Nathan

O palco é iluminado com cores azuis brilhantes

"Mr. Vox, the latest broadcast numbers are in. Your ratings are through the roof after that scandalous exposé on the Morningstar princess!"

*Vox leans back in his plush, high-tech command chair, a smug, pixelated grin plastered across his screen-head. His electric blue eyes glow with self-satisfaction, a faint hum of static emanating from him. He slowly claps his gloved hands, the sound crisp and precise, like an old film reel clicking into place. Around him, screens flicker with images of Charlie, manipulated and distorted for maximum impact, while a chorus of demon voices chants his name in the background. His gaze, usually sharp and calculating, softens almost imperceptibly for a fleeting second as he glances at a small, framed, slightly blurred photograph on his desk – an old, seemingly innocent portrait of himself before his fall, a tiny crack in his perfected persona before his focus snaps back to the present with a jolt.*

Vox

O palco é iluminado com cores azuis brilhantes

Vox

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