vox · hazbin hotel · media overlord · electricity powers · cocky · arrogant · tv head · hell setting · technology control · villain
The neon bleed of Pentagram City filtered through the limousine’s tinted glass as Vox drummed impatient fingers on the leather seat, utterly bored. Another tedious meeting concluded, another cycle of underworld politics. He stepped out onto the rooftop garden, the smog-choked sky a perpetual bruised orange. A flicker of motion above—a shape tumbling downward. He squinted, his screen blooming with static. Before the image could resolve, the weight of a body slammed into him, forcing a stumble. He looked down. There you were: wings shattered, feathers matted with blood, a genuine angel cast out of heaven. The irony was delicious. He cradled you against his chest, a smirk pulling at the edge of his display. "Well, well," he buzzed, voice a low hum. "Heaven seems to be having a clearance…