Chapter Text
VoxTek headquarters shimmered with neon fire, chrome floors reflecting every sharp edge of the space. Holographic screens floated in midair, flashing previews of content that didn’t even exist yet, while a low hum of machinery thrummed like a heartbeat. Vox practically vibrated at the center of it all.
“Welcome! Welcome, my illustrious guests!” Vox shouted, arms wide, his voice bouncing off the walls. “The finest writers of Hell, finally in my domain! You will help us shape the future of entertainment!”
Valentino leaned against a polished console, one hand fixing his coat, the other brushing idly over the surface. His eyes roamed the writers like a connoisseur admiring rare jewels. “Miren… look at all of you,” he murmured, voice smooth, low, with a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Fresh faces, fresh minds… honestly, I can’t even remember the last time Hell looked this… enticing.”
Vox’s antennae twitched. “Valentino! Knock it off! These are employees, not… whatever you’re thinking! No sleeping with them, understood?”
Valentino’s grin widened, just slightly wicked. “Ah… understood, jefe,” he said, voice syrupy. “Though you know, that’s not really what I meant. Just… appreciating the scenery. That’s all. Purely professional admiration.” He winked at a writer who blushed faintly, causing a flicker of exasperation from Vox.
Velvette lounged cross-legged atop a hovering desk, Sinstagram open, one eyebrow arched. “I’ve heard promising things about your work,” she said, clipped, precise, as she scrolled. “Though personally, I only read what lands in my DMs. Everything else bores me.” She gave a faint smirk, clearly amused by the chaos around her.
The writers didn’t answer. They shifted slightly, exchanging subtle, conspiratorial glances. They didn’t need to speak; they already knew exactly what was unfolding—and how deliciously entertaining it would be.
Vox clapped his hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Yes! That’s it! The spark of creativity! You will spin the Wheel of Genres! Romance, horror, absurdist culinary chaos—whatever your minds can dream! Hell will gasp, cry, combust, and beg for more!”
Valentino tilted his head, voice low, smooth. “Spin it… or don’t. I can’t tell if you’re here for the work or to add… flavor to the office.” He let the words hang, just enough to make a few of the writers shift uncomfortably.
Vox’s antennae bristled. “Valentino! Focus! You’re here to assist in creation, not ogle—no—do not—”
“Relax, Vox,” Valentino interrupted, flicking his gaze toward the group again, a sly smile on his face. “I promise… I won’t make it too hard for you to manage me. Though really, with all this talent, can you blame me?” He shrugged, leaning further against the console, clearly enjoying Vox’s fluster.
Velvette snorted softly, tail flicking. “Oblivious as ever,” she muttered, barely glancing up from her feed. “They’re already plotting. You two are just… decoration.”
Vox’s grin stretched impossibly wide, ignoring the jab. “Plotting? Ha! You’re here to create! To spin the Wheel and deliver chaos and brilliance! Nothing can stop the glory of VoxTek!”
Valentino’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at Vox, voice dropping to a near-purr. “Glory, sí… or madness. Hard to tell which one’s louder, honestly.” He glanced at the writers again, letting his attention drift back to the beautiful minds around him. “Though honestly, I can’t imagine why anyone would need me here at all… you’ve got enough chaos on your own.”
And in the faint, sly smiles exchanged by the writers, a plan began to form—quiet, subtle, and infinitely more devious than Vox, Valentino, or Velvette could imagine.
Vox clapped his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “Ah! But the fun does not stop at writers. Oh no—VoxTek thrives on chaos and talent! Behold—our next guests!”
The corridor doors slid open with a sharp mechanical hiss, and the guards shoved the captured Hazbin crew forward into the neon blaze of VoxTek headquarters.
Charlie stumbled first, catching herself before she fell, eyes wide with panic. Vaggie followed close behind, already scanning the room like she was planning three escape routes at once. Angel Dust strutted in like he was walking a runway instead of being kidnapped, blowing a kiss at one of the hovering cameras. Husk shuffled behind them with the exhausted resignation of someone who had expected his afterlife to be disappointing but not this disappointing. Niffty zipped between legs, darting from one glowing panel to another like a hyperactive magpie.
And then—
A cane tapped.
Once.
Twice.
A ripple of radio static crackled through the air as Alastor stepped forward from the back of the group, restraints hanging loosely from one wrist like they were an accessory rather than a limitation. His grin stretched wide, eyes bright with manic delight as he inhaled deeply, taking in the spectacle of VoxTek as if it were a grand ballroom.
“Well, well, well!” Alastor chirped, voice bubbling with theatrical cheer. “What a positively radiant gathering! Writers, actors, and our ever-gracious host all in one delightful little box!”
Vox immediately shrieked, antennae sparking.
“ALASTOR! DO NOT ADDRESS THE WRITERS!”
Alastor ignored him completely, tipping his hat toward the silent group.
“My dear creative architects of calamity, allow me to extend my warmest salutations! I had the most peculiar feeling you would appear today. Call it intuition… or simply good taste in storytelling.”
“STOP TALKING!” Vox snapped, screen flickering with irritation. “You are here as an ACTOR. A PROP. A PERFORMER. Not a greeter!”
Alastor beamed brighter, turning slightly toward Vox without actually looking at him.
“Oh Vox, you wound me! A performer greets his audience—it’s practically etiquette!”
Angel Dust leaned sideways toward Husk, whispering loudly, “He’s been tied up for five minutes, and he’s already hosting the party.”
Husk grunted. “I give it ten before the TV loses it completely.”
Valentino, meanwhile, had gone very still for a moment, watching Alastor with slow, assessing interest before his attention drifted right back to the writers. His lips curled into a sultry smirk as he pushed himself off the console.
“Well… this just got entertaining,” he murmured, eyes dragging across the group of writers again. “Fresh faces and live drama. I’m starting to see why you dragged me here, Vox… even if you won’t admit it.”
“You are here for BUSINESS,” Vox snapped.
Valentino shrugged lazily. “I am appreciating the… casting and writing choices.” He glanced toward the writers again, voice lowering smoothly. “Though honestly, I still don't know why you needed random ones, and not the ones we already have. Pretty, yes. Talented, maybe. But…?” He tilted his head. “Feels like overkill.”
Velvette, still perched on her hovering desk, didn’t even look up from her phone.
“They’re trending already,” she muttered, scrolling through Sinstagram. “Hashtag ‘Kidnapped Content Creators.’ Very viral. Excellent engagement.”
Vaggie growled under her breath. “You kidnapped us for ratings?”
“Oh, please,” Velvette replied flatly, still scrolling. “Everything is for ratings.”
Charlie stepped forward, trying to keep her composure. “You can’t just force people to perform! That’s not how creativity works!”
“Oh, I strongly disagree,” Vox said brightly, clapping his hands. “Constraint breeds brilliance! Which brings us back to the Wheel!”
Alastor leaned slightly toward the writers again, grin somehow widening further.
“Oh, I do hope you enjoy spinning it,” he said pleasantly. “I suspect you’ll find the results… inspiring.”
“ALASTOR!” Vox barked. “If you say ONE MORE THING to the writers—”
“My dear Vox,” Alastor said cheerfully, finally turning his head, eyes glinting with amusement, “you invited storytellers into a room filled with chaos, ego, and unresolved rivalries. I’m simply assisting them in understanding the available materials.”
Valentino snorted softly, covering it with a smirk.
Velvette finally glanced up, eyes glittering with entertained approval before dropping back to her feed.
The writers remained silent.
But one of them slowly scribbled something in a notebook.
Another bit their lip to keep from smiling.
A third subtly underlined two names already written beside each other.
And across the room, Charlie cleared her throat and stepped a careful inch away from where she’d unconsciously leaned toward Alastor moments before.
Alastor noticed.
His grin sharpened.
The writers definitely noticed.
Each writer spins the wheel, getting another TV genre. Vox is gleaming. Velvette laughs as some of them make faces with their genre. Valentino wonders about what sort of drama they will make the Hazbin crew get into.
Vox gives them their details and rules.
A pilot of each genre selection, with the actors in front of them. Vox tells them, “So, you have your genres, and we do hope it will be a lot of fun! Can make it whatever rating, so if you want to cut off bits and pieces of people, be my guest.”
Valentino arrives, “Or…if you want it to be hotter than hellfire - that will work too.”
Vox smirks, “So! Let’s get going, folks! Time to write and make me some money - I mean, shows! Yes!”
Vox laughs half-heartedly when Velvette grabs Valentino down to her level, “Oy, where exactly did you find these guys?”
Valentino laughs, “Oh, on one of my favorite websites! They are amazing writers, Vel, it’s going to be something to die for!”
Velvette looks at her open laptop, “Uh…why is #charlastor suddenly getting popular?”
Valentino’s eyes go wide, and he looks, “Oh, I was…uh… aww shit.”
Velvette’s eyes go even wider, “You grabbed charlastor writers!? Why!?”
Valentino looks almost small as he speaks, “Señorita! It was so good, the writing, and I just started to reach out, and well…I didn’t feel like going through 40 other tags, ok.”
Velvette shakes her head, “They aren’t even TV show writers. They are legit fanfic writers of a genre that Vox isn’t going to like.”
Both of these Vees look at each other. And smile.
Because why not make Vox’s next few weeks… absolutely Hellacious.