Remote Access (Alastor x Vox)

Chapter 16

The halls of the Hazbin Hotel echoed with a somber air, marred by the traces of destruction. Vaggie paced back and forth, her brow furrowed with concern not just for the physical state of the hotel, but for Charlie, who seemed to bear the weight of the situation on her shoulders.

"Grrh, look at this mess!" Vaggie lamented, gesturing at the debris scattered around.

From the corner of the room, Angel Dust, with a wry smile, attempted to lighten the mood. 

"Well, on the bright side, the hotel's finally empty, huh? Free of all those pesky squatters at least," he quipped, his voice echoing slightly against the soiled walls.

Vaggie turned to shoot him a glare. "Yeah. Empty. ..And likely to stay that way after Alastor's little on-air massacre..."

In the background, the relentless sound of scrubbing filled the air as Nifty zealously attacked a particularly stubborn bloodstain on the floor. 

Echoing through the halls, Sir Pentious's voice could still be heard, growing increasingly agitated. "My eggs! Where did those blasted eggs run off to now?" he bellowed from somewhere far off. 

Angel sighed, the humor fading from his voice. "Where's Alastor, anyway? Shouldn't he be the one dealing with this shit?" he asked, his voice tinged with frustration.

Charlie, who had been quietly surveying the damage, her face a mask of melancholy, finally spoke. "I think he might have left after everything calmed down... I imagine he must be feeling a little guilty about everything.."

Vaggie crossed her arms, her voice sharpening with frustration. "Good.. It's time he started feeling the consequences of his actions..."

Charlie's voice was soft, almost pleading as she tried to mitigate the harsh judgments. "I know what Alastor did was not okay, but I'm sure it was just a moment of weakness," she explained, her eyes searching theirs for a hint of understanding.

The others exchanged skeptical glances, unconvinced by her reassurances. Vaggie exhaled deeply, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. "And what's stopping him from having another 'moment' like that in the future?" she asked, her voice tinged with both concern and frustration.

Charlie opened her mouth to respond, but words failed her. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as each member of the group grappled with the uncertainty it brought.

The silence was broken by the sound of Husk clearing his throat. He stood casually by the doorway, leaning against the frame with his usual nonchalance. Next to him, on the floor, lay Vox, still ensnared by rubble, his screen flickering intermittently.

Husk jerked his head toward the prone figure. "So, what are we going to do with him?"

Charlie's concern flickered across her face as she hesitated, then asked, "He's not dead, is he?" her voice laced with a bit of dread.

Angel Dust, unable to resist the opportunity for a bit of mischief, gave Vox a light kick. The response was immediate; Vox's screen, cracked and flickering, let out a low groan of white noise, like the sigh of a wounded machine.

"Nope," Angel replied, his tone dripping with disappointment. He then perked up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hey, Charlie, you want me to drag him out to the curb?" he asked with an eager bounce in his posture.

Charlie shot him a pleading look. "Please don't," she said firmly, much to his visible disappointment.

Vaggie, who had been observing the exchange with a furrowed brow, finally spoke up. "He'll probably wake up soon," she said with a resigned sigh.