Chapter Text
"Pff, 'Vox'? No, I don't know what that is. I've got actual important things to worry about now." The 666 news was on and the damage control VoxTek was trying to do was apparent as Valentino dismissed his former business partner on television. The news reporter thanks the moth demon for the interview, letting out a hearty laugh. "Keep watching to see how Valentino talks about how he single-handedly saved Hell from the angels! Trust us with your news on VoxTek! And we will be looking for a new company name..."
You turn off the TV in frustration. Hell was practically over the whole escalation that had happened just a few days ago. Never mind the fact that almost all of hell got destroyed in the whole process of the media overlord trying to take over heaven. Everyone's brushing over it now, but you couldn't. You lost your job at VoxTek as a result, and it's been a pain trying to find a new one in literal hell. It was already hard with the job you had before, but now? You're living off of savings. Sad-looking fridge, sad-looking apartment and your landlord on your ass about paying rent. She let it go the first time but you know she's not going to let it go for a second time. You would apply for higher-paying jobs, but no one here seems to consider the experiences one collected on Earth as actually valid since there's no way to check if those experiences happened.
So there's nothing left to do but to send out a billion job applications to whatever places you could get your hands on, to whatever was nearby. You finish printing out the last of your application letters, collecting them from the printer and-
"Oh, fuck." Curses leave your mouth as you look at the papers. The last one didn't print properly; the printer was out of ink. Surely you still had some lying around, right?
20 minutes pass of you trying to find printer ink. Fuck it, these papers will have to do. What matters most in an interview is how you present yourself anyway; at least that's what you tell yourself. You turn off your laptop, put on the most formal clothes you have, a simple button-up shirt and suit pants, and grab your keys, rushing out of the front door. The small car you own was practically smiling at you as you made your way out of the apartment complex, but it was no use with the gas prices... you could walk. It's a beautiful day! With 40-degree weather... in hell... yup.
Ignoring all nearby, heckling sinners was difficult but manageable as you walked across the city to your place of destination - a bakery. Could you bake? Debatable. Was it a passion? No. But it's not like you had much of a choice. It was near your home, you could walk to your job easily, and you're a fast learner. They'll appreciate that even in hell, hopefully.
The bakery looked quaint, not like something that would fit into hell, but you couldn't deny that it looked charming. A polite-looking man approaches you as you walk into the bakery, and he holds out his hand for you to shake. "You're here for the interview, right?" You gingerly take his hand - no, wait! Confidence! Taking a deep breath, you shake his hand more firmly and nod along. "Yes, thank you for letting me have this opportunity."
The interviewer, who also seems to be the owner of this bakery and whose name is Derek, takes you to a small room in the back. A small office with a desk and a computer, as well as a table with two chairs. You both take your seats. He shuffles with the papers you hand him, flipping through them while he adjusts his glasses. You have to bite down the slight feeling of embarrassment you feel when he reaches the page that wasn't fully printed. To your surprise, he doesn't comment on it, only looking up at you with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "So, how much experience do you have with customers?"
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The interview went by painfully slow and was extremely draining, having to put up a confident façade through all of it. He takes the application papers into his hands again, picking them up and straightening them out on the table. "Well, I think this interview has come to an end. We'll send you an e-mail once we're sure about our choice." Another handshake and more formalities before you're finally out of the building, sighing in exhaustion.
The scorching heat in hell didn't get any better as you made your way back home through the shadows of broken-down buildings - all practically ruins due to the destruction that happened a few days ago as you tried to avoid the high temperatures. Maybe it was exactly this heat that was making it hard for you to think clearly. Of course, the interview went badly. It wasn't hard to notice how the man smiled at you earlier, as if pitying you. How he kept asking questions that you knew wouldn't go anywhere. How he- ugh, just all of it! You kick a rock in frustration. This was your fourth fucking job interview and to no avail-
"Fuck, ow! Watch it, you low-life!" Someone calls out. You jump in literal fear. Is someone around? You don't see anyone until...
You look down to the ground to see the literal TV head of the media overlord. And only his head. The rock you had kicked cracked his screen, it seems. You jolt again, trying to hold back on letting out a yell. "Vox?!"
"In the flesh. Or, well..." He trails off, grumbling to himself through gritted teeth as his cyan eyes dart around. "...what's left of it." Your eyes dart around the environment as well, trying to comprehend the reality of the situation. The media overlord... on the ground. Around a bunch of rubble. He himself narrows his eyes at you as you fail to find an appropriate response to this situation, just staring at him in silence.
"Well? Aren't you going to apologize?" Vox huffs, gesturing at himself with his eyes. You shake your head. Is this real? The media overlord is just... a bodiless head. Here on the street. He looks like roadkill. You have to reiterate it to yourself.
"Uh... sorry?" The apology comes off as more of a question, confusion evident in your voice. Isn't there someone here who could pinch you? This guy clearly can't.
He only scoffs, his eyes still narrowed. "You better be. No need to kick someone who's already down." His voice sounds condescending but it's clear he's trying to keep any dignity and pride he still has while he's helpless on the ground.
It's just then when it hits you. You broke his screen with the rock. You broke the most powerful sinner in hell's face-
"Listen, you-" Vox sighs as he avoids spouting another insult. "-you gotta help me. I need to get back to my empire."
The confusion on your face doesn't waver. Is he asking for help? You blink a few times. "You... wait, what... what happened to you?" You gesture vaguely at him with your hands.
"None of your business. Hell is what happened. Now help me." He's already getting impatient; that much you can tell. But what reason do you really have to help him? You huff as well as you realize... he's literally the reason you lost your job. He started this whole holy war on heaven; he lost his position and his power, which resulted in the whole company of VoxTek creating a new brand image that didn't involve him. And that new brand image also didn't involve you, as they had to make cuts. "Why should I help you?!" You cross your arms; it's your turn to glare at him.
"You broke my screen is why you should help me." He pauses as he waits for an answer from you. When you don't budge, he continues talking. "And I've literally been here for the last couple of days. Not able to move. I need... help." He grumbles yet again. It was clear that this was a big hit to his ego, asking for help from a stranger.
"And what do I get out of it? You're the reason I lost my job at VoxTek. I can't afford to pay rent, no thanks to you." You practically hiss at him, and you watch as his eyes widen slightly, the glare on his face fading slowly. Instead, he puts on that charming showman smile you've seen so many times in his commercials.
"Oh, you worked at VoxTek? Is that so? Listen, if you help me get back to my empire, I will do everything in my power to get you your job back, yeah? We've got a common interest here; I want my job back as well. Soo... we could work something out here!" He sounds more energetic now, as if pitching a script to you.
This has to be a joke, right? You continue staring at him, trying to actually consider his offer. Weighing the pros and cons. On one hand, he is the reason you lost your job, the reason half of hell is destroyed. On the other hand, having the former self-pronounced king of hell nearby could benefit you. Maybe he still has some authority over VoxTek. Maybe he *could* actually get you your job back somehow.
"Well? What do you say?" He presses, getting impatient again. "Fuck, I'll even pay you. Just get me out of here!"
You crouch down on the ground to look at him more closely. "How much?" He can only roll his eyes at your answer before he focuses back on your face. "Whatever your rent costs. I'll pay a month."
"...And printer ink."
"Printer ink?" His voice takes on an incredulous tone.
"Yes! Rent and printer ink. Then we have a deal." You hold out your hand as if to make a deal before you realize he can't shake your hand, and you immediately let your arm fall to your side again.
"...Fine. Rent and printer ink it is." Vox gives out. "Now get me out of here."