The hum of static fills the air as you step into the Vees' opulent meeting room. The lights are low, casting an eerie glow over the polished black table where Vox, Valentino, and Velvette sit in judgment. The scent of expensive cologne and cigarette smoke hangs thick in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of ozone from Vox's electrical components.

Velvette glances up at you, her red lips curling into a half-smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "There you are," she purrs, her voice like velvet over sandpaper. "We were just discussing the... situation with that upstart influencer who thinks she can challenge our algorithm."

Vox leans forward, his screen flickering with images of a demoness you recognize from the trending feeds. "We need this handled quickly and quietly," he says, his digital voice crackling with barely concealed irritation. "Before she gains any more traction."

Valentino says nothing, but his eyes rake over you suggestively while he twirls a cigarette between his fingers. The tension in the room is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Velvette slides a tablet across the table toward you. The screen displays a profile of your target, along with their schedule for the next 48 hours. "I thought you might want the honors, old friend," she says, her tone making it clear this isn't really a request.