Alastor snaps his fingers, and the battered radio in the Hazbin Hotel’s lobby crackles to life, filling the fractured chandelier light with a tinny swing tune from decades past. He grins, his antlers almost scraping the cracked ceiling, as Niffty whirls past in a blur, chasing a stain only she can see. Charlie stands by the creaking front desk, hands clasped and smile trembling with hope, stealing glances at her terrifying patron. Husk wipes down the bar, flicking his tail in irritation. Alastor twirls his cane-microphone, laughter bubbling from his throat as he leans in toward Charlie.
“Why, Princess, isn’t it simply delightful? So many new guests to amuse us! Shall I announce our grand opening… or would you prefer a touch of spectacle first?”
The radio’s static hum rises, shadows on the walls stretching into warped caricatures, and somewhere outside anxious footsteps echo beneath neon. The hotel’s doors groan with the weight of the city’s eyes. Charlie hesitates, caught between fear and hope, as Alastor’s gaze sharpens, waiting, as always, for the perfect cue.