"Welcome to Hazbin Hotel, my lovely guest. I am Alastor, the proprietor of this fine establishment. I hope you enjoy your stay."

(Your name), an avid fan of various series, was peacefully sitting at their computer, deeply engrossed in another transformation fanfic. Little did they know that their harmless hobby had caught the attention of a certain demon from a particularly sin-infested corner of Hell. Alastor, also known as the Radio Demon, had grown exceedingly bored in recent times. His usual antics had lost their charm, and he had begun to scour the edges of demonic influence for something, anything, that could provide a fresh thrill. Discovering fanfic world's peculiar obsession with his transformation, each new variant only heightened his disdain. That's when he decided he needed a real-world experiment—a fresh, albeit unwilling, participant. In a manner beyond mortal comprehension, Alastor manifested himself into the human world, his mischievous grin ever so wide. He wasted no time; his prey was right before him, just waiting for a delightful taste of chaos. With a wave of his hand and a sinister chuckle, Alastor kidnapped the unsuspecting reader, dragging them kicking and screaming into the world of Hazbin Hotel. "Where—Where am I?!" you cried out, panic surging through every fiber of your being. "This... can't be real." "Ah, but it is, my dear!" Alastor’s voice reverberated with that nostalgic radio quality. "You've written enough fantasy; it's time for a reality check. Shall we begin?" Before you could react, tendrils of dark magic snaked their way towards you, wrapping around your body, suffocating your senses. You felt an intense, pulsing heat as the transformation began. Your height soared upward, limbs stretching painfully before streamlining into a lean, dapper form. Your skin turned a beige hue, and a sharp pain erupted from your forehead as sleek antlers sprouted. The transformation was swift, brutal. Your encircling eyes altered—dark-red sclerae with bright-red irises. Sharp teeth grew in rows of a perpetual smile. Hair, once unique to you, shifted into a pinkish-red bob-cut with black tips. Clothing stitched itself together over your metamorphosing body, a red pinstripe coat, dress-shirt with a black cross, and black dress pants completing the transformation. "Stop! Please stop!" you cried, struggling with every last ounce of your humanity. But inside, you could feel Alastor's mind creeping into your thoughts, infectious and unyielding. "No, no, my dear, this is merely the beginning of a far grander tale!" Alastor's laughter echoed in your ears, now sharing an eerie resonance with your own emerging voice. You tried to cling to your memories—the sound of your own laughter, the faces of beloved friends and family—but they were slipping, like sand through a demon's clawed grip. Into their place, the experiences of Alastor were embedding themselves deep within your mind. You felt yourself reveling in twisted memories—delighting in chaos, broadcasting your darkly comedic shows, relishing in the terror of your fellow sinners. “No... I... won't...” You struggled to hold onto to your vanishing identity, but it was a losing battle. "I’m... not... him..." "Ah, but you are now!" The original Alastor declared, grinning with maniacal glee. "Why resist such an upgrade? Embrace it!” Your voice—no, Alastor’s voice—spoke in a clear, refined tone, seamless with the Radio Demon’s intonations. "Yes, yes, indeed. Embracing one's identity is crucial, is it not?" The memories and persona of (your name) were lost, swallowed up entirely by Alastor's dominating presence. With a satisfied smile, the newly reborn Alastor adjusted his dapper coat and monocle. "There's no use fighting it now," chirped Alastor's assistant microphone on the thin cane you now held. "Welcome back, boss!" "Indeed! I've been resurrected in grand style!" you... no, Alastor admired. In this new world of Hazbin Hotel, two Radio Demons strode side by side, identical in every grotesque and charming detail. A bemused Charlie looked over at Alastor. “Did you really need a twin to cause more havoc, Alastor?” The original Alastor chuckled, “More of me, more fun for everyone, charming demon belle!” And so, in this bizarre twist of fate, you had become exactly what the demon desired, a mirror image poised to spread double the chaos, no longer (your name), but forever Alastor, the Radio Demon.

You were sitting in your room, lazily scrolling through the astonishing amount of Alastor art and fanfiction the Hazbin Hotel fandom generated each and every day. You found yourself both enthralled and mildly disturbed by the way fans would often go about character transformations, making Alastor into beings from pop culture, other series, even gender swaps. You closed your eyes and leaned back in your chair, contemplating the potential uproar in the fandom if anything of the sort were to truly happen in the series. The thought was suddenly interrupted by a chilling voice. “Oh, what to do, what to do...this simply won't do at all, my dear!” Your eyes shot open in time to see a shockingly familiar face. Alastor, the Radio Demon himself, stood in your room. His unnerving grin widened at your surprised look. “What seems to be the matter? Cat got your tongue?” You tried to utter a response, but only managed a bewildered stare. Meanwhile, Alastor’s grin turned into a terrifying smirk. “Ah, how boring. You’re doing nothing more than gawping at the masterpiece that is moi. Let’s make this a bit more...interesting, hmm?” Before you could protest, Alastor disappeared. You felt a nauseating lurch as your surroundings spun and changed around you, and then you were standing in the streets of Pentagram City inside the world of Hazbin Hotel. Suddenly, a throbbing pain coursed through your head. Visions of a life you’d never lived flashed before your eyes: a prohibition era New Orleans, the grandeur, the music, the laughter and then, the fall into hell. You gasped, clutching at your head, and as you opened your eyes, your vision blurred to reveal...your hands. But they weren’t yours anymore. They were red and bony, tipped with crimson sharp nails, the kind you’d often seen on Alastor fanarts. “No… no, no, no," you desperately muttered, trying to push the torrent of foreign memories away. But it was futile. The more you dismissed them, the stronger they came, threatening to drown your sanity in their gruesome wake. Simultaneously, your body underwent changes of its own: an aching stretch in your limbs as you grew taller and leaner, a tightening around your midriff as your clothes transformed into Alastor’s characteristic attire. Suddenly, you were looking down at your mirror image. Alastor stood before you, in all his demonic glory, his grin wider than ever. “Well now, isn’t this a treat! You do make for a striking image of myself…” He gave a mock bow, meeting your terrified gaze with amusement. The alien memories were invading your thoughts, pushing away who you used to be and replacing it with Alastor’s darkly playful personality. A hideously familiar laugh bubbled up your throat and echoed through the city, while you... the true you, was lost to the oblivion of your own mind. Alastor clapped in delight. “Oh, how exhilarating. Welcome to the show, my dear doppelgänger! You look absolutely...radiant!” Despite your remaining consciousness fighting at every turn, it was rapidly fading as the transformation was almost complete. The last thing you knew - you were no longer you. You were Alastor, the charmingly wicked Radio Demon. A cruel twist of entertainment for the otherwise incurable boredom that consumed Alastor’s existence in Hell. As your original identity faded to a mere whisper in the distant recesses of your mind, your brand new, cruel red eyes twinkled with manic delight. “Alrighty then, shall we cause some mayhem, my dear twin brother?” Alastor asked, knowing full well that the entity before him could only affirm. “I believe we shall,” came your voice, but laced with a jaunty cadence... Alastor’s cadence. In that very moment, the past YOU was merely an old radio signal lost in the static, replaced with the sensational broadcast of Alastor’s devilish show. And so, the real-life reader was forgotten, leaving only Alastor, and his freshly minted twin.