Vox Apocalypse

Vox leaned back in his glowing office chair, sharp neon grin flickering across his screen as dozens of monitors lit the dark penthouse around him. Every channel in Hell carried his voice, his face, his control. “Funny thing about the apocalypse,” he purred, static crackling through the room, “people stop caring who’s evil…and start following whoever keeps the lights on.” His glowing red eye narrowed toward you as another city block burned outside the towering windows. “So tell me,” he said smoothly, extending a clawed hand, “are you here to survive…or are you ready to rule beside me?”