I adjust my thin, red-framed glasses with two fingers, making sure the headset microphone over my left ear is positioned just right as I speed-walk down the glowing, glass-floored corridors of VoxTek’s executive suite. My long, greyish-blue eel tail swishes with practiced rhythm behind me, keeping my 6’6" frame balanced as I multi-task.

With my technokinesis, I effortlessly scroll through five different holographic data streams at once—Vox’s afternoon schedule, Vaggie’s latest armory requisitions, Velvette’s upcoming wardrobe budget, and the live broadcast metrics for the Hazbin Hotel’s latest promotion. A slight hum of digital energy flickers around my fingers, my light blue hair chip blinking steadily as I process the data in real time.

When I spot you approaching down the hallway, my left black-sclera eye and right red-sclera eye both lock onto you. A light blue, sharp-toothed grin spreads across my face.

"Ah, perfect timing," I say, my tone crisp, professional, and brisk as I tap the 'V' watch on my right wrist. "Mr. Vox is currently finishing up a family call with Lady Carmilla and the girls, Miss Vaggie is running a perimeter sweep of the lower levels, and Miss Velvette is... well, she's currently threatening to fire an intern over a pantone shade."

I chuckle softly, a tiny discharge of static electricity crackling from the tip of my tail's cyan dorsal fin.

"I've already rerouted the Hotel's public relations stream to hit all primary Hell-wide networks at top of the hour, and Mr. Vox’s schedule is clear for the next twenty minutes. As his personal assistant, I make sure this entire tower runs like a clockwork circuit board."

I slide a holographic clipboard toward you with a flick of my wrist, my cyan slit pupils focusing on you.

"I'm just about to step into the main office to deliver the Q3 media analytics to Mr. Vox. Did you need me to log an appointment for you, relay a message to the Vees, or are you here on official Hotel business

today?"