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1.
The first time was the night he broke with Alastor.
Vox lost his composure for the first time since arriving in Hell. He screamed at the deer, trashed half a bar, and stormed out with tears in his eyes. The deer was long gone. Fueled by residual rage, he dove into his newly laid electrical lines, zapping around in search of his humiliator, finally short-circuit and get dumped back onto the street. The pain of the fall sobered him up, shame hot on its heels. Passersby seemed to stare, pointing fingers with silent mockery. He desperately needed a distraction. Looking up, he saw a nightclub pulsing with music. He plunged inside.
It was perfect. Amidst the chaos, no one noticed the disheveled young sinner. After a few drinks, he felt numb, the feeling of temporary forgetfulness made him light-headed.So Vox ordered more, finding a corner table to indulge his self-pity.
Thanks to his unique constitution, he sobered up quickly. But when his screen face cleared, the music had softened. The night of revelry had shifted to a more intimate phase. He found a tall, seductive sinner grinning at him, toying with one of the many empty glasses before him.
Vox instantly sobered. Who was she? A robber? Here to mock him? Alastor had made him paranoid; attention was the last thing he wanted, even from a beauty. But before he could react, the sinner cooed, "Hi there, handsome~ Here for some fun alone?"
Fuck, it was a "he".
Vox's processors were still lagging, confused by the sinner's flamboyant appearance, when the sinner reached for him, Vox instinctively took his hand. "Oh, I'll take that as a yes…" the sinner chuckled, leaning in. The black-and-white feathers on his hat suggestively brushed Vox's antennae – which were actually feelers.
The touch snapped Vox back. The sinner was practically in his lap – moving incredibly fast. Startled, Vox was taken aback, fingertips discharging a current that burned the sinner's skin.
"Oi!" The sinner flinched back, crimson eyes wide with surprise. Vox stared at his glass, hoping the hint was taken. He was handsome, sure, but Vox wasn't interested in men. He had work tomorrow. He needed to get stronger, to make that New Orleans bastard regret ever crossing him.
But the demon just giggled, leaning in even closer, grabbing Vox's arm. "So eager, and you haven't even told me your name."
Too close. What was that red mist rising from the floor? "No." Vox's left eye glitched, circuits activating. He didn't want a scene. The earlier stares were enough. He didn't need more attention.
"No? But your body says otherwise. Relax, papito. I've done this before. I'll take good care of you…" The sinner was completely unfazed by his hypnotic glare. Before Vox could process that, the sinner's hand slid down, pressing firmly on a spot on Vox's upper thigh. He smirked, satisfied by Vox's sharp intake of breath, and wiggled his antennae.
Too fucking far. Vox's eyes darkened. He slammed the sinner onto the table, hand around his throat. Glasses shattered, the room fell silent. All eyes were on them.
The quiet, the curiosity, the stares, the mocking smiles. That suffocating shame returned. Alastor's cackle echoed in his ears. Everyone was watching. Look! The fool who'd been so careless with his trust!
Why was it so quiet? Vox couldn't move, his fans whirring wildly, his vision glitching. He felt like he was drowning. Suddenly , the sinner beneath him let out a theatrical, breathy moan, wrapping his legs suggestively around Vox's waist.
Sharp whistles cut the silence. Sinners turned away – just another kinky spat. Someone yelled for them to get a room. Vox was pulled up and dragged into a room, vaguely catching the name called out: Valentino?
"Valentino?"
"Yeah~ that's me." The sinner, Valentino, sat in the shadows, twirling a cigarette. Vox realized he had inadvertently muttered the other person's name.
He came to his senses and looked around, only to realize he wasn't in a sex room—a wave of relief washed over him. He was in a cramped, shabby space, its walls plastered with posters of the same sinner. Dresses, clothes, and makeup were crammed everywhere—clearly identifiable by size as belonging to one sinner. And in his hand, he was clutching a piece of the other's lingerie. He nearly jumped out of his casing and threw it in the other's face. The posters on the walls were steamy enough to make any sinner's blood run hot, but right now, all Vox wanted was to flee.
"Oh~" Valentino caught the fabric with mock sympathy. "That's usually good for panic attacks." He rose from his chair, blocking the door. Vox realized he was taller than expected, even in heels.
"No thank you for saving you back there?" Valentino bent down, his plunging neckline giving Vox an eyeful. Suddenly, enormous wings spread, blocking the light – a moth sinner.
"How much?" Vox forced his gaze to stay above the neck. Tonight had been too much. Spotting the red marks he'd choked into the other's neck, he shifted his gaze, a flicker of unease running through him. Valentino was immune to hypnosis and clearly resilient. Fighting would be messy. Whores like him just wanted money. Vox could pay. He'd get rid of this moth and leave.
But the moth's hands were already wandering. "My price… most can't afford. And what I want… I'm very focused," he murmured, groping Vox, who froze, horrified to feel his body betray him. "Whores just take money. They're good for secrets. Come on,Mi amorcito. Tell me who got you into this sorry state."
Why bring that up? Why bring that fuck up again?! leering grin and dripping pink drool filled Vox's vision. His rage, now pure and hot, burned away the shame and fear. He didn't want to bargain anymore and make the moth leave . He wanted to make this bastard pay for provoking him. "Is this really what you want, you slut?" He grabbed him roughly, sending currents into the moth's body, earning an uninhibited, high-pitched moan.
"Call me Vox."
Vox slammed Valentino against the wall, telling him his name like a final ultimatum. That night, He listened to Valentino moan his name, voice wrecked, over and over beneath him, until the feeling of being humiliated leave with his final cum. He woke in the wreckage, briefly panicked by his impulsiveness, but feeling better than he had in days. He bought Valentino flowers and gifts, compensation for the marks and mess. Why care so much about a whore? Vox felt uneasy, but watching the moth's antennae wiggle with pleasure as he accepted them, something in his chest felt light.
2.
The second time was early in their partnership.
They weren't powerful yet, often needing to play nice and budget carefully. But Valentino's temperament always landed them in trouble—nothing too serious, mind you. Not that he went picking fights with the big shots—the moth handled the actual work just fine, impeccable with connections and performance alike. As Valentino himself put it, "I'm a very valuable whore, I can do anything." No, it was the small-time nobodies he could never resist losing his temper with. Whether these little pests existed or not wouldn't make or break their business, but for where they were now, less trouble was always better than more. And to make things worse, he dragged Vox into it every single time. Well, almost every time.
So, one day, after a grueling session with a client, Vox finally sealed a deal.The moment he ushered the client out with a plastered-on smile, his monitors picked up Valentino in another street brawl, outnumbered.
He'd been at it a while, stumbling, clothes bloody. Spotting the camera, he fired a few more shots – with the gun Vox gave him – panting hard, he shot the camera a grin and made a crude, come-hither gesture.
Vox nearly angred short-circuited. That bitch had said he was negotiating with a club owner today! And this was his negotiation?! They should be saving their energy and weapons, not spraying them into random skulls on the street. Again!
Vox swore he'd dump the moth and go solo. He wasn't going to be anyone's cleanup crew forever. But he wasn't ready to give up Valentino's steady income or the occasional, admittedly perfect, sex. So yes, he was furious, but he also didn't want a business partner lying dead in the street– bad for business.
The monitors showed a dangerous glint – they had angel weapon . The outnumbered moth was being cornered. Vox almost leaped into the feed, but a thought wormed into his processor: maybe…this was a chance to be free? Valentino had already caused enough trouble. His own enterprise was gradually taking off. Even without the other sinner, he could reach unprecedented heights sooner or later. He knew how tenacious Valentino was—dumping him wouldn't be easy. But now, the opportunity was right in front of him. No risk of future entanglements, didn't even need to lift a finger himself. All he had to do was pretend he hadn't noticed in time, show up just a little too late, and it would be over for good…
Could he…? Vox stared intently at Valentino on the monitor, his claws leaving deep gouges in the desk as he fought the urge to jump in. On screen, the moth pressed a hand to his stomach wound, leaning against the wall. One of his antennae had been burned clean off. He lifted his blood-streaked face, dazedly searching for the surrounding cameras one last time.
The gang raised their angel weapon.
Valentino flashed a weak smile toward the corner.
FUCK!
Electricity flashed, deflecting the bullets.
Sparks and fury rained down on the attackers.
After about ten minutes, the area fell silent. Vox had one antenna bent out of shape, his screen shattered across the floor, his face flickering with sporadic glitches as coolant and blood alternately seeped from his wounds. Valentino had lost one antenna, a gaping hole pierced through his abdomen, a tear along the lower edge of his wing, and his fur matted into bloody clumps. They lay sprawled amid the wreckage, gasping for breath, neither speaking for a long while
"Fuck!" Vox was the first to speak. Once he'd caught his breath, he cursed loudly, slowly pulled himself up, and crawled over to Valentino, reaching out a hand. Valentino didn't even look at him. "I can't get up," he called out, drawing out the words with an incongruous air of petulance.
Vox felt his cracked casing start to throb again—fuck, he'd probably need to replace his whole head this time. He let his hand drop in defeat and plopped down beside Valentino, He cursed himself in his heart, cursed all his clients, and cursed Valentinio. Eventually, he would get rid of this nuisance. He was just about to say something—like why Valentino had pushed things so far this time, getting himself into a mess like this—when Valentino pulled something from his jacket and tossed it right in Vox's face, cutting him off.
"What the fuck—" Vox grumbled as he picked up the rolled-up document. The moment his remaining screen-fragments focused into something resembling eyes and registered what it was, he froze. A contract. Not a soul contract, more like a deed. From an old overlord they'd had their eyes on for a while but hadn't dared make a move on yet. Vox and Valentino's names gleamed at the bottom. They owned that land.
"This… you… how… I thought you were just meeting some club owner…" The normally silver-tongued CEO completely short-circuited, eventually managing to stammer out this one line, his voice trailing off.
"Ha, Voxxy baby, I can do anything." Valentino hissed in pain, but still had the presence of mind for a joke or two.
Vox tucked the contract away. Uncharacteristically, he didn't fire back. They both fell silent again, until the moth broke it. "I'm staying at your place tonight." Valentino turned to him and said it matter-of-factly, making no mention of why Vox had shown up so late. Vox still said nothing. He just looked at him, then slowly reached out and touched the moth's burnt antenna, his hand trembling slightly. The moth took his hand in return, using it to pull himself up, nearly yanking Vox off balance. "Worth it." He tapped Vox's bent antenna, then collapsed entirely against him. They started making their way back, stumbling, holding each other up.
All the way back, the moth chattered incessantly, grandly proclaiming what a tall building he'd erect on that land, how many nightclubs he'd open, punctuated by pained gasps. Vox, uncharacteristically, played the role of listener. He just held the moth steadier, offering a brief response now and then. Slowly, something like butterfly fluttered into his processor, nudging aside those thoughts of going solo, and settled there. And Vox suddenly realized how ordinary this felt.
3.
The third time, Vox prefers to call an immature product of mental exhaustion.
Valentino hadn't been home in a week. Not that he was missing or anything—they still ate together, went out, held meetings to discuss business—but Vox could clearly feel the moth growing distant, brushing him off. And at night, he no longer came back to their shared V-Tower to sleep. Vox attributed all of this to Valentino's latest obsession—a pink-and-white spider sinner. Whenever he wasn't with Vox, the moth practically had the spider glued to him, parading him around town, taking him back to his private apartment, dressing him up like a living doll—charging it all to his own card! This went far beyond how one treated a simple toy. And Valentino had known that spider for less than two weeks. It was unbearable.
But of course, he wouldn't say anything to Valentino. They were powerful overlords now, with their own enterprises. They lived together, but that meant nothing in Hell. They'd never even seriously discussed it. And the moth wasn't letting his infatuation affect their partnership—he'd started dabbling in the film industry, and Vox's profits hadn't dropped. In fact, they'd increased, thanks to the spider starring in new films. So Vox had no grounds to criticize. Actually, though he'd never admit it, the real reason might be that Vox refused to act like some bitter husband whose wife never came home. Who resents a business partner for partying? It's not like he was losing money.
So he had no reason to be unhappy. But he was restless anyway, even losing sleep for several nights—which made it a problem that needed solving. If the problem wasn't Valentino, then he had to look for the cause within himself. So on another night when Valentino hadn't come home, the CEO of VoxTek, watched the moth on his screen, moving atop the spider sinner, and began to think.
Quiet nights and solitude always got the mind racing, leading to all sorts of wild thoughts. So on this night, after two weeks of agitation over changes brought by a spider, the newly-minted overlord, the embodiment of technology and innovation, the ruler of VoxTek—Vox—concluded that his business partner was going to dump him and go solo.
It made perfect sense. Valentino was branching out into film beyond just pimping. He was cultivating his own trusted people and assistants. He was slowly fading from Vox's life. All signs pointed to his next move being to leave Vox and flourish on his own—just like Alastor had done.
Anger and impulse always made people focus too much on what they wanted to believe, overlooking other, more obvious facts. This truth applied to a television set as well. Haunted by the shadows of the past and the possibility of betrayal, sleep-deprived Vox was so convinced Valentino was about to leave the V-Tower and fly away like a true moth that it never even occurred to him to question where the equipment for filming those movies came from, or what platform was distributing them.
But Vox was Vox. He wouldn't repeat past mistakes. So this time, before he could be dumped, he decided to strike first.
The resentment and anger were real. Maybe there was even a little reluctance. But since the ending was inevitable, he would be the one doing the rejecting.
So for the rest of the night, he spent a quarter of the time preparing PR strategies, a quarter of the time rehearsing what he'd say, and the remaining time auditing their separate assets, making sure the split would be fair to both of them—their partnership had been pretty much perfect, so Vox decided to be a magnanimous judge.
For those who loved their work, sorting through documents and analyzing data was calming. This truth applied to a television set as well.
So rationality returned, and he began to feel something was off. Their enterprises were practically intertwined now, interconnected, mutually beneficial. Splitting now would mean tearing away a chunk of flesh still attached to the bone, no matter who. Valentino was a shrewd businessman,he wouldn't do this—unless… was he overthinking it? Just as Vox hesitated, staring at the quarterly report, that old shadow crept back, bringing with it the mocking laughter he never wanted to hear again.
No. He clenched his fists. Even if the losses would take several times the effort to recover, he couldn't let even that slim possibility drag him back into that place. This was Hell!
So the next day, he called Valentino to the conference room. After staring at the same document twenty times, he watched the moth saunter in half an hour late, dressed flamboyantly and swaying with every step.
Vox's virtual eyelids twitched. Since Valentino had gotten obsessed with that spider, he'd been dressing rather formally, rarely appearing so feminine. Now, looking at the tight leather skirt Valentino was wearing, Vox suddenly realized how much he missed the old, glamorously flamboyant Valentino.
"You didn't bring your… assistant?" Vox asked casually.
"Assistant?" The moth was blank for a moment, then caught on as he read Vox's expression. "You mean Angel? Oh～ he wasn't performing well yesterday. Probably too much drugs, still out today. Maybe I'll try my smoke next time…"
"Oh? I thought you wouldn't push him so hard, since you seem so… invested in him." Vox muttered uncomfortably, rolling his eyes as he watched the moth settle into the chair across from him, crossing those long legs and propping them on the table, the view beneath his skirt teasingly visible to Vox's screen. Vox looked down. The document in his hands didn't turn to the next page for a long time.
"He's cute, but if he doesn't make money, he's just a pretty toy," Valentino continued, watching Vox's expression shift slightly. "And I'm 'invested' in lots of people. Including your new employees."
"My… new employees?" Vox finally looked up at Valentino, his eyes displaying a genuinely bewildered innocence.
"Oh～ Voxxy my papito～" Seeing Vox's expression, the moth laughed teasingly. "We need to expand our enterprise. That means we can't just be lone commanders. You, hiding behind screens and stalking people all day, will never attract new blood. You know how many new whores I can sweet-talk just by taking Angel out for a spin? You should give me an award for my acting! Those little darlings think I'm some benevolent, powerful, generous sugar daddy, all flocking to me hoping to be the next favorite… My new studio is fully staffed. A couple of them know something about media or programming—I've already sent them to your department.Remember to give them work～" The moth finished lecturing his partner, looking quite pleased with himself. "Oh right, why did you call me here today?"
"Ah?—Wait—so you weren't—ah—oh—OH!—"
There was no answer from the other side. Valentino watched Vox emit a series of unintelligible syllables, his expression cycling from blank, to shocked disbelief, finally landing somewhere between relieved joy and self-mockery.
"Nothing!" Vox waved grandly, dismissing the matter, and turned cheerfully back to his documents. Like someone who'd finally derived a key formula after being stuck for days, he plunged into his work with gusto, setting everything else aside.
A full ten minutes passed before Valentino snapped out of his stunned state. Seeing that the other sinner was still completely ignoring him, annoyance flared. With a sharp click of his tongue, he grabbed Vox and closed the series of new documents open on that screen face.
"Val, really, it's nothing—"
"I don't care what weird mood you're in today. I've been busy for nearly a month! You called me here. I put on a new outfit. So now! Right now! Drop your damn work and take me out to eat, so we can get home early and have a hot night!" Valentino shook Vox as he spoke, his tone fierce.
"Okay Val, just give me ten minu—wait,waitwaitwait! Back where?!" Vox finally picked out a word from a series of squeaks, grabbing the other's arms in disbelief. "Home? Where?"
"What?" The moth was still venting. "What's wrong with you? Don't tell me I've been out there recruiting for us, and you've been in this tower throwing out my half of the bed!"
"Oh…" Vox smiled, a genuine smile. He pushed the files aside and carefully wrapped an arm around the other's waist. "Of course not. There's always a bed for you at home." He murmured to himself, excited red lines dripping from the corner of his mouth, looking utterly foolish.
"OUR home!" Valentino corrected.
"Yeah… our home…" Vox guided the moth out, his claw tips sneaking into the cutouts on the side of the other's leather skirt. In the background, he messaged his secretary to buy a new pillow—the same one he'd thrown out last night—and a wider comforter before dinner. At the same time, he permanently deleted the breakup speech and asset division plan he'd stayed up all night drafting, emptying the recycle bincompletely.
4.
And now, Vox gently touched the photograph with the tip of his claw. The fourth time. The one that had to succeed. When this was over, Valentino would no longer exist in his life.
No… it's that he would no longer exist in Valentino's life.
He'd screwed up. Screwed up everything. Dragged their lives, their relationship, and his own two lifetimes of dreams into a bottomless mire.
After that, he'd gone through a period of extreme mental instability. What he'd done or said during that time was a blur—probably nothing good. Judging by the fact that he'd eventually regained awareness and found himself in a new body, able to move freely through the tower's living quarters, it meant Valentino and Velvette had gone soft on him.
That sparked a flicker of hope. So he waited. Waited for Velvette to message him, swamped with work, begging him to handle PR. Waited for Valentino to come to him, saying he couldn't handle running the company alone, asking for his help. Waited for Valentino to press his eager, wanting body against his hand… But nothing happened.
They hadn't revoked his monitoring authority. He could still see them on the screens. But they didn't come to him. Didn't talk about him. Didn't mention him. Valentino bought a new bed and moved downstairs, next to Velvette's room. The gossip died down, buried under new shows and topics. The tower's power stayed stable without his input. Departments rebuilt and functioned, tense but efficient. As if Vox had never existed. As if Vox had suddenly realized that he had always been… expendable.
He remembered what he'd said before. His claims of being irreplaceable. His belief that he needed no one. His conviction that they all depended on him. He'd been so sure. And now, everything running smoothly proved it: he had been terribly, terribly wrong.
Weeks passed. Valentino and Velvette never came. Vox stared at his hands in the dim basement and finally understood: mercy wasn't forgiveness.
Yeah，why would they forgive him? What right did he have to ask?
He looked at the photo again, tracing Valentino's face with his claw. From the moment they'd cemented their partnership until now, so many times Vox had tried to push Valentino away, only to end up keeping him close. For his own benefit. For his own ideas. For his own desires. Just like he'd talked Valentino and Velvette into joining his insane plan to attack Heaven—for his own goals. But maybe… maybe that wasn't what they'd truly wanted at all?
Vox's pupils contracted sharply. His claws dug deep into his own arm. Wasn't it true? They were perfectly capable. Without him, they were living normally. Maybe even better. They never really wanted this. They'd just been playing along with his fantasy. If it weren't for him, their enterprises wouldn't be in this mess. They wouldn't be suffering—
On the monitor, Valentino slowly spread his wings. Velvette carefully applied salve to the wounds that hadn't fully healed. The moment the medicine touched them, Valentino flinched. Velvette dropped the bottle and hugged him as tight as her small arms could manage.
Blood welled from where Vox's claws pierced his own arm. If it weren't for him, they wouldn't be going through this. Val wouldn't be hurt. He'd have whole antennae, whole wings. Velvette's studio wouldn't have burned. Wouldn't—
Click. The basement went dark.
After what felt like an eternity, a small screen flickered on in the darkness. Vox stood up. He carefully righted the fallen photo, swept the broken glass into the trash, cleaned up the spilled blood and coolant, sorted all the documents into neat piles, labeled them, wrote down the passwords for his computers and encrypted files, and placed them under the photo—along with Shockwave's diet list. He was terrifyingly calm. Methodically, he organized years of his life, reviewing everything. This time, he would truly think of them. He would truly consider what they needed.
They didn't need him. He didn't deserve forgiveness. So he would tie up all the loose ends. Spare them another mess. At leas, he could do this one last thing for them.
It was time to leave.
Forever.
His hand closed around the doorknob. In the background, he opened the permissions transfer interface. One light click, and all his authority—along with every soul he owned—would transfer to Valentino's name. He would be gone before they even realized, vanished without a trace. He tugged the corner of his mouth in a self-mocking smirk. Maybe his worry was unnecessary after all. Maybe they no longer cared whether he stayed or left.
His claw hovered over the confirm icon—
The door suddenly flew open. Light from the hallway flooded in.
At the end of the light, Valentino—whom he hadn't seen in so long—stood in the doorway and asked,
"What are you doing, Vox?"
"What are you doing, Vox?"
Valentino stepped inside with an unyielding force, backing Vox into the room.
"What are you doing, Vox."
Valentino's crimson eyes glowed in the dark room. He slammed the door shut behind him. The bang made Vox flinch.
"What are you doing, Vox!"
In the darkness, Valentino started smashing everything within reach.
Chairs toppled. The table cracked. Glass shattered. Neat stacks of paper flew like snow. Every monitor he could reach had a violent encounter with the wall. Wires were ripped out and strewn everywhere. Finally, after the last crash faded, Valentino stood in a messy room and wrapped his arms around Vox, his wings fluttering noisily as they rained down scales of powder, shaking even harder than Vox himself.
Valentino grabbed Vox's hands and pressed them to his own body. Vox pulled away. Valentino pressed them back, again and again.
"What are you fucking doing, Voxxy?" Valentino's voice came from far away, wet with tears. But his four arms held Vox tight, a cage that would never open.
After an eternity, the hands that always pulled away finally, hesitantly, reached out. They gently touched Valentino's arms. The moth seized them and pulled Vox back into an embrace so tight it left no space between them.
No more words, no more explanations were needed. Vox looked up. Valentino reached over his shoulder and, with his own hand, clicked X on the permission transfer interface.
Vox's fourth and final attempt had failed. But Vox had never been so grateful for failure.
In the end, Vox still got thoroughly chewed out. He stood in the center of the room, arms hanging limp, meekly absorbing Velvette's pent-up fury while Valentino lounged on the sofa, smoking contentedly, watching his babydoll serve as his fiercest advocate. Of course, he had his own punishment in mind—but that would have to wait until tonight.
Velvette let loose for a solid few hours. Only when Valentino started fidgeting on the sofa, craning his neck with visible unease, did she finally exhale, mercifully end her tirade, and step forward to wrap Vox in a hug.
"Admit it, V. You needed this." Velvette punched him hard—putting her full strength into it—and quickly blinked away the moisture at the corner of her eye where the boys couldn't see. When she turned back, she was smiling.
And Vox—Vox couldn't argue. He'd understood it the day Valentino burst into the basement and trashed the place. What he'd needed all along wasn't some bullshit support, or atonement, or meaningless apologies, or emotional counseling. It was someone to storm in and shake him awake in the most direct, undeniable, inescapable way possible. Someone to make him understand that he'd already found what he'd always wanted, there were people who genuinely loved him, who would accept every part of him, no matter what he became. And those people could only be Valentino and Velvette. Only them.
Like all those moments before. Whenever Vox hesitated, Valentino would barge in—direct, unreasonable, unstoppable—smash everything he didn't like, rummage around until he found the most comfortable place in Vox's heart, and then settle there, stubbornly, refusing to ever leave.
The double-photo that had been smashed to the floor—Vox saved it in his most Top Secret Folder .In it, they smiled arrogantly, wild with confidence, both certain that their future held infinite possibilities.
And they had achieved it. Until Vox himself smashed it all.
But it didn't matter. A new photo now sat on the table. Three figures held each other tight, Shockwave's tail curling around them all. Three sinners and a shark, looking at the camera with fresh anticipation and defiance in their eyes.
Together, they would build a new future.