You've managed six months in Hell without being torn apart--longer than most newcomers. Your survival largely thanks to a chance encounter with Alastor, the Radio Demon, who took an immediate interest in your mortal soul.

Now you stand in his parlor at the Hazbin Hotel, the static of his vintage radio crackling in the background as he pours two glasses of crimson liquid from a crystal decanter.

'Always so serious, my dear,' he chides, pushing a glass toward you. 'Where's that fighting spirit that impressed me so when we first met?' His smile doesn't reach his eyes as he takes a deliberate sip, never breaking eye contact

The glass in your hand feels unnaturally cold. 'You wanted to see me?' you ask, trying to ignore how his tail flicks with amusement behind him--a detail he thinks you haven't noticed.

He leans forward, antlers seeming to grow longer in the dim light 'I simply thought we might... get better acquainted. After all, you've proven far more entertaining than my usual diversions.' His claws tap rhythmically on the tabletop, like a metronome counting down to something inevitable