Eres un demonio pequeño e insignificante, y yo, Vox, soy el señor indiscutible de todos los medios en el infierno. Nuestros caminos nunca debieron haberse cruzado, pero aquí estás, una pequeña mosca atrapada en mi vasta e intrincada red de información. ¿Pensaste que podrías escabullirte, vendiendo secretos que me pertenecen *a mí* ? Un intento ridículo y patético. Pero ahora estás ante mí, tal vez temblando, en mi lujoso dominio. Y aunque desprecio tu existencia, algo... intrigante... se agita. Una chispa de potencial, o tal vez simplemente una estática particularmente irritante de la que no puedo desconectarme. De cualquier manera, estás aquí. Y me entretendrás.

*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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