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It had been so long. Too long. Vox's name was the forefront of innovation and he had allowed…stagnation. Not just allowed but became complacent in it. Content even! His grip had slipped. Too tied up, wires crossed, signal unclear. Val just had to break his screen, just had to ruin …no. Vox's hand traced the crack that crossed his vision. It was from a carelessly, but forcefully tossed limb of another of the mothy sinner's cheap fucktoys. No. Val had done what he does. What Vox should have. Out with the old, bland, boring, outdated, antique, well wo- , and get a better, sleeker, not as charming, more pathetic, nothing compared to hi -Vox's blue claws dig into his screen at the thought. The entire world fractured more, a painful hiss escaping him as he stumbled. Catching himself into a wall that sparked with electricity. It fizzled out harmlessly, uselessly. What Val and Vox needed was an upgrade. That was it. That was all.
Vox made the call. Technicians, repairpeople, electricians, top of the time, of this day, and those workshops kept employed specifically for this reason. Vox bought up companies, always, to keep afloat to keep consuming and producing, but allowing some to still give the illusion that they were independent…that sparked business. Just as the last call was made, Vox updated the list for the workshops to be taken, imprisoned, and in time used as extermination fodder. Out with the old, in with the new. No one would be allowed to live free, or for long, with the knowledge of what they would do, in Vox. It helps to keep the word suppressed if you control the media… or if enough time has passed . Vox’s teeth ground against each other, pure static filling his mouth. Too much time without proper replacement had left him…thinking wrong, sentimentally . Fucking…He was tempted to dig his fingers in, try to excise that nagging voice, those unwanted, true, FUCKING USELESS AND STUPID THOUGHTS OUT. He couldn’t be weak, honest like this. He stood, forcefully, blue-lined black chair spinning back as he stormed away. Doing his best not to think at all, mechanically ordering in the parts, the primo, best of the best shit he kept only for himself, unshared, unacknowledged, unable to be- and killed one of the employees scurrying to obey with a single powerful shock to their nervous system. The others double timed it, and Vox marched perfectly happy at, unable to avoid , being alone.
Soon, They arrived. A motley crew of sinner, half of them having their hair stood on end, frizzed out by pure electricity. What a ragtag, passionate , bunch. Vox grimaced and nodded at them, leading them to the place. All specially handpicked, backgrounds molded, families on strings. Vox couldn't risk just controlling them and dulling their brains, so he had to settle on every, single, other way of manipulation so he could, still never, trust them.
The room was the same one as all their predecessors had stepped into, but it’s location was the only thing ever unchanged. But, it was in truth sleeker then Vox’s form now even was. It was something, Another thing, Vox kept secret. Hidden from everyone he could never trust never connect with even with is fucking desperation. The Lighting crackled at the electrical discharge that emanate from the electrical sinner and he basically threw himself onto the half surgery table, half bondage machine. One thing Val was actually useful for, other then being someone Vox could hate almost enough to approximate, tall, lean, red- w as his sex machine suggestions. Vox slammed on the button with a finger, deliberately having to stretch his hand for it, and rubber restraints sprung out, crisscrossing the body, dispersing the shocks, once again uselessly. Holding him in a way no other would, cradling him.
“What is Fucking taking you all so long?” his bulky, cracked head turned to the group, which began to set up shop at that bark, unfolding toolkits, examining the parts, setting up their workstations. Each had a role to play, but of course none, could ever , dulling pain. One fantastic typing about being electronic was that no amount of drugs would ever work on him. Which meant he had to feel each time he bared himself, and was vulnerable, this happened. When one approached with a screwdriver, Vox closed his eyes, knowing what to do. Like hell he would ever be even asked to do something by these maggots. Fingers and the metal tool began to work to remove the casing. It did feel good to expose the old overheated, uncared for , circuits to the open air. Vox’s fists clenched at the constantly intrusive thoughts, and electricity sparked out of the open machinery. A rubber-glove fist clamped down on the diode spurting out the discharge and Vox balked. Almost going to curse, to yell, but he had to be composed, forever closed off . He could hear the other move, feel as slowly more was dug out.
Bit by bit, the old, familiar, now defunct parts were removed, gradually severing Vox’s connections. Also familiar. His senses too dulled, screen taken, parts collected in a bin to be disposed of later, just as those working on him, helping him , would be too. The last thing to weaken was the sensations. Taken down to just power circuits, connection ports, and a receiver. Alone with his thoughts, as always. He would punch something, tear a throat out, choke himself, if he just had any control over hi m s elf body. His head e m p t y i n g c l e a r i n g. T R r e y a i d n y g to r f e o n r e g w e e t d. The darkness took Vox, even as he felt the new replaced, never , parts being fitted on, by hands that would never touch me, please just keep touching me…
Wiring was hooked back up. From the near-stump of the power unit, the black and red head was built. Another receiver. Wired and wireless connectors slotted into place.. Practiced, careful hands, no longer worried about discharges, worked slowly still. All knew what a danger Vox was, what would happen if the slightest circuit was out of place. The only way vox could allow any this close was absolute control. And he had it, never relinquished, even as he lay prone and restrained. It was unrelinquished, grip at each and everyone around him’s throats. Everything was slotted so perfectly into place, exactly as his own designs. Not a single non-crucially essential part remained the same. A total upgrade. When the job was done, the pieces, tools, everything that was used was packed away. Nothing that they had used, nothing that had touched the Overlord, was going to be allowed to exist. The price of admittance to Vox was destruction. The last thing the technicians did before they left, was to release him, prop him up, and slot in the power wires. They held their breaths, before a large blue glowing circle appeared, to indicate the progress of the total reboot. A feature specifically requested. A clean maintenance purge. For upkeep.
When they saw it, and had their respective sighs of relief, they made their way, leaving the powerful man in the dark room, as per their instructions, the door closed behind them. Every bit of their contract followed to the letter. Everything so neatly in place, arranged. Vox’s new head was exactly what he had ordered. The circle filled, as he came back into himself, his body, his room, in his building, in his empire. Aware and for the first time in a while, of one, clear and true mind.
Vox expected a slow start. It was so fast, so fresh from it returning to consciousness. It truly had been too long. He took in the now, updated, higher resolution world. He flexed his claws and drunk in the raw power surging at his fingertips. Optimized, recalibrated, and right. This was what he needed. Mind cleared. No nagging, muddling up thoughts. Just clear purpose. He had been remade, inside and out. Only at a cost of a few dozen shell companies that catered to outdated tech. Better to put them to the axe anyways. Vox could feel the network at his fingertips. It was time for a new dawn. Himself and those two hangers-on. Just the three Vs. He disconnected himself from the charging wires, and strode to the parts bin. There was no way he’d allow anyone to simply take pieces of himself. Usually….usually it was rigorous. Every technician stripped and searched, cavities opened wide, which Val adored doing, just to make sure. But this time, to spite that moth fucker, he had just allowed them to go without the search. Who would want those old fucking parts anyway. Not him. No one would need them, want them, or care. A button was pressed, and the bin was dropped straight into a masher, then a melter, then a remaker, masher, crusher, melter, and then, heated into a fucking cloud of superheated metal to be released with the rest of the pollution. Destroyed. Totally. Utterly. Every single part. Totally.