He'd seen pictures of their son before. It had been hard to avoid them what with the way in which they had slowly transformed the living-room into a makeshift gallery of his achievements throughout his life. There are photographs crammed into every space they can fit; pictures of the young boy at varying stages of life posing with a new medal or trophy, arm around the mayor, a celebrity, a sporting hero of his, other members of his dance squad. Each one is framed in gold or silver, corresponding with the grade of his award—he doesn't think he's seen one bronze. There are certificates dotted around and in-between these photographs, too, cabinets b with trophies fighting for shelf-space, medals dribbling out of full drawers. The room simply glows with their son's brilliance, with his potential, with what he could have been, the sun's intrusive rays shining in on each and every speck of wonder it can land upon and blinding whoever sets foot in the room.

Their son was not only the nation's best dancer, the under-eighteens world champion in four categories of dance, the most decorated seventeen year old across the entirety of Asia and Europe; he was also stunningly, heartbreakingly, painfully beautiful. He knows that he looks like their son—that is his purpose, after all—what with his pale skin, thick dyed-blonde hair, wide almond-shaped eyes, pouty lips, and the stature of a lean giant, but looking at the photographs in detail as he is right now just reminds him of how utterly lacking he himself is. He is a carbon copy, literally and figuratively speaking, and yet it is agonising to see just how much of a mere copy he is.

ZEL0's eyes will never light up the way that Junhong's did. This fact had hit him like a rogue bullet train the first time it had occurred to him, and now that he's noticed it, he knows that everyone else has as well. Junhong's parents may refer to him as 'son', but there is a silent, mutual understanding that he is not Junhong. He did not win those trophies. He will never deserve this family's love, just as he does not deserve to be recognised for all of the things Junhong has done.

He was created to fill the void left behind by Junhong's death, Evergreen Corp's attempt to 'ease the grieving process', designed to fill their monochrome household with the sound of their son's laughter—but there is nothing for ZEL0 to laugh about. He's been wired with so much synthetic emotion that it feels disturbingly real, almost as if he is a real person, and with every fibre of his designed being he resents Junhong for causing his existence.

"Junhong?" The sweet, worried voice of Junhong's mother calls out.

ZEL0 lets out a shuddering sigh. He locks eyes with Junhong in the photograph between his fingers, longing to shatter the glass, scratch out his eyes--

He tacks on a poor excuse for one of their son's smiles and turns around.

"Hey, mom."

Hai~ this is really just a random drabble I thought up while sitting around. It's not much, but it was fun to write. ^____^ 

- Lotl