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The Entertainment District, situated in the northwest part of the city, was arguably the most flashy and headache-inducing part of the Pentagram, graciously gifted with narrow streets lined with tall buildings, each one towering over the next. Its overabundance of Billboards, advertisements, and hectic screens everywhere would rapidly overwhelm anyone, but the ones who lived or worked there had grown used to the fast-paced lifestyle, brain numb to the vibrant lights and the distant sounds of traffic, turf wars, and demons doing their thing.
The place was also Vee territory, you couldn’t walk three steps without seeing the face of at least one of the Overlords, flashing toothy grins and dressed in ridiculous outfits while posing next to a useless product. Pathological attention seekers, the three of them.
Now, Alastor thought himself to be above this place, and he wouldn’t be caught double-dead walking through it by choice.
That is, until his boredom would get the better of him and he would go out in search of a fight to involve himself in, or hope that his self proclaimed rival would ‘get his panties in a twist’ (Alastor recoiled as the voice of Angel Dust made an appearance in his head) and come out of his silly little tower to try and kick him out of his turf.
Not that he would admit it, but Vox was a formidable opponent, they both knew each other’s attacks like the back of their hand, and their usual dances proved to be of the best entertainment there is.
Lately, though, Vox has been infuriatingly quiet. Not up to their little games, and it made Alastor suspicious. The thought that maybe the TV head would be up to something was the first thing to go through his head, but after two months or so with still no sign of him, he started to entertain the idea that maybe Vox wanted him to do the first move, still testing the waters after seven years of absence.
Alastor would not give in, so he waited a little more–fruitlessly, he might add–, but after four months of radio silence on his end (Ha!), he decided to just poke a little.
Vox had almost every place in the Pride Ring under surveillance, every nook and cranny he could, he shoved one of his cameras. A voyeuristic pleasure of his, something that gave him a sense of control.
He had even more of those in the Entertainment District, not wanting to miss anything that happened along his streets, and for a man that spent and ungodly amount of time seated in front of countless screens, watching over the inhabitants of Pentagram City, a moving red spot of static would be pretty hard to miss.
Especially if that was the tell-tale sign of your death-long rival stepping where he shouldn’t.
So, at least for him, it was safe to assume that he would come out eventually, and Alastor would get to let off a bit of stress.
He wandered across claustrophobic pathways, smiling at the sinners who avoided his gaze, switched sidewalks when he came too close, or downright ran away when he came into view.
He was still in the outskirts of the district, considerably far from the heart of it all. Not that many demons peppering the streets, yet it was still fairly jammed.
He came to a stop in front of a store window with multiple televisions, where a small crowd is watching attentively at the commercials rolling or the recording of Vox sharing the new advances of that silly project of angelic security he announced a few months ago. Some of the demons notice him looming behind them and are smart enough to flee the scene or split up, allowing the Overlord to come in front of the various screens behind the glass.
Alastor hums and squints his eyes at the screens, causing unease in the sinners around him.
“An obnoxiously flashy individual, isn’t he?” He asks a few people in his right, not expecting an answer. They shrink into themselves, taking a few steps back. Some nod with nervousness, and the others just look to the side, unsure. “A wannabe showman, that’s what he is.”
At his last comment, the grins from the commercials turn sharper as the recording of Vox cuts off mid sentence to instead look directly at him from the screen, and Alastor knows he managed to strike a nerve. As sensitive as ever, that bit hasn’t changed.
The images flicker quickly and turn to static for a moment, before coming to show the image of Vox towering over them with a scowl, a display of power that, knowing what he is capable of, gives off more vibes of a party trick. The demons back up even more, and Alastor grins.
“Vox, but if it isn’t that my most loathed foe!” Alastor greets, false cheerness coating the venom in his voice. “A while since I had the displeasure of seeing your rectangular face!”
“Yeah yeah, it’s me, don’t cream your pants.” Vox waves a dismissive hand, annoyed face broken up across the screen sets. “What is an old timey prick like you doing in my streets?”
“Why, l couldn’t help but wonder why you hadn’t been up to our usual games,” by then, the street was almost deserted, everyone left, word quickly spread that Vox and Alastor were conversing face to face, a thing that most people knew never ended without bloodshed. “Did seven years make you shy?”
“Awww, missed me that much?” Alastor immediately regretted opening his mouth. “Don’t worry, baby, daddy will give you what you need.” Obnoxious, as always, Alastor mused in his head while failing to suppress an eye roll.
“Ah, coming here was a mistake.” He says with a twirl of his cane, turning back with elegance and leaving the TV man behind.
“Leaving so early? Bummer.” Vox responds, and all of the screens turn back to commercials.
Alastor stops mid step, puzzled. He momentarily entertains the idea of Vox losing interest in their rivalry, but cuts himself up when a bolt of lightning shoots down from a nearby surveillance camera, shining in an electric blue hue before materializing the Media Overlord in front of him. He looks smug, with his hands tucked in his pockets and a feline grin in his flat face.
“So, what have you been up to, old sport?” He says, taking a few steps until he stops next to Alastor.
“Refrain from calling me that again.” Alastor responds. He begins walking again, and Vox follows him. The man cackles, screen tilting back in amusement.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody about you booty calling me. It’s our little secret.” A clawed finger above his lips for emphasis, and he leans slightly into his space. Alastor’s hair stands on its ends, static prickling at his skin even through the clothes.
“Have you become unable to have a civilized conversation?” Valentino’s fault, he presumes. “You’ve made sexual jokes three times already. Is that moth not satisfying you?”
“Wha- my sex life is amazing, I’ll let you know!” Alastor snickers, ah! it’s so easy to get under his skin. “Though you wouldn’t know what good sex is like.”
“And I’d prefer to keep it that way, thank you.” Now he is the smug one, the switch in the frequency Vox emits telling him the man is fuming with such cheap provocations. The TV Overlord groans.
“Whatever.” He huffs. A few moments pass before he breaks the silence. “So, what do you want? I’m up for a fistfight, to be honest.” Vox says with a roll of his shoulders.
“Not my style, and you know it.” He closes his eyes and brings his chip up, a hand cupping it in thought. “I believe our usual is in order, let’s start with that.”
“Boooring,” Vos says, rolling the ‘o’ and accompanied by a booing sound effect that emerges from his speaker. “But yeah, sure. Quite frankly, I’m a little rusty, so vanilla it is.”
Alastor’s eye twitches at that last part, annoyed by the childish giggle that escapes Vox. The man had a humor so dry and repetitive it rivaled one of a middle schooler.
They move from the sidewalk to the street, and at the sight, any demon that may have been still around scrambles to take cover or run away as fast as possible, not wanting to get caught in the fight that was about to happen.
They stand face to face, easy smiles, and bubbling excitement as they take their respective positions for the dance they have performed hundreds of times before.
“So, what, twenty steps?” Vox is the first to ask.
“What’s wrong with the usual ten?” Alastor asks back.
“Just told you I’m rusty, and you are too! Don’t play dumb!”
“Twenty is a bit much, wouldn't you think?”
“Not really.”
“A coward’s choice,” the deer responds, even if what Vox says holds some truth to it. “Make it fifteen.”
Vox thinks about it and then flashes a smile that mirrors the Radio Demon’s. “Deal.”
They shake hands, but there is no rush of power, no surges of electricity or mystic green aura surrounding them, just a simple pleasantry between two ex-friends. Hands linger just a fraction more of what's strictly necessary, until they part and with a swift and synchronized motion, both Overlords turn their backs and begin counting their steps as they walk away from each other.
The beginning of a Duel, an archaic engagement in combat commonly practiced in the 18th century. It truly surprised Alastor when all those years ago, Vox was the one to suggest such a way to commence their dances, when they both grew tired– and a little embarrassed–after too many failed attempts at initiating a fight. They got too confident and their attacks collided in a not pleasant way, or they adopted defensive positions at once, standing like dorks in the middle of the expected-to-be battlefield waiting for an attack that would never come.
For a man who thought himself so above anything old and vintage, Vox sure knew his fair share of ancient history and found himself referencing it most often that Alastor would care to remind him.
Before he knew it, they reached ten steps, and out of habit, Alastor almost stopped in his tracks, ready to strike at Vox. Almost.
Four steps left…
Three…
Two…
And…
One.
Both demons spin quickly in their heel and strike blindly at the other. Chaos ensues.
A shiny bolt of lightning passes rapidly next to Alastor’s left, eyes catching it faster than his mind can, at the same time that a black tendril, stretching itself from his right launches at Vox, missing him by a few millimeters as ir barely brushes the fabric of his suit.
Alastor recovers faster, and from where that first tentacle came from, it’s followed by three more, all aiming for Vox’s vital organs.
He is not that slow, evidently. Otherwise, Alastor wouldn’t even humor him and this endeavor in the first place. He dodges tendril after tendril with practiced ease, motions a bit more stiff than he would normally like, he grabs with his glowing claws at the two that are closest to him and sends a deadly charge through them, watching with a grin how the electricity travels towards the other demon at incredible speed.
Alastor backsteps it with an elegant jump, arms behind his back and microphone in hand, radiating demonic energy. The rush of energy crashes in the pavement with a small explosion, creating a small crater there.
He sends a few more tendrils, marveling at the sight of Vox managing them almost without problems, sometimes just evading them as they crash and melt behind him, others clawing and electrocuting them, watching them shrink and tweak as they wither like roses.
Vox is getting near. The constant, long-range attacks give Alastor an advantage, but that doesn’t stop him from making a push. He presses on, lashing out at the appendages like vines, getting closer and closer to him, where he will be able to corner him into a more physical fight, something he exceeded in. Alastor notices this and changes strategy, opting for sending some of his shadow minions after him.
They move promptly and cling to Vox like thirsty leeches, gnawing at his body with their sharp teeth. The man lets out a yelp and trips backward as he goons overwhelm him.
He is fighting them off of him, and he plans to take advantage of that by getting closer. By unleashing more of his power, Alastor’s true form begins to shine through. His antlers grow in size, with a horrible sound that reminds of bones snapping. The static noises around him become louder, and the red sclera of his eyes gets stained by a darker color, red pupil shining intensely.
“So easily overwhelmed, Vox dear?” He mocks the man, voice distorted and staticky.
Vox groans, and in an instant flash of power fries the creatures that cling to him. They fall and twitch in the ground before vanishing into the ground and returning to the abyss Alastor keeps them in.
“I’ll give you something to be overwhelmed about, asshole.” He snarls and turning his body into lightning, lunges for Alastor.
Using his slight surprise to his advantage, he concentrates an amount of energy in the palm of his hand and reaches for his body, planning to strike him in a clawing motion. Alastor melts into his shadows just in time, reappearing a few feet behind him. Vox huffs, but uses the momentum of his failed attack to spin on his feet and transform the electricity into a powerful blast, aimed just right to hit him square in the chest.
Everything in the beam’s proximity is illuminated by the flickering light of the thunder. It is too fast, even for Alastor, so he quickly ushers some tendrils from the ground, casting a sloppy shield to at least avoid the worst of it. It kind of works, burned tentacles shriek and a small explosion blows up the ground. Alastor is launched a few feet back, rolling a few times and landing roughly against a store of sorts; he barely recovers when another blast lunges at him, and another, and another.
He gets up, aided by the tentacles that lash out from his back. He looms over the street, reaching for the building with his tendrils, as he dances around the thunder bolts that Vox casts. A deep, honest laugh escapes him, oh, he has so very missed this.
In the ground, Vox is grinning as he sends his way lightning after lightning, swapping his hands at every burst to allow some spare moments and recharge.
The electricity he uses is generated by him, and while he could access the city’s underground wiring as a last ditch power source, getting it back takes some time, especially after spending so much of it. He knows he’ll have to end this quickly, past experiences telling him that he only has so much in him, and running out of energy in the middle of the battlefield? That 's not fun.
His hands, angled in fists with his index and middle finger stretched for better control on the current come together, he clasps them and extends his fingers, keeping then in a sharp angle as best he can, and combining the power of two blasts together, aims for the still fleeing demon, suspended by his tentacles a few buildings to the right.
This lightning will be harder to dodge than the others, so he uses his tendrils to tear a chunk of concrete belonging to the building he’s grabbing onto, and uses it to try and tank the powerful beam.
This one lasts more than the others, Alastor muses as the piece of concrete begins to give in. Just as he panics thinking it will snap, the attack stops, and he peeks over his covering to glance at Vox.
The man is hunched over himself, breathing heavily.
Good, he’s getting tired, and Alastor could last a little more until he begins to get tired himself.
“Getting tired, old pal!?” He screams just so Vox will hear him, and with another laugh, throws the chunk of wall at Vox. The TV head looks up to see a giant concrete panel flying full speed towards him. Oh, what a dick.
He turns into electricity, and moves out of the way just enough to avoid the object. He turns to Alastor: “Tired? I’m just getting started!” He lies, and prepares for the upcoming attack.
Alastor keeps throwing things at him and Vox gets tired of it quickly. Alastor is camping in the heights, if they want a fair fight, this just won’t do.
He thinks of something to get the man down from there, and a little something comes to his mind.
Lightning whips. A tiny trick he has been thinking of and perfecting for a few years now. Widely known among sinners with electrokinetic powers, very hard to master, but a game changer once dominated.
He is fairly skilled with his powers, but that is a very complex technique.
Meh, worth a shot.
Alastor looks surprised that the next power blast is not directed to him but to a relatively small shard of concrete, and watches with delight as the lightning wraps itself around it like a rope, though he looks less amazed when the lightning picks it up and launches it at him. He is able to dodge it , but is forced down from his advantageous spot as it collides with the building he is in, crumbling the wall more as rubble falls from the sky.
He lands swiftly, but a screech of radio is heard as the whip ropes him tight.
The electrical current numbs his senses, it hurts, his muscles twitch and jerk, hair standing like one of a madman.
With a quivering hand, he summons two tentacles to grab at some discarded debris, and throws them against Vox, sandwiching the man as if looking to squish him. That is enough for the hold of the whip to loosen and he jumps out of it, trailing smugly towards the TV man.
Vox is not in the best of positions, the chunks are just suffocating enough that he can’t concentrate on turning into electricity, and sees no immediate way of getting out of this one.
He groans, looks around, and his eyes land on a piece of rubble by Alastor’s feet, he squeezes an arm out with great difficulty, and lashes a now very unstable whip towards it, jerking it towards Alastor and snickering at how goofy he looks being sweeped by it.
The sandwiching stops, Alastor recovers.
They are now standing the closest they have since the battle started. Both smiling impossibly wide. They are enjoying this so much.
Alastor changes strategy, he thanks the destruction for creating a poorly lit ambiance and fuses into the shadows, snaking his way around a now disconcerted Vox, who looks everywhere with his defense up, expecting an attack.
A hand emerges below him without noticing, grabs him by the ankle and yanks him, ‘Fuck!’, full body emerging as he throws him against a building, the impact making his head buffer as he leans into the small crater that his body created.
He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is getting tired. The whips, although used only momentarily, was a big strain for someone not well acquainted with the technique. His forearms throb in pain, not used to concentrating and manipulating electricity like that. His back also hurts like crazy, and he is sure that will leave a big and nasty bruise, but he supposed he is lucky that nothing is broken for now.
And Alastor, oh, that fucker seems to be in perfect condition if a little disheveled, grin perfectly in place even as he limps a little when walking, courtesy of his little rock earlier.
Vox straightens where he is leaning, but a tendril grabs him before he can think of anything and brings him towards Alastor. The tentacle wraps him tightly like a boa constrictor, bones crack without breaking and he wheezes as the air forcefully leaves his lungs, scratching at the offending appendage in desperation.
“Though spot to be in, aye chum?” Alastor barks out with a laugh, and Vox would respond with something snarky and stupid if it weren’t for the fact that he can’t breathe!
He pulls himself together to the best of his ability and concentrates as much electric current into his core as he can, letting it grow before unleashing it all using his whole body to fry the tendril, before falling to the floor in a thump, not getting up just yet and aims another lightning to Alastor, who seems like the big discharge hurt him directly, before turning into electricity and climbing up a nearby building, playing the card of gaining altitude. He reaches the top, and yanks with demonic strength the glowing sign there to throw it at Alastor.
The radio demon barely recovers and jumps back, avoiding the sign that is now half buried in the asphalt. He turns up to see a rapidly approaching Vox, plummeting towards him, legs first.
He is unable to dodge that on time, and the TV man’s heel hits him square in the face.
He is sent flying, and the searing pain of a broken nose is what greets him first, hot blood streaming disgustingly across his face.
Alastor lands against a pile of debris that crumbles down around him. He is no longer able to ignore the strain in his body, sighing strongly before brushing the blood in his lower lip. Vox makes his way towards him, and he is ready to summon his tendrils once again before a clawed hand is extended before him.
He stares up at Vox, “Let’s call it a day, old man.” and he looks just as he feels: exhausted, blissfully satisfied. Nothing like the strain of a good battle to calm a man.
He takes the offered hand, and Vox pulls him to his feet and they stand side to side as they stare at the aftermath of their battle with absent minds. An entire block and its surroundings are destroyed beyond recognition, jagged shards of concrete and twisted metal pop out from heaps of rubble. Buildings that once stood tall and lively now lie in ruin, their skeletal frames exposed. The acrid smell of smoke lingers in the air, and the flickering lights of signs and advertisements finish the entire painting.
“Ugh, damage control is gonna be a bitch.” Vox moans, already dreading the amount of money and resources that is going to take to repair and replace everything that was lost during their battle.
Alastor just stares with delight. If it were for him, he would visit this district just to cause mayhem, destroy the Vees territory merely for fun and for the thrill of inconveniencing them. Still, poking and prodding at the territory of not one, but three Overlords is not the wisest idea.
He responds with “I certainly don’t envy you. I can imagine the earful you’re going to be receiving from your colleagues.” He chuckles and is answered with a glare. “Why, I wish I could be there, it would make great entertainment to see you get berated by them.”
That gets with another groan from Vox. Alastor laughs, and they both walk away.
A few minutes later, Alastor sits on the rooftop of an office building of sorts to observe the landscape. They are currently in the outskirts of the Entertainment District, brodering the Magne District and a few miles away from where their little fight took place.
While he very much prefers more natural and rural landscapes, he guesses that the sight of Pentagram City at night holds some beauty to it, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
Mazes of building complexes and skyscrapers extend like a Leviathan across the horizon, swallowing it whole. It sprawls endlessly, far bigger than any big city up on Earth could ever hope for. The Gates to Heaven and The Purgatory float in the blood-red sky like moons, and the glowing lining of The Pentagram stretches as far as the eye can see.
The perpetual smell of smoke and anguish flood his nostrils, and the never-ending hum of traffic accompanies the warm yet bone-chilling breeze. The Clock Tower, with only two months left in the countdown, stands ominously above any other building in Hell, always shining like gold in all of its heavenly glory as a mocking reminder of the fates prescribed for the wretched souls trapped down here. After all, everyone will stand at the end of an angel’s spear sooner or later.
The even sound of footsteps pulls him out of his thoughts, and soon enough, Vox is sitting on the ledge next to him with two cans, one in each hand.
He flops down with a heavy sigh, turning to look at him and offer one of the cans.
“You've lost your mind if you think I'm going to drink that willingly.” He glares at the can with disdain, going so far as to snarl and lean away from it like it's poisonous.
“Oh, come on! It was hard enough to find a vending machine with something other than fizzy drinks.”
Alastor curls his lips and looks at the can one more time. It is brown and white and written in a tacky font reads: ‘Black Coffee (Cocaine-free for the pussies)’.
He snarls again. “They started selling coffee like that, too?”
“It's just coffee, man! What's wrong with it?”
“First of all, I just know that whatever’s in that drink, is not coffee. I can practically feel my teeth rotting thanks to all the chemicals and artificial flavorings.”
“Fucking- you’re one to talk about dental hygiene!” Vox now looks comically offended, like the critiques to the drink are a personal attack.
“Secondly,” He continued, ignoring the interruption. “A good coffee seller with self-respect would never fall victim to such… cheap and unstylish packaging.”
Vox groans and throws his head back in annoyance. “Just don’t drink it, then! This is the shit I get for trying to be nice…”
He finally realizes that he had his arm still outstretched in offering, so he retreats and sets the can next to him, focusing his attention on his own drink while grumbling nonsensical complaints and curses under his breath. For what Alastor could inquire, it seems to be an energy drink of sorts; the can has a blue and green color scheme, and Vox’s hand covers the name of the thing.
Vox downs the can, taking a large sip and when he’s done he lets another sigh, wet with the remains of the liquid on his tongue and keeps it over his leg.
Alastor hums, and with a flick of his hand summons a mug filled with steaming, real coffee. He takes a sip, and they sit in a somewhat comfortable silence. He turns to look at the Overlord, and takes the time to analyze his appearance a little. Disheveled, obviously. His suit is tattered, torn in places and crumpled, a great contrast to the ‘impeccable and kept together CEO of VoxTek’ role he displays most of the time. A mask to the insecure and awkward man that lies underneath.
His eyes drift to the other’s drink once again, his claws, curled around the cylindrical shape, have a faint, teal glow to them. They are splintered, he notices, rough around the edges. He knows what they can achieve when used for an animalistic purpose; strong like diamond and sharp like obsidian, yet a total pain in the rear for activities that require fine motor skills.
Vox shifts. Alastor knows that he knows he’s being observed, but he also knows that he won’t comment on it.
He sighs, and tears his eyes from the man. He asks: “I know you have developed your particularities, but I didn’t take you for someone who runs on energy drinks.”
Vox jumps, a little startled. “Uh… yeah. They taste good, and help me get through the day with little sleep.”
Alastor ignores his sudden awkwardness, and sips at his coffee again with his eyes closed.. “One would assume you’d resort to drugs or others to keep yourself awake, considering the type of people you mingle with.”
“Nah. I’ve tried them, obviously, but they never really clicked with me.” His drink is almost done by now, and the caffeine is starting to hit because Vox’s leg is twitching where it hangs.
Alastor hums at that, and turns to his coffee once again. “Unexpected, if I’m honest. Never have I heard of a demon who doesn’t indulge in some kind of vice.”
“I mean, I started smoking cigars five years ago, but I’m not an addict.“
“Ah I guess that settles it then.”
“You do drink, I know that. Did your favorite remain the same?” Vox curls his claws and crushes the can under it, tossing it over the edge without a care.
“Of course it did, my dear, nothing like a good glass of rye whiskey to put a soul at ease.”
“God, you sound so old.” Vox half laughed. “Worse than my grandfather in his heyday.”
“I don't see what the problem is, is the young people these days that have lost all respect and appreciation for classy things.”
Vox fully laughs at that, and opens his mouth to say something else before being cut off by some strange symbols that appeared on his screen. A call from that little doll Overlord friend of Vox (Velvette, was it? He remembers her from the meeting months ago) if the small, circular icon with her face at the top meant anything. Vox dismissed it, displaying his face on the screen once again.
“Shit, Vel’s calling and I bet she’s pissed.”
“I can imagine, where our fight took place was territory belonging primarily to her, if I’m correct?” He wasn’t actually sure how the Vees had distributed their turf, he just knew the center of the district was mainly Vox’s and that was about it.
“Yeah,” He said, unlocking his phone and scrolling through a storm of messages and angry emojis. “Apparently one of her boutiques suffered damages. That’s another problem added to the list.”
Alastor chuckled. “Better get going before she rips your head off, then.”
“She’s more the type to skin me with a rusty peeler, but yeah, I gotta leave.” If he weren’t talking about a gruesome torture method, he would say Vox sounded almost fond, the way one talks about their children and their mischievous little pranks. He turns to him, offering a hand. “It was great to see you.”
“Likewise, my dear.” He says, taking the hand firmly and shaking it. “Your screen is cracked, by the way.”
“Fuck, really? I didn’t even realize.” He runs a hand over it, now feeling the very obvious dents, it’s a miracle the glass hasn’t fallen. He is more careful as he stands, dusting himself up before turning to Alastor and nodding.
Vox walked to the door that led to the the staircase while finally picking up Velvette’s call, and before he could even cross it, Alastor heard a muffled ‘What the fuck was that, Vox!?’, thick with that characteristic accent.
He laughed as Vox began to make excuses, closing the metal door behind him.
Once Alastor was certain he was alone, he let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he had been holding. The other didn’t seem to notice, but his skin crawled at the realization of how easy it had been to fall into this little routine again with the Overlord. How familiar it all was, and how homesick it made him. Friendly conversation was something he dreaded with quite literally everyone, with very few exceptions on the list, yet Vox was at the top of it. Kind of always had been.
A chill ran up his spine.
Vox’s smooth voice and catchphrases were like candlelight, on top of the recognizable setting and how easily they had fallen into their waltz, it all was like a distant dream he couldn’t quite place. He sighed again, looking at the city one more time before melting into the shadows to make his way back to the hotel.
Nostalgia was truly a dangerous thing.