"A friendly radio host for a friendly corporation!" StrexCorp: It is. Everything. [Cosplay RP Blog for Kevin from Welcome To Night Vale. Warnings listed on the Info page cause there are quite a few.] Threadtracker
[I had an amazing moment of creativity whilst I was submerged in water, as we all do
so here’s the tune for Desolate Future!Kev’s show that I though of and used an app to make because theonly instrument I can even sorta play is the Kalimba.
It sounds best at like, half volume tho. Otherwise there’s this tiny plucking noise that I couldn’t get rid of.]
(Super dark, early-Strex Kevin-centric fic)
[Warnings for violence, torture, brainwashing, and general not-nice-ness]
There was a very good reason the old, dusty vhs tape in the highest corner of the closet was hidden away like it was. Shoved behind everything someone had assumed no one would feel the need to move, never meant to see the light of day again, and unmarked in an attempt to erase it’s contents from living memory.
But, despite all the effort put into keeping the plastic object from any curious hands, there it was. Being pushed into a vhs player by someone who couldn’t just leave well enough alone. The video played automatically, images grainy but sound oddly clear. From the angle of the video, it seemed to be a security camera; looking down from a corner on the center of a room empty of all save a single metal chair. Perhaps the nosy viewer should have turned off the video when they noticed the restraints on the chair, but they pursued even then.
For a few minutes, the room remained empty. The passage of time would have been immeasurable if not for a timestamp ticking away. Finally, just as the unchanging scene was bordering on boring, the door to the room opened. A man with neatly-combed hair stepped into the room, followed by a heavily armored person dragging a struggling form. The man with the flawless hair stepped aside so that the second person could throw the third into the chair and strap them down enough that the creak of the leather could be heard over the recording.
Unable to do much more than move their head, the person in the chair seemed to realize that struggle was useless at the moment, stilling and focusing on the two others in the room.
“You can’t do this, you won’t get away with it.” The restrained man said bitterly, the voice easily identified. Kevin. “You can’t keep me here!”
“Oh, I most certainly can.” Purred the man with the perfect hair. “I can do anything I want now. I own this town. I own you.”
Turning towards the armored figure, the man with the perfect hair made a motion towards the chair, and the figure stepped forwards with something gleaming in their hand that seemed to prompt their captive to begin struggling again.
“No! Nonono, you can’t do this!” Kevin’s voice rang, the speakers crackling slightly as they played the audio.
A wicked smile spread across the face of the perfect-haired man, and he replied smugly.
“I can do anything I want.”
The video went on for what the timestamp proclaimed to be hours, screams and cries making the speakers crackle and whine, the sharp crack of bones breaking and the wet tearing sound of flesh rending becoming an endless, sickening background noise. Occasionally, there would be a few minutes of reprieve when the men left the room and the room would fill only with pained breathing, only for it to start up again when the video jumped to another clip and it all repeated. Days of this horrific display passed, according to the timestamp as its number climbed higher and higher, each one passing more gruesomely until finally, after what the technology proclaimed to be a month passed, the scene changed.
The room was much less clean in this section of video, blood splattered on most of the surfaces, and the figure in the chair was slumped over almost lifelessly. The only sign of animation was a flinch as the door opened, the perfect-haired man and another armor-clad tormentor entering the room.
“Good morning, Kevin.” The man said, almost sounding fond, as though he were greeting a lover. “Are you feeling better today?”
The once-still form seemed to start shaking, but not from fear. Slowly, a series of broken, high-pitched giggles rose in volume, the television filling the room with the hysterical noise.
Once the laughter died back down, the radio host’s head still down, the man with the perfect hair spoke up again.
“Are you ready to go home? We all can’t wait to hear you on the radio again.”
Almost frighteningly fast, the bound man’s head snapped up, wild eyes gleaming in the light for the camera to see as he grinned from ear to ear, Kevin’s voice sounding frighteningly unemotional yet giddy at the same time.
“Neither can I!”
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