Hanson of Borg
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A young girl was taken backstage in a rush, she
was unsettled, but alltogether excited at the
possiblity of meeting her idols. Some suit threw a
pass over her neck, and she hurried towards
"them".
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She gushed at first, and embarrassed herself a
little, but it wouldn't really matter. She had a
long chit-chat with them, and spoke of the
trivialities that her kind find utterly
fascinating. As the conversation was coming to a
close, they nodded to eachother, and motioned for
her to follow them, but as they walked to the
dressing room, they stopped
short.
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She stopped
soon after, lunging forward awkwardly in the
abruptness of it. She tried to turn to ask why
they stopped there, but they avoided her gaze. A
few whispered words, the sting of a needle, and
that was the last moment of the life she knew.
When the few remaining, continually ebbing parts
of her personality faded in for the final time,
she found herself playing a cheesy keyboard, and
singing even cheesier pop songs, along with the
other two; who were once just like her.
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As it turned out, there had been almost a dozen
"Taylors" in the span of two years, as well as
seven "Isaacs", and thirty "Zacs": all female. In
order to keep their cutesy-cutesy image, they've
had to maintain a very contrived look; not unlike
the countless "Lassies" there have been (a fitting
analogy, considering the cross-gender role of
Lassie).
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You see, it's nothing personal. It's just the way
an organism with its own agenda has to survive.
It's how Hanson maintains itself, and has, for
over six-hundred years now; in various
incarnations.
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