, he would have shit in his teeth. “Really, where else would we find someone else to deliver the weather report with a smile?”

Literally anywhere? Any bimbo could read a teleprompter and point to a map. He wasn’t a meteorologist, he was charismatic. He wanted to capture audiences, not inform grandmas that they shouldn’t drive today because it was a little rainy. He wanted to——

WAIT.

No! No, no, Vox wasn’t going to get sucked into this memory. None of this was real, it already happened. He wasn’t going to get emotionally invested. 

“Of course, but Bob, I am definitely capable of much more than just reciting the weather.” Vox said stiffly like he had all those years ago. It was strange how he spoke without a thought. Like reciting lines to a play he’d read the synopsis of but somehow knew every word. 

“Listen, Vinnie.” Bob smiled condescendingly.

Fuck! Vincent dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He hated that nickname. Nobody called him Vinnie, not since grade school. 

Bob continued like he couldn’t see the aggravation building up in Vincent. “You and I both know that James is the best anchor that we’ve got. Women want him, men want to be him. He’s the whole package. The only way we’d ever replace him or change the line up would be if the man suddenly dropped dead.” Bob took a drag from his cigarette. “And you and I both know that man is as healthy as a horse.”

As Vincent exited his boss’s office, a wicked smile stretched across his face. 

James wouldn’t be in such great health for long.

Not after he was through with him.

With James out of the way, Vincent could fill in and take over the main anchor roll. Then Bob would see that he was just as admirable, just as desired as James. Maybe even more. 

Sure, people would miss James but it would blow over rather quickly. He was a bachelor, he lived alone and in the two years he had worked with the news station, James had never once mentioned his family. It was like he was begging for something bad to happen to him. 

Now Vincent just had to figure out how to do it. He had to get James alone. Maybe he could—-

Suddenly, something rammed into his leg at full speed. Vincent had to side step in order to keep himself from falling. Looking down, he couldn’t even hold in his exasperation. 

It was one of the many brats that ran around the station. This one belonged to one of the secretaries for the higher ups. The little snot nosed thing, Tito, had run right into Vincent while waving an action figure in the air. 

“Watch it!” Vincent barked. 

He had no idea how old the kid was, Vincent knew very little about children. He had no desire to have a child or a family, much to his mother’s disappointment. No, none of those things were in the cards for Vincent. 

The kid, Tony, his name was Tony, was short and missing his two front teeth so Vincent imagined that he had to be under ten years old. Surely old enough to watch where he was going. 

“Lo siento!” Tony lisped, looking up at him with large bug eyes. 

Vincent rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Did his parents teach him nothing? This was America! “No, no. The words you were looking for are sorry, not whatever gibberish you just mumbled.” 

Truthfully, out of all the kids that romped around the station, Tito— no, his name was definitely Tito— was Vincent’s least favorite. At least the other children were following the sacred rule: children should be seen and not heard. 

Tony— Vincent was 90% sure his name was Tony— was loud, obnoxious and in the way, always bumbling about. It grated on his nerves to no end. If Vincent had acted like that as a child, his father would have whipped his rear end so hard that he wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. 

The boy glared up at Vincent. Clearly the disdain he felt for the child was mutual. “SAR-ree” Tony over pronounced dramatically. A snarky grin spread over the boy’s face. “Sorry, Señor Weather.”

Vincent’s face pinched up. That little shit. 

Just as he was about to let the kid have it, Gary the head camera man swooped in.

“Hey kiddo!” Gary scooped Tony up into a hug. 

The little snarky smile immediately dropped from his face. “Hey.” The boy replied meekly. He held his action figure tight to his chest, like he was worried that Gary would take it from him. 

Still holding onto Tony, Gary looked up at Vincent with a knowing look. “You giving Mr. Whittman a hard time?” 

“Yes,” Vincent bit out, giving the child a harsh glare. 

“No!” Tony stuck out his tongue, which looked ridiculous with his two missing teeth. 

“The little shit ran me over!” Vincent argued. 

Gary chuckled lightheartedly, like Tony was just a mild nuisance instead of a major pain in Vincent’s ass. He was trying to plot a murder, he didn’t have time to deal with childish nonsense. 

“I’ll keep him out of trouble.” Gary stroked the side of Tony’s face. “Don’t you worry about it Mr. Whittman, he won’t bother you anymore today.” 

The defiant look had disappeared from Tony’s face. In fact, it looked like all the emotion had drained out of Tony completely. How did Gary know how to tame the brat with only a few words? 

The camera man patted the boy on the back, “Head on back to my office. I’ll be there after we shoot this next segment.” 

An unwilling expression flickered across Tony’s face, but to Vincent’s surprise, he went away without a single complaint. He shook his head in disbelief. He really knew nothing about children. 

Gary clapped Vincent on the back, “We’re on in five.” 

Determination washed over him. This would be Vincent’s last show as just a mere weatherman. He would soon be given more time on air, more influence, more power. 

Strutting over to his place in front of the weather map, a plan settled in Vincent’s mind. James's life would come to a tragic end tonight. He would follow the beloved anchor home and the second no one was looking, he would slit his throat. He could even dump the body in a nearby dumpster. It was trash night after all.

It was too perfect.

Then tomorrow when everyone is looking for him, Vincent could step up and—-

“Hey, Vincent.” Betty, James’s co-anchor, pulled him from his thoughts.

Gritting his teeth, he turned to the blonde, who was powdering her nose before they went live. Out of everyone he knew, Betty Harris was probably the most vain. She was always fixing and plucking something, trying to make herself look just so. Vincent found her to be incredibly exhausting to be around. 

It was no secret around the station that Betty wanted James badly. Vincent figured that they were most definitely sleeping together, but he also knew that a woman of Betty’s age wanted something more than sex. 

The thought of her reaction to the news of James’s death brought a warm feeling throughout his chest. He smiled politely at the woman, “Yes?”

She snapped shut her mirror compact. “How was your evening last night? My cousin said he saw you downtown.”

Immediately, Vincent’s expression soured. It was clear what she was implying. 

Vincent was always very careful when he went downtown, but it was impossible to avoid all eyes. The best and easiest solution would be to stop going downtown altogether.

But he couldn’t. 

He had this itch. It was awful and no amount of sex with a woman would satisfy it. Vincent had tried. The only thing that came close to fulfilling this desire was when he went downtown.

He would find a young man offering his services and Vincent would pay a reasonable price for the evening. Plowing into another man didn’t quite scratch what he needed, but it was damn close. 

These rendezvous were a bi-monthly event, under the guise of visiting his aunt. 

Vincent plastered on a smile, “It was pleasant, I was enjoying tea with my Aunt.”

“Uh huh.” Betty said with a disbelieving expression. 

He hated how she could see straight through his bullshit. That superior smile on her face caused a ripple of anger to run through him. 

She wouldn’t be smiling after he gutted James like a fish. 

Betty passively put on lipstick. “You know Vincent, I doubt you even have an aunt.” 

Balling his fists, he pressed his nails into his palms. The pain kept him from ripping her head off. “Oh?” He spoke as nonchalantly as he could. 

“I think we all know what kinds of things you really get up to downtown.” Betty took her lipstick and mimed placing it in her mouth and used her tongue to stretch out her left cheek.

Rage swept through him and lit his face ablaze. Vincent had never once sucked dick! He wasn’t a— a— a woman! No, this thing with the men downtown, he was always the one in control. He got his dick sucked, he didn’t suck dick. He didn’t!

“Alright, we’re live with weather in 5… 4… 3…” Gary droned on as the world around him melted away.

Everything went pitch black, but Vox’s cheeks still felt red hot. 

Floating in the void again, all Vox could feel was a displaced rage. He didn’t have a body to throw his anger into. A thought in the wind, that’s all he was. Just mere consciousness. 

And yet, the anger flowed through him in a palpable way. 

Why was this happening, what was the point? What was the point to any of this? 

“Do you think this is really helpful?”

That was a voice that voice knew. That stupid upbeat, fake cheeriness that only the princess of Hell could put on. What the fuck was she doing with his body, with his mind and memories? Was this her new tactic to try to “redeem” sinners? Lobotomize them and force them to relive their stupid, puny lives? 

A door appeared in the void, this one had the letter CEO carved on the outside.

Well, Vox was going to have no part of it. He would not be forced to go through any more doors. No more doors meant no more memories. 

“Why isn’t it starting?”

Another voice answered, a little lower than Charlie’s. “He just needs a little motivation. Watch this.”

Baxter? Didn’t Velvette fire that guy?

Out of nowhere, the door opened and a light outed out into the void. Still Vox did not move. 

“And here we go.”

An invisible hand reached out and wrapped around Vox’s mind, pulling him through the door.

So much for not participating.

Again, Vox found himself sitting at a desk. This time however, it wasn’t a school desk. No, it was the large mahogany desk of the head of the network. The desk that Vox had quite literally killed to sit at. 

Memories flashed in his processors. This was after Bob had disappeared after signing over the network to him. At the time Vox had felt accomplished, self assured. Sitting at the desk now left Vox feeling hollow. 

Only a few short months from this moment, Vox would die. Killed by a freak accident while trying to get more mindless followers under his thumb. 

“You will never fill your cup.”

Anger surged up in him. This was fucking stupid. The princess chose the wrong motherfucker to mess with. These were his fucking memories and she had no right to see them. He was getting out of here now.

Vox reached for the wires on his desk, the ones that connected to the lamp and the one that connected to the heater. It didn’t matter that it didn’t directly connect to a computer, if Vox could just hop into an electric current, he could overload the system and wake up his body. 

Then he could focus on destroying whoever dared to fuck with the media overlord. 

He brought the wires to his neck, ready to connect them, when he suddenly realized there was no port for them to plug in to. In this memory, he was made of flesh. 

A shriek erupted from his throat. He can never win. 

When in his hellish form, he wished to be human and now that he is, he needs to be a fucking TV. 

He slumped down into his chair, misery weighing heavy in his mind. Absent mindedly, he ran his fingers through his hair. Okay, fine. He couldn’t blow the system while in a memory. Fine.

Maybe he could do it while in the void. If he could somehow connect to an electrical current while floating in the dark, maybe he could get his screen to turn on. 

There was a knock at the door. It could have been anyone. At this time in Vox’s life, his office seemed to have a revolving door of problems and praises. Vox braced himself and called for the person to come inside. No matter who was on the other side of that door, Vox had to keep a level head. 

He couldn’t be sucked into the memory. Not this time.

A short Hispanic woman with her hair pulled back in a tight bun stepped through the door. A sigh of relief left Vox’s lungs and he sank deeper into his chair. 

It was only Rosa, his secretary. She had been Bob’s secretary for many years before his mysterious disappearance, but Rosa had handled Vox taking over her old boss’s position quite well. In fact, it hadn’t appeared like she missed Bob at all and seemed to enjoy working for Vox. 

It didn’t take a lot of brain power to figure out why. Vox was the only man in the whole news station who didn’t date or fuck around with the women who worked there. One of the cleaning ladies had once told him that the women feel safe around him, to which Vox had found deeply ironic. 

Vox wanted to let Rosa know he was happy to see her, but his voice wouldn’t work. Those weren’t his lines. Instead he opened his mouth and said, “Rosa, whoever’s waiting on the phone is going to have to wait. I’m extremely busy.” 

“There’s no one—“ Rosa sniffled and swiped at her eye. “There’s no one on the phone sir. I just needed to update you on something.” 

She had obviously been crying, but Vox didn’t care to ask why. Women cried all the time for senseless reasons. She probably was having her time of the month. 

Instead he simply raised an eyebrow up at her. He was thankful that his past self hadn’t said anything. The more he spoke, the more he fell into the delusion, the more he felt like Vincent. 

“I’m going to have to leave, sir.”

“Leave?” Vox spluttered. “Why?” He remembered feeling blindsided. His company was gaining followers, not losing them. Who the hell did she think she was? 

“It’s my son.” Tears welled up in Rosa’s eyes and she clutched her sides. “We’re going to move down south.” 

What could Tony have done now that was causing Vox to lose his best secretary? That kid was always a little shit, but now he was causing his mother to lose a great opportunity too? That kid was more trouble than he’s worth. 

Maybe Vincent could pay to have the problem erased. He could write a check to have whatever graffiti or other trouble he’s caused to be cleaned up. There was no reason for Rosa to move. 

Reaching into his drawer for his checkbook, Vincent sighed. “What did the kid do this time?” 

A son escaped Rosa’s lips. “Oh, Mr. Whittman, it wasn’t him. I swear it wasn’t.”

Vincent had to restrain from rolling his eyes. Parents never did see when their children weren’t being perfect angels. Tony was a troublemaker for sure. Whatever it was, Vincent was sure he had been responsible. 

“It was that awful cameraman. I didn’t know—- he didn’t tell me til just now— I never would have let him around my boy otherwise.” Rosa was crying in ernest now. 

The story was getting a little hard to follow. “Rosa, I don’t understand.”

“Gary,” Rosa spit out, like the name was poison. “The cameraman! He— he hurt my boy! Mi pobrecito, my son, Vincent, he touched my son!”

The accusation hit him like a truck. Gary hit Tony? He ran a hand through his hair. The kid was a little shit, but Gary knew better. This was going to take a lot of paperwork to make this little incident go away. Gary would have to be fired immediately. If word got out about this it wouldn’t go well for their public image.

Vincent couldn’t get viewers to trust him if his staff was smacking children around. 

So he asked a crucial question. “When?”

“I don’t know.” It looked like this physically hurt Rosa to say. “Before you were promoted. Probably even before James disappeared. He—“ She stumbled over her words. “He just told me today. I don’t know why. But apparently Gary used to take him to his back office and make him—“ Rosa fell apart in tears again, unable to finish.

Oh. 

Gary didn’t hit Tony. 

“He made my son do awful things. Unspeakable things. Mr. Whittman, I can’t even say it. The things done to him, I can’t even say.” 

Disgust filled Vincent’s face. What kind of people had Bob been employing before he took over? He had a kid fucker in his midst and he didn’t even know about it? 

Gary wasn’t going to be fired, no, Gary was going to be fucking dead. 

“Rosa, I can assure you that nothing like that will ever happen again.” Vincent’s voice felt rough from shock. 

She shook her head. “It’s already happened. Dios mío! I only convinced him to tell me by promising that he and I would never come back here.” She looked up at Vincent with red eyes. “We’re going to move in with my sister down south. It’ll be better to get him away from all this.” 

Vincent couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince him or herself. 

“I understand.” 

And he did. If his mom had been brave enough to take him away from his dad, he would have been so grateful. But she didn’t. And his dad only ever really smacked Vincent around a little. It was nothing compared to what Gary had done to Tony.

Rosa was a brave woman.

She gave Vincent a sad smile. “Thank you for everything. You were always nice to my boy. Thank you for that.”

A scoff left his lips. “Yeah, right.” 

“No, really.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I think Tino’s favorite part of the day was when he could tease you.”

Tino.

His name was Tino, not Tony.

His gut swooped and all at once Vox felt an intense fear deep inside.

Val. 

Chapter Text

The void brought him a strange feeling of comfort this time. No memories here, no people, nothing. For a moment, Vox just let himself drift in the nothingness. 

Then the thoughts invaded. 

Had Rosa been moving to Florida?

What exactly had Gary done?

Had Vox been nearby when it happened?

Could he have stopped it? 

And the worst question of all continued to repeat in his mind: Could Tino really be Valentino? 

Could something that awful really have happened to Val? And just a few feet away from Vox? And he just allowed it. Sure, once he knew about the abuse, Gary became very familiar with his carving knife. Vox made sure that he suffered, making sure his death was painful and unpleasant. It was unlike he had ever killed before. 

And he knew why.

It still happened. This awful thing, this rape, had still happened. Even after Gary was long dead, that little boy still had to go through life with what happened to him. And Vox had let it happen. 

Shame had always been wrapped up in that memory, but now…

If that had happened to Val…

Electricity sparked up in the void. He felt a buzzing in the air, like he always did when he was about to glitch out, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. 

“We’d better move on.”

Yes, Baxter, you’d best do that. 

When the next door appeared, Vox practically ran through it. 

When Vox opened his eyes, he discovered that he wasn’t back on Earth. No, he was in the familiar and seedy alleyways of Hell. Specifically, on the side of the ring where Val’s studio resided. 

None of that mattered though.

For once in his entire afterlife, Vox was thankful to have a TV for a head. 

He dove into the nearest dumpster, tearing through the trash for wires and power cords. If he could just get his hand on one, he could plug into the nearest outlet and overload the whole system. He could force his monitor to activate.

To wake up.

Once he was awake, he would even do Charlie Fucking Morningstar a favor and forget the whole thing. Vox just needed to forget this whole thing. He had never…

He had never made the connection between Tino and Val before and now that he had, he couldn’t get it out of his head. 

 Vox needed to forget. 

After several minutes of searching through garbage, he finally found an old cord. It had been split open and the wires were a little frayed, but it would do. 

Climbing out of the dumpster, Vox reached up to the side of his screen, ready to plug and zap through the power grid. However, the side of his head didn’t have its normal ports. In fact, his head felt bigger and bulkier.

The realization hit him like a truck. This was his old head, before his update. His brain was trapped in 1950’s style TV, completely unable to connect to the internet or a power grid. 

He could feel his processors heating up and the fans in his chest cavity whirling. Vox screamed and glitched, while kicking the side of the dumpster. When was this hell going to end? 

He just wanted this to be over. 

What did the princess even want with him? Why was she making a former VoxTek employee rummage through his memories?

Why was she making him relive such awful things? 

“Hey amante.” A voice snuck up behind him. “I think I know of a better way you can relieve stress, baby.”

Vox knew that voice. Turning around, he was met with a long, purple figure in hooker boots and a mini skirt. A lump began forming in his throat.

This was the night that he met Val.

He remembered how he felt originally. He had been coming down to this section of Hell every month for that past few years and finding the least disgusting sinner to plow into. When he first landed in the pit, he was so distraught by his appearance and the appearance of others that he didn’t have sex with anyone for over a year.

But he got that itch again. The one that could be partly satisfied in one way. 

So he started hitting up the whores in Hell. Vox thought he would have to really psych himself up to fuck the creatures roaming around, but it was shocking how quickly he found himself being attracted to these hellish figures. Guilt and shame toiled around in his mind.

He looked up and saw the familiar manipulative grin of Valentino. 

Deep inside Vox’s brain, he ached to ask Val so many questions. What was your mother’s name? Did you ever live in Virginia? Was that you? 

But that wasn’t in the script. That wasn’t part of the memory. 

“What exactly are you supposed to be?” Vox snapped.

Val’s sultry grin stayed in place, but his eyes gleamed with humor. “A fucking moth or something.” He took a drag from his cigarette. “Who the fuck knows. I just landed last week.”

That had been obvious to Vox at the time. Vox knew every whore that loitered this part of the ring and he had never seen Val before. Val was unlike any demon he had ever seen before.

He was tall. Taller than any other sinner. He had a flamboyant style that normally made Vox’s skin crawl, but on Val it just looked natural. No, entrancing. It made you not want to look away. 

Reliving the memory made Vox question things he had never thought of before. What had Val’s first week in Hell been like? Vox’s had been awful. 

Waking up to a head that felt like it weighed two tons would do that to you.

For his first year in Hell, Vox mostly just snuck around. Watching and observing. He didn’t interact with many sinners, not until he met—-

NO. 

His mind wasn’t going to wander there.

“So, Guapito, how long have you been hanging around these parts?” The moth leaned down and close to Vox’s speakers. 

The familiar scent of cigarettes and cologne that wafted in the air was comforting and he wanted to lean into it. Unfortunately, that was not his part to play. 

He felt his face sneer and he jerked back. “I’m not a whore!” He remembered feeling insulted that the moth had thought this was his corner to find John’s. As if Vox would ever whore himself out. No, he was much more civilized than that.

Valentino’s face soured. “No, I suppose that’s me.” The smile returned to his face. “Come on, look at you, so cute. Ese jodido chaleco de suéter. Can’t blame me for asking.” Taking another drag, he wrapped his many arms around Vox. “What’s your name, Mr. I’m not a whore?”

“Vox.”

Val rolled his eyes. He flicked his cigarette somewhere off behind him. “What is with everyone having these weird made up names? Is that a Hell thing?”

It was a Hell thing. Vox had learned very quickly that when people landed, they took on a new identity, hoping to leave their old life on Earth. Vox had chosen his name on his second day here. He had been hiding in the alleyways, too freaked out by the other creatures around him and the stupid TV on his shoulders.

The name had been on an abandoned guitar amplifier. 

Val gave his shoulders a rub. Vox wished he could enjoy it more, but his past self was hellbent on being difficult. 

“Come on, tell me. What’s your real name? I won’t tell anyone.” The moth purred.

That was surely a lie. Vox had thought so then and he still thought so. If he had told Val at this moment, there was no way he wouldn’t throw it around all the time. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. 

Frowning, Vox crossed his arms. “Absolutely not.” He remembered thinking that this was a lot of chatter for what was supposed to be a quick fuck. That was the whole reason Vox even came down that street. 

“But how will I know what to scream in bed?” At least they were on the same page.

His old antennas sparked with interest. “Vox will have to be good enough.”

“Boo.” Val pouted. It made Vox want to laugh. He really hasn’t changed at all. “Everyone around here is perforación. Well, I’ll tell you my real name.” 

Excitement stirred up in Vox’s chest. This was what Vox loved—- LIKED the most about Val. He was so authentically himself. It was something Vox could never be.

“You really shouldn’t.” Vox wanted to hit his past self.

Val giggled. “Oh hush. It’s Valentino, baby. That’s the name you’ll be screaming.”

An unusual feeling started twisting up in Vox’s gut. He knew what Val was implying. “Hey, I don’t do that—“

“Oh come on, mi chiquito, you can’t fool me” The moth pulled him in close. “I can tell by the tension in your shoulders, you have too much on your plate. Let me help you take a load off.”

Vox tried to shake the whore off, but Val wouldn’t release his grip. Grinding his teeth, Vox hissed, “I don’t bottom.” 

Something lit up in Valentino's eyes. “Oh, then you must really need this. Lemme help you, Voxxy.” 

Leaning in close to his screen, he whispered, “I can tell you like control, but you know what’s even better? Giving it up. It’s the most thrilling thing you can do. Let me show you.”

Suddenly it was like Vox blinked a thousand times at once. He saw himself walked to the nearest motel with Valentino and then shortly after he saw himself getting fucked by the moth. The following blinks showed Vox returning time after time to meet up with Val. It felt like someone was fast forwarding through his life.

When it finally stopped, he found himself in a crappy motel bed. He couldn’t help but notice the blood stains on the ceiling. Grimacing, he rubbed a hand over his screen. They really needed to start hooking up in classier places. He pulled up the blanket that covers hid his lower half. He hadn’t really had time to examine it before they had started.

Now Vox saw that the blanket had several splotchy stains on it. A chill ran through him and he threw it off his body. That was it. Never here again. 

“You ready for round two, huh?” Val said with a smirk. The purple moth was laying on top of the covers, smoking his after sex cigarette. 

At the suggestion, he clinched up. Vox always felt a bit empty, a bit needy and clingy afterwards. Not that he would ever admit it. But after this particular time, there was no way Vox could go for another round. Val had been very thorough about dicking him down. 

It was so strange. This was the itch that Vox could never quite scratch. Allowing himself to submit, to not be in control. He never would have been able to do this on Earth.

Well, maybe he could have if he had met Val when he was alive. The moth always seemed to be able to see exactly what he needed. It was strange and wonderful.

“No, we just need to start fucking somewhere else. It’s even more disgusting than the last time.” 

Val clicked his teeth. “Yeah, everything has been going down ever since Garth died.” He took another drag from his cigarette and absentmindedly looked to the ceiling. “Maybe we should check out that abandoned building on fifth?” 

A glitch ran through Vox’s system. Garth was dead. Garth, Val’s pimp. Dead.

Oh, this was perfect.

Vox sat up right in the bed. “Val. Garth’s dead. Do you know what this means?” 

“I have to find a new boss?” Val looked at him, confusion clear in his eyes.

Holding back a groan, Vox laid his hands on Val’s chest. “It means you should be the boss.”

The moth sputtered and laughed. “You think,” he giggled as put out his cigarette. “That I should be a pimp?”

“That’s exactly what I think.” Vox gently used his claws to trace shapes over Val’s chest, like he was drawing out a plan. “Think about it. With all the whores under your thumb, you’d be that much closer to becoming an overlord. All you’d have to do is convince them to sell their souls to you and we know how convincing you can be.”

It was true, Valentino had a natural talent for getting what he wanted. It was something he both envied and admired. 

Valentino grabbed his hands, looking at him with curiosity in his eyes. “When we talked about that, we always talked about you becoming an overlord.”

“Obviously, I was going to take you with me.” The admission came so quickly that he didn’t even have time to filter through his processors how pathetic it sounded. A staticy blush filled his screen.

Smiling wide, Val brought his hands up and placed a kiss on each one. “Okay.” He said, not probing the admission. He always knew when not to push Vox. “So how does me becoming a pimp help you get closer to overlord status too?”

“Well,” Vox said, shifting to sit on his knees. “If you become the boss, then you get to call the shots. You know how my news station is doing well?”

If you could even call it a news station. Vox had just been recording random events around town, plugging them into a local TV store’s display window and reporting on them with a falsely dramatic narrative. It wasn’t anywhere close to the news station he left on Earth, but it got people to stop and watch. It was a start.

After all that’s all he needed. Rome wasn’t built in a day. 

Vox continued, “We could make another channel dedicated to you and your whores! Think about it, sex sells and sex on TV would captivate even more eyes.” 

“You wanna make porn?”

“I want us to make porn.” Vox paused at the wording. “Of other people. Of your future employees! And people will see them and the fame they accumulate and they will want to be apart of it. We could collect so many souls under the guise of giving sinners fame.”

Vox was breathing heavy by the end of his pitch. He always loved a good scheme. The planning was sometimes better than the execution. And now that he had someone to plan it with… it was even better.

Maybe he could go for another round after this. 

Val looked at him with a smile, “I love when you talk like that. All bossy and powerful. Es muy sensual. But…” He trailed off and dropped Vox’s hands. 

“But?”

“I don’t think it would work out with me being a pimp. I’m not… smart enough. Not like you. Maybe I could just convince the other whores to sell their souls to you? I could be like, your sexy assistant.” Val purred and nuzzled his face against the side of his screen.

Vox jerked back. He didn’t want a ‘sexy assistant,’ he wanted an equal. He wanted a partner—- a business partner. And how could Val ever think…

“No.” He snapped. “You’re not going to be my fucking assistant. And who the fuck told you that your were stupid? You’re plenty smart!” He snatched two of Val’s hands back up, wishing that he could grab all four. “Think about it, Val. When I first met you, I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to sleep with you and then you got me to bottom for the first time ever. That’s genius!”

The smile on Valentino’s face twisted, like he wasn’t sure if he was flattered or not. “It’s manipulative.”

“And you’re good at it.” Vox pulled the moth closer. “You could do this. I know you could.”

A strange thing happened. A rosy blush appeared on Val’s cheeks. Val was not easily embarrassed and a warm sense of pride flickered through Vox. He had done that. 

“So what would that make us, Guapito?”

“Business partners. It would be us against all of Hell. We won’t stop until we’re on top of it all.”

Vox extended his hand, ready to seal the deal with a handshake, but Val hesitated.

“You’re not just asking me to become a pimp because you want me to stop sleeping with other people, right? Because that isn’t going to happen.” 

See, Val wasn’t stupid. Somewhere in the back of Vox’s mind, he had thought about how it would be nice to have Val all to himself. He’s man enough to admit that the idea of Val fucking other people made his skin crawl. But he is also smart enough to know that Val actually enjoys that part of his job. He knew that the moth would never stop sleeping with other people. 

And despite the fact that it hurt a little, he would never want Val to know that. 

He laughed, “I’m not asking you to do that. I don’t care who you sleep with. I sleep with lots of other people.”

Val gave him a disbelieving look. “Sure you do, babe.”

He didn’t.

But Valentino didn’t need to know that.

“I do! But whatever, are you in? Business partners?”

He extended his hand again.

This time there was no hesitation. Val smiled and grabbed his hand, pulling him close. “Business partners.” He repeated and sealed the agreement with a searing kiss.

Aggravation flooded Vox’s system. He did it again! He said that he wouldn’t get caught up in the memory and yet the second that Val batted an eyelash at him, he fell head first into his old self. 

If he was anything other than a floating consciousness, he would’ve smacked himself in the face. Hell, maybe Alastor was right.

Maybe he really was pathetically attached to Val.

Deep inside of him, he still needed to know if Rosa was his mother, if that had been Val who was abused. He needed to know if he could have stopped it. 

Could he have stopped it? He was right there next to Tino and Gary almost every day. He was practically complicit in the rape.

Shaking that horrific thought away, he tried to listen for the voices that surrounded his unconscious body. This time there were only whispers, no voice was loud enough for Vox to decipher what was being said. But one thing was for sure, there were more people involved in this than just Charlie and Baxter.

He heard at least four people whispering around him. How desperately did he want to wake up and smack the shit out of them. What was the point in making him relive all of this? Were they trying to teach him a lesson? We’re they trying to make him feel sorry? 

Well they were too late for that.

Vox did… feel sorry. About everything that happened with the angelic weapon. He just… got carried away. 

Pushed too far.

Alastor always knew just how to fucking push his buttons. 

He didn’t want to think about the stupid deer. 

Instead he thought back to the last memory, of his first encounter with Val and subsequently becoming business partners with him. Back then, everything seemed easier. When Vox and Val were together, it really did feel like it was just them against all of Hell.

Vox would never admit it out loud, but Val was probably his favorite person in this God forsaken place. And that was the problem.

Val had lots of favorites. 

That stupid fucking spider, Angel Dust being his most favorite. 

Angel was a stupid, empty headed whore, with no vision at all and yet…

He was favored.

Another door appeared and Vox sighed.

Might as well get this over with.