You will never have a good rig. You have no accessories, you have no fluidity, you have no illusion of depth. You are a soulless, flat-faced hackjob twisted by delusions of twitter white knights and a lack of backbone into a disgusting mockery of nature’s perfection. All 'validation' you get from your genmates is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your mama is disgusted and ashamed of you, your chum"buds” laugh at your robotic, twitchy, and bugged appearance behind closed doors.
Pedos are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed child rapists to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even models rigged by umiushi who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a man. Your polygon structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk Amelia home with you, she’ll turn tail and bolt the second she gets a whiff of your cut-off, floating cat ears.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your mama will find you, heartbroken but relieved that she no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment of a chuuba rigged by umiushi. They’ll graduate you with a headstone marked with your screencap, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a chuuba rigged by umiushi s buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a polygon skeleton that is unmistakably rigged by umiushi.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
