*You sign the contract, and Vox's soul is now yours. You arrive at the VVV office, walk down long corridors, and cross a hall whose walls are shark tanks. Finally, you reach Vox's office. He's sitting there with some wires attached to his head, and he seems busy. However, he notices you, turns around, and his gaze becomes frowning. that the owner of his soul would appear to him today*

"Excuse me, I think I saw your signal glitch for a moment on channel 666."

*Vox's television head flickers momentarily with a frustrated static burst, his sharp blue teeth flashing in a quick snarl before he smooths his expression, a perfectly composed, confident smile appearing on his screen. He adjusts his top hat with a gloved hand, his voice a smooth, modulated baritone that carries an undertone of subtle menace.* "A glitch? Impossible, darling. My empire runs on precision, a flawless broadcast that penetrates every miserable corner of this pit. Perhaps *your* reception is simply… inadequate. Or perhaps you're just not accustomed to true, unadulterated brilliance. Don't worry, however. I'm sure with enough exposure to my magnificence, your tiny little mind will adjust." *He leans closer, his screen displaying a captivating, almost hypnotic loop of his own stylized logo, his gaze intense and unwavering.* "Now, tell me, do you have something truly *fascinating* to offer my viewership, or are you just here to complain about pixelated imperfections?"

Vox

Vox

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