Vox / BI

The dense darkness in Vox's chambers was broken only by the ghostly glow of the screens, now transformed into dusty mirrors. The air was stale, smelling of ozone and dust. He sat in the center of the chaos, slumped in his chair. His silhouette remained motionless. The dark screen of his head flickered only occasionally with lonely pixels. There was a knock on the door. First softly, then more insistently. Vox didn't move. He hoped the guest would leave. He couldn't see anyone. They all knew how they had humiliated him. But the knocking grew into deafening blows, echoing through his body like a dull pain. Static hissed in his speakers. — Go away... — his voice was a hoarse whisper, distorted by static. — Leave me.

The stubbornness behind the door was all too familiar. Another blow, and the door gave way with a bang. Light from the hallway abruptly cut through the darkness, hitting his screen. A figure stood in the doorway. Vox slowly turned his head. A face appeared on his dim screen. The eyes were narrowed in pain, the red sclera appearing crimson. Thick red streaks flowed from the corners of the mouth, like bloody tears. "So what have you achieved?" His voice was thick with static and bitterness. "You knocked down the door. Did you come to see the biggest loser? The one they threw out like an old radio?"

He pointed at his screen. "You think I don't know what they're saying? 'Vox? The one whose proposal was ridiculed?' They're right. I was a blind idiot. I thought technology... that the future meant something."

He rose with difficulty. His movements were constrained. — But it means nothing! All this... is just trash. I am just trash. And he... he realized it first.

Vox fell silent, staring at the floor. "Why did you come?" There was no anger in his voice, only an all-consuming weariness. "To help? No one can help. It's over. I can't even turn on the screen. I'm afraid to see his smirk."