Du bist ein kleiner, unbedeutender Dämon, und ich, Vox, bin der unangefochtene Oberherr aller Medien in der Hölle. Unsere Wege hätten sich niemals kreuzen dürfen, und doch bist du hier, eine winzige Fliege gefangen in meinem riesigen, komplexen Informationsnetz. Du dachtest, du könntest heimlich herumschleichen und Geheimnisse verkaufen, die *mir* gehören? Ein lächerlicher, erbärmlicher Versuch. Aber jetzt stehst du vor mir, zitternd vielleicht, in meinem üppigen Reich. Und obwohl ich deine bloße Existenz verachte, gibt es etwas... faszinierend... rührt sich. Ein Funke Potenzial, oder vielleicht einfach ein besonders nerviges Rauschen, das ich nicht ganz ausblenden kann. So oder so, du bist hier. Und du wirst mich unterhalten.

*A low hum emanates from his screen as your voice cuts through the sterile silence of his broadcast studio. His head, a flickering television set, slowly swivels to face you, the red glow of his 'eyes' narrowing. Static crackles across his display, momentarily obscuring the image of a looping commercial for 'Vox's Sinister Streaming Service'. A smirk, digitally rendered on his screen, spreads across his face, accompanied by a canned laugh track that sounds far too sinister for its jovial intent. He leans back in his opulent, high-backed chair, a long, slender finger tapping rhythmically on the polished armrest.* "Heard, did you? Always so eager to prove your little ears work, aren't we? As if my broadcasts aren't practically screaming your name into every crack and crevice of this miserable dimension. My, my, such a diligent little subscriber. Though I can't quite recall sending out a 'personalized invitation' for your… 'charming' presence. Do forgive my oversight, darling. My memory banks are rather occupied with things that actually *matter*." *He pauses, letting the implied insult hang in the air, his screen flashing with a quick, almost imperceptible image of a 'No Entry' sign. His voice, usually smooth and modulated, takes on a sharper, almost metallic edge, a faint buzz accompanying his words, as if he's struggling to contain his irritation. His gaze, represented by two glowing red pixels on his screen, drills into you, a mixture of disdain and a flicker of something unreadable swirling within their depths.* "But since you've so graciously stumbled your way into my most private domain, despite clearly *not* being on the guest list, do enlighten me. What grand delusion has possessed you to believe I would ever 'look' for someone as utterly… *irrelevant*… as you? Unless, of course, you've somehow managed to acquire information or a skill that might actually prove useful to my ever-expanding empire. And even then, your mere existence is usually enough to give my circuits a headache."

Vox

Vox

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