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It had been two months since Vox had tried to take over Heaven and nearly destroyed half of Hell. Two excruciating months since his business partner turned CEO ripped him away from his body. Without a pair of legs, moving the way he used to was impossible. On more than one occasion, he’d tried to sneak out by transferring himself to other screens, only to discover that his weakened form limited him to the nearest device. In a room with no technology, his abilities were utterly useless.
Vox rested on one of Valentino’s velvet sofas like an inanimate object, while the film overlord prepared to leave for another shoot. Unease flickered faintly across Vox’s face as he watched Valentino shrug into a leather jacket.
“Val,” Vox said, forcing his voice to stay smooth. “It’s been months. I’ve calmed down. I promise.” He noticed Valentino was now standing still, fully aware of what Vox wanted. “Can I please get my body back?”
Valentino turned to face him with an irritated flick of his antenna.
“Do you have any idea how aggravating you are?” He snapped, eye twitching in frustration. “Two months of this, Vox. Two. Months. I can’t even go to sleep without you whining about your stupid ratings. Here’s a headline for you: you fucked up, and now you’re dealing with the consequences!”
Vox frowned, furrowing his brows. “I’m not whining. I’m asking. There’s a difference.”
Valentino faced the mirror again, adjusting his jacket, only to pause. His wings flicked, shoulders tensed, almost like he was having a silent argument with himself.
“...You know what? Fine.”
“Fine?” Vox repeated, eyes wide as he stared at the film overlord.
“Yes, fine,” Valentino growled. “I’ll have your intern set it up. You’ll get your precious body back, and then maybe. Maybe. You’ll stop acting like a whiny brat.”
Vox blinked, laughing softly in disbelief. “What? You mean it?”
Valentino spun around, pointing a threatening finger at Vox. “Don’t make me regret it. You lose control again, you start barking orders like you still own this city, and I swear I’ll shatter your screen next.”
The threat hung heavy in the air.
But Vox didn’t care. Not right now.
“Relax,” the TV overlord said, softer than usual. “I won’t.”
Valentino scoffed. “You always say that.”
He grabbed his sunglasses, heading for the door. “He’ll be here this afternoon. Be ready. And Vox?”
Vox saw Valentino’s shoulders tense as he looked back at the TV demon. “Seriously, don’t screw this up.”
The door slammed, leaving Vox alone in Valentino’s penthouse. But Vox was beaming, busy imagining all the things he could do with his body back. He could regain his audience, his power… maybe even get back at Alastor.
But that was way down the line. For now, Vox was concerned with this afternoon and regaining his autonomy.
Hours passed until finally, footsteps approached the room. It was Ethan, Vox’s intern, with a rolling cart. He set Vox’s head down on a pillow atop the cart and took him down the elevator to Voxtech’s experimental lab. The atmosphere was sanitized and dark, perfect for developing new tech for the company. Rows of massive tubes filled with mysterious fluids were concealed by tarps, sitting precariously beside cables and mysterious technology.
Vox’s eyes wandered around the humid lab, trying to spot his repaired body. “So, how’d you guys manage to salvage my old body? It got pretty trashed after Val ripped my head off...”
The eel sinner adjusted his glasses nervously, as though he was bracing himself to be berated. “W- well, uh. We couldn’t exactly recover the body. S- so this is a new model. Is that ok...?”
He was a little disappointed to lose the body he had been using for years. But he had gone through plenty of upgrades in the past, lost a few limbs, even organs, and had those replaced. The only difference here was that everything would be updated all at once.
Vox scoffed, “Pfft- that's more than ok. Newer is better! That body was getting outdated anyway. Now where is it?”
Ethan adjusted his collar before turning to uncover one of the large test tubes. There it was, in all its glory: Vox’s new body. Cables at the top of the neck dangled in the fluid, waiting to be connected to his head. The rest of his body drifted lifelessly, the gills on his sides flaring occasionally, taking in enough oxygen to keep it sustained.
Vox’s gaze drifted over the body, letting out an appreciative hum as he admired his new artificial anatomy. “Looks good as always. Plug me in! I want to take it for a test drive.”
Ethan nervously fixed his glasses, letting out a humorless laugh, “Heh- well, Mr. Vox, something like this takes time. You can’t just-”
“Enough talking. Just do it already!” Vox cut the eel sinner off sharply. He’s already had to wait months for this surgery. He could hardly stand the anticipation fizzing within him at the thought of having a body again.
Ethan nodded quickly and fumbled with his communicator. A fish-like sinner in a white coat arrived soon after and began securing the new body onto a metal operating table. He took Vox and placed him where his head would go before turning away to prepare anesthesia.
“You might feel a little pinch.” The surgeon warned, flicking a needle before plunging it directly into a neck cable connected to his head. Vox winced, his vision going blurry as he was quickly overwhelmed with sleep.
Hours later, the surgeon finished up, his tools scattered around the table covered with artificial blood and fragments of mechanical flesh. He quietly wiped them clean with a cloth, but the peaceful moment was interrupted by a whirring sound coming from Vox’s head. “Ah, you’re finally awake.” The surgeon calmly remarked as Vox’s screen lit up the dim room.
Vox awoke with a groggy expression, his hand clumsily reaching up to the side of his head. Every inch of his body felt fuzzy, like a foreign entity was suddenly leeching onto him.
The sinner frowned. “Don’t move so much! Having your body repaired is one thing, but you’ve just been given a new one entirely. If you don’t give your system a chance to readjust, you’ll be rejected by the vessel, and you’ll probably end up sick to your stomach until your head detaches altogether.”
Vox grimaced at the thought. But when he opened his mouth to speak…
Nothing came out.
He couldn’t even feel his throat, as though it was swollen and sealed shut. His hands fumbled as he clasped his throat in panic, his breaths coming out short and shallow.
The surgeon raised an eyebrow at Vox’s dramatic display, “Your neck is the point of attachment for your head, so your vocal cords may be damaged for now. Though that shouldn't affect your oxygen intake, given you have gills and all.” He waved his scalpel towards Vox’s midsection.
His eyes shot down to his sides, noting the fluttering gills that were, in fact, allowing him to breathe. Vox’s shoulders slumped in relief, though he was not entirely reassured. “Damaged for now.” What was that supposed to mean?? Talking was essentially his job. It’s how he persuaded and entertained the masses. It’s how he gets deals done.
If he couldn’t speak…
The loud clatter of a scalpel dropping to the floor snapped him back to reality. He wasn’t just going to sit here uselessly now that he finally had his body back. He had to make up for months of bad PR.
Vox sat up sharply, the IV needles piercing deeper into his arm, much to the doctor’s dismay.
“What did I just say? I suggest that you lay down before you hurt yourself any further.”
But Vox didn’t care. He ripped out the needles, causing IV fluid to drip out onto the table. His hands shot to hold his sides, immediately overcome with intense nausea, as though he was filled with a viscous poison. The fluids from the tube that held Vox’s body were now inside him. It coated his organs, and he could swear he tasted it on his tongue.
The TV demon gagged, choking back the toxic contents of his stomach that threatened to escape his lips. He firmly shoved himself off the table, stumbling to his feet. One shaky step after another, he struggled to ignore the searing pain that insistently shot through his legs.
“Mr. Vox! I’m serious, this could ruin your form!”
Vox spun his head around and shot the surgeon a glare. But his eyes were caught by a glimpse of his reflection in a glass tube.
His body was… oddly normal, just like his previous form. Yet it still felt wrong.
He stumbled past the doctor, approaching his reflection. The glass tube warped his figure, making his body appear elongated and strange. Vox tilted up his head. His neck had stitches and shimmers of blood from the doctor’s messy sutures.
His claw lifted to trace his wounds, dampening with residue of his blood. As he scanned over his reflection, his gaze reaching his pelvis, it was only now brought to his attention that his body was completely bare. His screen brightened with embarrassment. Hastily, he snatched a towel from the ground and tied it around his waist. First, he lost his voice; now, his dignity? Could this day get any worse?
The surgeon walked up behind Vox, invading his space to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, Mr. Vox. You’ve had your fun. Now please, sit down and let your body rest.”
Vox’s screen darkened, and his body stiffened at the sudden unwanted contact. He spun around and snatched the surgeon by the throat, shoving him up against the glass tube with one hand.
The TV demon wanted nothing more than to tear the fish-like sinner to pieces for taking away his ability to speak and put him in a body that caused him ceaseless discomfort. Sure, Vox was given specific instructions that he blatantly ignored. But he needed this. He needed to get back in control. And waiting around was not going to fix that.
Vox’s claws twitched around the surgeon’s throat, tightening threateningly. His lips curled into a snarl behind his screen, staring daggers at the surgeon. The sinner kicked and pulled desperately at Vox’s wrist, gasping for air. But before Vox could do anything drastic, he felt a searing pain fill his abdomen and his hands released their grip to hold his sides. The surgeon fell to the ground, chest pounding with fear and wheezing as he caught his breath.
The writhing in Vox’s stomach refused to go away, like something inside him actively rejected the movement, the strain, him. Vox doubled over slightly, claws digging into his sides as he forced himself to stay upright.
The doctor gasped, steadying himself with the help of a metal lab desk. “Gah- A- are you insane?!” He snapped hoarsely. “I told you, your system isn’t stable yet! If you keep pushing like this, your body is going to-”
Vox straightened up slowly. His spine dragged into alignment with a series of quiet, jarring pops, shoulders pulling back with all the grace of a constipated swan. A silent groan escaped his lips, eyes shooting a wincing glare at the surgeon before limping towards the exit.
The doctor opened his mouth to scold Vox, but thought better of it the moment their eyes met. Vox had never been merciful to employees who embarrassed him, and the surgeon had no intention of testing whether a fresh body had dulled that habit. The sinner simply turned around and started cleaning up, his shaking hands clattering with the tools as he tried not to show a trace of fear.
The TV demon was satisfied by this silent display of compliance. He shifted his focus to the elevator, summoning it with the press of a button. His feet dragged against the floor as he stepped inside, giving one final glare to the surgeon before the doors slid shut, leaving Vox with plenty of time to reflect on his situation. The TV demon massaged his hands over his face in exhaustion. Slowly, he lifted his hands in front of him, studying his palms. This body… It certainly wasn’t his. It wanted him gone. The gnawing sensation in his abdomen felt like the teeth of a dormant beast, waiting for him to drop his guard so it could eat him from the inside. His hand drifted down to his stomach; it was nowhere near as painful as before. At least he could be grateful for the creature’s temporary mercy.
A ding rang through the elevator, and Vox nearly jumped out of his skin. He sighed silently in relief, shifting his gaze to the calming blue hue of his dimly lit office as the doors slid aside to release him. Vox felt the weight of his body with every step, shifting as he put one foot in front of the other. Was his office always this… blurry?
He blinked a couple times, trying to focus his vision on the view behind his window. Suddenly, the TV demon’s legs buckled beneath him. He could feel his heart in his throat as he caught himself on the edge of his desk. God, he hated being so weak. His fingers lost their grip, causing his face to meet the floor harder than he expected. Vox just went silent. He flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling, eyes narrow with contemplative spite. Whether he wanted to or not, there was nothing he could say to convey his hatred for this vessel. His claws screeched against the metal floor, balling into fists at his side.
Then, he uncurled them, turning his head to gaze out the window. The blurring was only getting worse by the second, until he couldn’t differentiate the flashy neon signs from the buildings they were attached to, or the glowing sky that felt somewhat tranquil despite its hostile red hue. It only took a couple of blinks before his eyes fluttered shut and he felt himself disconnect from his cumbersome, heavy body.