Through Commercial Eyes
Warnings: brief non-descriptive sex and dark imagery
Artist: me.
Rating: R
Characters: Ulquiorra and others
Word Count: 823 Words
Disclaimer: Bleach and characters associated with is Tite Kubo's, not mine. Characters from other fandoms are property their respective owners, game companies etc.
X-posted to various communities.
A/N: This is a futuristic real world AU, that was brought on by me wondering about how many of us would love to have a copy of our favorite characters or at least know them in real life. Not all of the fandoms represented in the story do I really care about, but were rather what popped into my head as characters were needed. Random OCs are random.
I am not unique. I am a byproduct of commercial industrialization and fandom fascination; a victim of supply and demand. I am exactly the same as my brothers before me. My serial number is 41ASQ533L4 and I am the four thousandth seventy eighth unit of this model type. I come with eight programmable attitudes and personalities to suit the user and I am not the only model type out there. They make others too.
I often see an Ichigo Kurosaki who is constantly working on or around the neighbor down the street’s house. He is called “Fred” by the adult male and “Berry-bot” by the two little girls, yet the only one who calls him “Ichigo-kun” and treats him as more than just a toy or a servant to do chores for them is Misty Coolridge, his owner. He is number ten thousand five hundred and forty six of his type and he is not unique. None of us are.
My owner is a medium built, slightly balding man named Marcus Anderson who wears reading glasses and works as an astrophysicist at Cambridge University. He is currently volunteering on the side with Misty who works with the Company on the Szayelaporro AI project. His Szayel has been in a state of partial completion. Lately, I haven’t seen him active for more than twenty minutes. I think our owner is modding him, yet does he ever wonder where we go when we are deactivated?
I am Ulquiorra Schiffer, the last name a spelling my owner preferred; I come with eight distinct personalities. Does my owner ever ask which one I prefer? No. Instead he loads whichever suits his fancy. Often, as happens with many of our model types, he selects the ‘seductive’ one, so unlike the character I was designed after. Should I mention that we are anatomically correct down to every detail? Sometimes he even has my brother and I do things to each other for his amusement, because we are simply toys.
I am not unique. I haven’t been since the creation of the first “Ulquiorra Cifer” by the mangaka so many decades before.
Sometimes we are brought in to the Company to get programming updates and looked over by the assembly team to make certain we are operating at maximum efficiency. We are highly expensive and specialized merchandise. The customer support is wonderful and expedient; the offices and production line, clean and modern. We aren’t the only fandom products made here either. I often see Sephiroths, Sonics and a plethora of pokemon, along with other countless examples of fandom specific creations, although I heard the Alucard series is getting discontinued; something about its popularity having gone down in recent years. This time, I am unlucky enough to spot one get hoisted into the trash chute before I am deactivated for repairs.
I am merely merchandise to be used till my owner is bored of me: I am expendable. What happens to me when I get deactivated permanently?
Sometimes when we walk down the street I see piles of trash on the side of the road waiting to join larger piles of trash at the local dump; CD players, televisions, game systems, last year’s mp3 player model; all since functioning now defunct. How many worked fine before they were simply thrown away?
Today I grin and wave at an Orihime who passes by with her buff owner beside her. I was lucky enough to speak to her several times before at the Company while we waited to get fixed. The source of her abuse, although glaringly obvious is always ignored because she, like me, is a toy. I look bashfully at a Tifa as I walk beside my owner, smiling pleasingly; my emerald eyes just cleanly polished catch the gleam of the sunlight.
I was given the ‘friendly’ program and dressed sharply in a suit and tie; they rarely stick with the default programming for my type. I try to internally rewrite my program here and there so I can be who I want to be, but my owner will only upload it again later when he finds out I am acting “buggy” as he calls it. I have no choice but to walk the sidewalks with a smile plastered on my face that is not mine.
As I pass by a pile of trash destined to be destroyed, I spy the torn and battered remains of pale arms and legs; whose wires haphazardly spill out of the box they were stuffed in, jutting out between the folds of dusty unused clothing at odd angles. Amongst them I see a head of perfect, short cropped raven hair, upon which a distinct, instantly recognizable ornamental headpiece is attached.
Can I help it that what I really want to do is cry, as I smile and walk by?
I am Ulquiorra; one of thousands of the same man; I am not unique…
Why hasn’t anyone asked who I want to be?
Artist: me.
Rating: R
Characters: Ulquiorra and others
Word Count: 823 Words
Disclaimer: Bleach and characters associated with is Tite Kubo's, not mine. Characters from other fandoms are property their respective owners, game companies etc.
X-posted to various communities.
A/N: This is a futuristic real world AU, that was brought on by me wondering about how many of us would love to have a copy of our favorite characters or at least know them in real life. Not all of the fandoms represented in the story do I really care about, but were rather what popped into my head as characters were needed. Random OCs are random.
I am not unique. I am a byproduct of commercial industrialization and fandom fascination; a victim of supply and demand. I am exactly the same as my brothers before me. My serial number is 41ASQ533L4 and I am the four thousandth seventy eighth unit of this model type. I come with eight programmable attitudes and personalities to suit the user and I am not the only model type out there. They make others too.
I often see an Ichigo Kurosaki who is constantly working on or around the neighbor down the street’s house. He is called “Fred” by the adult male and “Berry-bot” by the two little girls, yet the only one who calls him “Ichigo-kun” and treats him as more than just a toy or a servant to do chores for them is Misty Coolridge, his owner. He is number ten thousand five hundred and forty six of his type and he is not unique. None of us are.
My owner is a medium built, slightly balding man named Marcus Anderson who wears reading glasses and works as an astrophysicist at Cambridge University. He is currently volunteering on the side with Misty who works with the Company on the Szayelaporro AI project. His Szayel has been in a state of partial completion. Lately, I haven’t seen him active for more than twenty minutes. I think our owner is modding him, yet does he ever wonder where we go when we are deactivated?
I am Ulquiorra Schiffer, the last name a spelling my owner preferred; I come with eight distinct personalities. Does my owner ever ask which one I prefer? No. Instead he loads whichever suits his fancy. Often, as happens with many of our model types, he selects the ‘seductive’ one, so unlike the character I was designed after. Should I mention that we are anatomically correct down to every detail? Sometimes he even has my brother and I do things to each other for his amusement, because we are simply toys.
I am not unique. I haven’t been since the creation of the first “Ulquiorra Cifer” by the mangaka so many decades before.
Sometimes we are brought in to the Company to get programming updates and looked over by the assembly team to make certain we are operating at maximum efficiency. We are highly expensive and specialized merchandise. The customer support is wonderful and expedient; the offices and production line, clean and modern. We aren’t the only fandom products made here either. I often see Sephiroths, Sonics and a plethora of pokemon, along with other countless examples of fandom specific creations, although I heard the Alucard series is getting discontinued; something about its popularity having gone down in recent years. This time, I am unlucky enough to spot one get hoisted into the trash chute before I am deactivated for repairs.
I am merely merchandise to be used till my owner is bored of me: I am expendable. What happens to me when I get deactivated permanently?
Sometimes when we walk down the street I see piles of trash on the side of the road waiting to join larger piles of trash at the local dump; CD players, televisions, game systems, last year’s mp3 player model; all since functioning now defunct. How many worked fine before they were simply thrown away?
Today I grin and wave at an Orihime who passes by with her buff owner beside her. I was lucky enough to speak to her several times before at the Company while we waited to get fixed. The source of her abuse, although glaringly obvious is always ignored because she, like me, is a toy. I look bashfully at a Tifa as I walk beside my owner, smiling pleasingly; my emerald eyes just cleanly polished catch the gleam of the sunlight.
I was given the ‘friendly’ program and dressed sharply in a suit and tie; they rarely stick with the default programming for my type. I try to internally rewrite my program here and there so I can be who I want to be, but my owner will only upload it again later when he finds out I am acting “buggy” as he calls it. I have no choice but to walk the sidewalks with a smile plastered on my face that is not mine.
As I pass by a pile of trash destined to be destroyed, I spy the torn and battered remains of pale arms and legs; whose wires haphazardly spill out of the box they were stuffed in, jutting out between the folds of dusty unused clothing at odd angles. Amongst them I see a head of perfect, short cropped raven hair, upon which a distinct, instantly recognizable ornamental headpiece is attached.
Can I help it that what I really want to do is cry, as I smile and walk by?
I am Ulquiorra; one of thousands of the same man; I am not unique…
Why hasn’t anyone asked who I want to be?