Alright then, we'll consider this and anything I add to this thread later an INFORMATION MASTERLIST OF THE CULT OF TRANSMISSION.
The cult itself began to form around the time Vox took the stage as a talk show host, when his popularity began to skyrocket with a younger audience. It started with groupies, who would hang around the studio and beg for his autograph, but quickly evolved into people who wanted to confess secrets and desires, usually about him. Rather than having them escorted out by security, Vox would bring them into his dressing room. They would talk. And talk. And talk. It felt like holy confession, like anything said to him in this little room was exalted and untouchable. And eventually, other people started to see it that way, too. When one of his fans came to him, weeping and distraught, and confessed he was gay and terrified of what that meant, Vox saw a beautiful and unique opportunity.
Not everyone got as lucky as he did in reframing their image, after all. Victoria Whittman, as far as the studio was concerned, was his sister who had to leave for school. Victor took her place with ease, and did her job better than she ever could have dreamed. So he told his little congregant the truth, and saw a gleam in his eyes that felt like a hit of the purest cocaine in the world.
SUFFERING IS PROOF OF DIVINITY.
PAIN IS NOT RANDOM CHANCE.
REJECTION IS NOT TRAGEDY.
VIOLENCE ENACTED AGAINST YOU IS NOT INJUSTICE: IT IS PROOF THAT YOU ARE CHOSEN.
He'd pass little cards with the mantras printed on them to his adoring fans during shows, meet and greets, even on the streets when he was recognized. Eventually, he started putting addresses on the backs of them, isolated places to meet and speak with his congregation. He started to like the idea of calling them that, not just fans.
As the years progressed, the message evolved. Trauma and suffering was framed as pure divinity, living proof that the universe had selected you to become more than what you are. The only people who knew about Vox's transition were his followers, and he preached that his body and his legacy were the result of his path to ascension, pushing past the boundaries of his mortal body to take on something better. Something... brighter.
Identity was not just something that made you whole, it was a signal, something that could be tuned into like any channel on TV. Except that, according to Vox, most people could only tune in and watch. He knew the secrets to hijacking these pre-determined broadcasts, editing or amplifying them into something new. Even death was just a way of moving that signal from a piece of obsolete hardware into something better.
And of course there were the murders. Vox committed plenty of them himself, but he encouraged his followers to do the same. If any of them were caught, and of course some of them were, he vehemently denied any involvement and claimed they were the ramblings of obsessive fans with no basis in reality. He would then turn that into a sermon, martyring the imprisoned followers and claiming that he pushed them into the final stages of their ascension. If any of them were committed to death for their crimes, it was an incredible celebration. See, murder for pleasure or for the purpose of advancing was not truly a crime, it was a redistribution of wasted energy, a way to stop bad channels from broadcasting corrupted messages.
It's no surprise that Vox attracted ( and often targeted ) plenty of closeted queer people during his time as a cult leader. These were people who were used to living secret lives and hiding their true feelings and intentions. They knew how to code switch and blend into social settings for their own survival, they were starved for connection and community. They felt broken, monstrous, condemned to suffering and persecution. But Vox was there, a light at the end of the tunnel, to tell them that their suffering was sacred. It means something more than just being hated or scorned to be attacked for broadcasting your true programming. He was a venus fly trap to these people, who should have been his community and not his flock.
" I see you " became a frequently used phrase. Vox welcomes outcasts with open arms, providing them home and stability and love all while whispering into their ear that the world was wrong for not being capable of tuning in to their signal properly. It wasn't their fault if all they saw was static, after all.
He gifted people with new names, new identities, all in the privacy of secretive meetings that he often disguised, when needed, easily as meetings with potential talent or fan meet and greets.
YOU DO NOT SIMPLY DESERVE TO LIVE. YOU ARE NOT MEANT TO LIVE LIKE THEM.
DEEP DOWN YOU KNOW: YOU ARE NOT THE SAME SPECIES AS THESE UNENLIGHTENED CREATURES.
THEY FEAR YOU BECAUSE YOUR EXISTENCE PROVES THEIR OBSOLESCENCE.
The language began to shift and change and twist. Law enforcement were not protectors, but hunters, charged with eradicating those who knew about these higher frequencies. Your family? They were containment units, places you were planted in order to keep your signal dampened and out of focus. The doctors who turned you away, or worse, performed vile procedures meant to reverse your way of thinking, were technicians disguised as medical professionals, trained to cut wires and block transmissions that would make you whole.
Your family is a dead channel, a bad signal. Those who question your motive are parasites, draining the energy from your core power. You aren't doubting his words, your signal is simply distorted, and that can be corrected. That fear deep in your chest when he preaches about your ascension to godhood? It isn't yours: someone must have hijacked your signal to broadcast that feeling.
Confess your doubts. Broadcast your sins. Broadcast your desires. Broadcast your crimes. The congregation is the only family you have, and they will never judge you. This openness is holy. This openness reminds you that nothing you do on this plane of existence matters.
In fact, this plane of existence means nothing anymore. There is a better world out there, another realm you are destined for. Build the altar. Amplify the signal. Rest in the shadow of predators just like you. Under the watchful eye of aquatic carnivores, step into the pool, be baptized, embrace the death of your living form.
