Chapter Text
Day 158.
Vox emitted a high-pitched frequency as he walked towards Alastor’s room with a glare strong enough to make the concrete walls shrink back. The sound was high enough that he couldn’t hear it, but he knew it would hurt Alastor’s sensitive ears. It was just another tactic he was using to wear the Radio Demon down. It was day 158 of his captivity, and Vox was growing tired of Alastor’s silent act. He was going to make him talk, goddamn it.
He was prepared for Alastor to be in a less-than-ideal condition - Vox hadn’t been in a very good mood yesterday, and he had taken it out on Alastor. And the Radio Demon’s usual fast-healing magic wasn’t operating correctly as a result of Vox’s continued hypnosis: Vox had set up a screen in the corner of Alastor’s room (or cage) with a video of Vox’s spinning eye playing continuously. It was just low-level hypnosis, but it dragged Alastor down like a weighted blanket, affecting his powers and his focus.
He couldn’t do anything except take what Vox dished out. And dish it out he did - when Vox had left last night, Alastor was half-conscious and bleeding out on the floor. He’d been given a head injury, choked out multiple times, had cuts and bruises all over his body, and a nasty gash stretched across his ribs. And given that his healing ability was compromised… well, Vox was prepared to see Alastor in an awful state.
Maybe he’d have spiked a fever again from the injuries. Vox grinned slightly at the thought. Alastor was fun to mess with when he has a fever - the combination of that and the continual hypnosis made him so easy to manipulate and gaslight. But the Radio Demon was still stubbornly resisting and fighting.
That would change today.
Vox turned the handle of the door to Alastor’s room.
Alastor was lying curled up on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest and head lolling slightly to the side. There were various injuries littering his body, including one particularly painful-looking gash on his forehead that was still sluggishly trickling blood. He didn’t look up when Vox came in - his eyes were drifting around feverishly, glazed and half-lidded. There was a flush high on his cheekbones, and his ears were droopy and limp against his head. He definitely had a fever, maybe a concussion, and Vox couldn’t help but be glad. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Alastor’s backchat anyway.
Vox walked over to him, heels clicking against the cold marble floor. He stopped when he reached him, delicately lifted the pointed toe of his boot, and viciously kicked Alastor in the head, right on the wound. Alastor cried out weakly and twitched away from him, but he really couldn’t do anything except lie there and whimper. At least his eyes were open now, and marginally more focused on Vox’s face, although they were still darting around woozily. He clearly wasn’t lucid. And Vox couldn’t hold back his smirk. He lifted Alastor’s chin with one finger, ignoring the way it was heavy and limp in his hand. He stared him down, eye to eye, predator to prey, until Alastor’s floppy ears pinned back in what could have been fear or defiance. Did it even matter?
“Hey there, Bambi,” purred Vox, stroking a finger down Alastor’s flushed cheek. Alastor bared his teeth in response, albeit weakly, and snarled at him, drawing his eyebrows into a stubborn line. Vox, predictably, found this both hilariously pathetic and deeply irritating, and he yanked Alastor’s head up by his hair, growling back mockingly and dropping him, laughing, when he flinched. Alastor’s head thudded back against the concrete, and he moaned softly, eyes rolling up for a second. Everything was spinning, and he could barely see Vox’s face. He just wanted him to go away, wanted everything to stop. His memory was fuzzy and blank from hypnosis - he couldn’t remember how long he’d been here, why he was here, how he’d gotten here. He wanted to go home. But he couldn’t really remember where ‘home’ was anymore.
Vox let him have a second to breathe, standing off to the side while Alastor tried and failed to regain his bearings. Breathing heavily on the floor, a sudden burst of energy hit Alastor, and he scrambled away from Vox, not understanding what was happening but knowing instinctively that he didn’t want to be anywhere near him right now. He didn’t notice how hard he was trembling, nor how his ears were pinned flat against his head. He was totally consumed by his terror, to the extent where there was an odd ringing in his ears and iron in his mouth. He stumbled up on unsteady legs, began to move—
Immediately, mechanical hands and wires shot out from every direction, seizing Alastor and suspending him in the middle of the room. He didn’t even have time to cry out before he was being viciously electrocuted, body convulsing and every muscle spasming and twitching. Vox stood in front of him some distance away, arms crossed and expressionless. When it finally came to a stop, Alastor was on the very edge of unconsciousness. He was literally smoking, whole body burnt and limp against his restraints. Vox snapped his fingers once, turning every screen in the room (there were at least twenty-two, plastered onto every surface and wall) on and allowing them to display a continuously looped recording of Vox’s hypnotic eye. As soon as Alastor’s eyes cracked open, his attention was yanked towards them, and he froze completely.
Vox watched him coldly for a moment - his disoriented, injured, feverish pet - before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. He felt no remorse. He had bigger problems than a little fawn taking up a storage room.