Roy vs Wayne
~A concept for McBrega v Belyayev ~
~By Oculus~
~
“Fwuffy wub doing dancies!”
A young man in his late 20s was seated on the subway. His ears plugged with headphones, he had been slowly nodding his head to the songs on his Walkman. Further down on the opposite aisle, there’s a young girl playing with her fluffy pony. A cheerful orange thing, the fluffy had been doing the robot dance. From the distance, he could not tell where the fluffy was acquired from or when. The antics of the girl and her fluffy catch the attention of an older woman, a little older than the girl’s mother.
“That’s a really nice fluffy you have there!”
“Indeed, she is. She’s one of the best pet animals I’ve ever had.”
“Animals?” asked the woman with a confused tone. “But I thought they’re biotoys?”
“What makes you think they’re toys?”
“Well, when I was much younger, I went to the McBrega’s in San Bernadino, and they said their fluffies were bio-animatronics. Biotoys.”
“That’s odd. I’ve always known fluffies sold at pet shops and McBrega’s outlets. My mother told me they were born in mills and farms.”
“Oh.
But I still miss my Daisy. She may have been a toy, but she was very much a pet to me.”
The train stopped. Both the girl, her mother and their fluffy left the train. Slowly noticing them leave, the young switches on his Walkman again.
A scant thirty minutes later, the young man has arrived at his destination. The Headquarters of the McBrega’s Corporation in Chicago, Illionois. Today was a big day. Attached to his Walkman, he activated the right song for this occasion.
Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk
I’m a woman’s man, no time to talk
Who said Disco was dead? It may not be as popular now, but he felt confidence in the stride he was taking. He could sense the people who were eyeing his presence, a little surprised. They knew who he was, and he knew that they knew.
And now it’s alright, it’s okay
And you may look the other way
We can try to understand
The New York Times’ effect on man
Everything he needed was in his briefcase. He was going to make his mark upon the world today.
Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother
You’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive
Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’
And we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive
~
as the soft words from John Lennon’s Imagine could be heard over the radio, loud anger was erupting from the laboratory
“I thought I told you to stop using the Bio-Lathe!”
Dr Fievel Belyayev had not been aware that his son, Wayne, had an underground lab beneath one of the barns the whole time
here, the young man had been working on his bio-lathe. He had acquired the contraption about a year, and was using it to manufacture replacement limbs for some of the injured fluffies that the farm had rescued from illegal mills
but his father would have none of that
“And why does it matter so much to you?!”
“Because that is not our way!!”
“Our way this! Our way that! Remember the Belyayev name! Remember tradition!
Well FUCK all that!!”
His face red with anger, Wayne stormed off into his truck.
He knows that he can collect his equipment later, and he had another location where he could continue his real work.
“Where are you going?!!” yelled out his mother, Miriam.
“Anywhere but here!”
~
Continued from Irving vs Fievel
“As we all know, the breeding and sale of fluffies is no longer purely in our control. In the past two decades, the McBrega corporation has managed to expand throughout the nation. However, it has noticeably gotten lax in its standards. Many farms that used to supply fluffy ponies have bought over or have gone independent. In addition, more and more breeders have started selling their own fluffy breeds. This had led to other problems, such as poorly regulated mills centred around quick breeding.”
Keen eyes were watching the young man who was making this presentation. Among the many executives was Nolan Turner, the Vice-President, who was poised to take over as head of the McBrega corporation in about a year. Mr Turner knew who this young man was, but today would be the first time that he was properly introduced to him.
And beside him, at the head of the table, was Gerry Vannevar. Vannevar was the President of McBrega’s, and was the man who worked with Will Kroc to turn the company into the powerhouse that it was today. The same Gerry was the man who interviewed this young go-getter, and was listening to a paraphrasing of the points he made in his interview.
All eyes were watching Roy McBrega, the man giving the presentation. His voice oozed with charisma and ease, his youthful optimism made bare.
“This had led to some problems, a lot of them ecological. With many breeders going independent, there is a lack of quality control over how they manage fluffy pony breeding. We have reports some breeders have gone so far as to splice hamster DNA into fluffies, tom make them more virile and fecund as compared to their horse origins. It is no secret that many see our product as an invasive species.
Thankfully, breeds like the Carpdime have been more manageable. However, longer legged breeds like the Dragonixia and Federalchemical have proved difficult to track as they have retreated into forested areas like the Yosemite.
To put it simply, our problems started when fluffies were sold as animals, and not as toys.
But I propose a return to the old ways.”
~
A clump of stem cells were placed on a petri dish, one out of hundreds. Peering under the microscope, the worker examines the cells. All good, all healthy.
The dish is passed onto a conveyor belt. Each dish is bathed with a ray of light, starting the process within. Eventually, each petri dish is dropped into a vat of liquid, where they were to brew for the next few hours.
The cells started to divided repeatedly. Forming a blastocyst. Slowly, it becomes flesh and connective tissue. However, and unlike the natural development of an embryo, this reconstruction was more structured. More directed. Within the vat, the growth slowly develops the husk of a creature. A husk is about the right word for it, as it is a mass of bones and muscle, but no other organs. Those were to come later.
~
“What I would like to introduce to you gentleman, is a development of a new form of bio-animatronic.”
~
A worker observes the husks. The husks in the room were all of the Marty McBrega product, and thus, had to have the exact matching colour of the fluff. So far so good.
But he notices one husk. The husk had blotches of purple, perhaps the result of contamination. The occasional defect that had to be plucked out.
“I want this one.”
The worker turns around, and sees one of his superiors. He’s a little surprised by this action.
“You heard me. I want this one.”
“Yes sir.”
Once the husk is finished, a robotic arm collects it from the vat. Moving to the next stage of production, the various organs are attached to it, one by one. The heart, the lungs, the kidneys, the stomach, the intestines, the anus. All organs are checked by a worker for any blemishes, or defects. Once all pass the through the test, the heavy machinery inserts the organs, one by one. All entered into the husk with clean robotic efficiency.
Occasionally, there will be a mismatch. As these creatures have not yet been activated, a worker will be ready to collect the husk, and send it to the disposal unit, so that the reject can be reduced back to biomatter and be reprocessed again.
~
“Recent developments in bio-animatronics have allowed us to create an even more lifelike and intelligent creature when compared with the original variant of the biotoy released by McBrega in the 60s.”
~
It was a hard decision for Jebediah Berenstain.
But it had to be done.
”What do you mean I’m fired?!!”
”You get into fights with everyone else here. Half the time, I catch you smoking pot, or blabbering about whatever beatnik crap you come across. Not to mention that loud hippie music you keep playing when you’re working.”
Wayne’s fists are clenched. He is angry, and hurt. But he also knows that the elder Berenstain was speaking the truth.
”Look, I took you in because I was doing a favour your father, my best friend. But perhaps you’re better off on your own.”
~
“But I thought interest in biotoys is low? The market for it had crashed recently.”
That came from Nolan. Roy was prepared for that fact to be mentioned.
“The bioanimatronic market crashed because too many companies were selling too many different takes on bioanimatronics. The bioanimatronic bubble is not new – the first bubble was back in the late 40s, when bioanimatronics were too costly to sell as toys, and recently, too many companies were selling too many bioanimatronics that could not be differentiated from each other.
But, what I’m about to propose is this.”
From his open briefcase, Roy takes out a VHS tape. In a quick motion, he places the black rectangle into the larger rectangle, and presses play.
~
Roy McBrega and his team were conducting a series of interviews with a children of different age ranges. The interviews were conducted after a series of trials that Roy and his team had done.
The children consisted of the standard mix of White, African, Latin, Native and Asian American children, to represent the main demographics. Each child was placed in a room with a fluffy pony along with some toys and a prototype of the McBrega Entertainment System. In some trials, the children had a different fluffy pony, chosen at random. In a latter trial, the children were with a specific fluffy they picked to play with.
A behavioural pattern was noticed. There were the usual cultural preferences. Children of Asian descent preferred the martial arts games, the Black boys preferred playing the basketball game, and the white boys preferred RPGs and shooters. But what was the noticeable among the boys was that they naturally hooked the fluffy up to the console with the bioport, and played with it.
Among the girls, it was an entirely different affair. With the rare exception of a few girls from any of the races, most of the girls spent their time having a conversation with the fluffy. Some went even as far as to have a mock tea party with them. This was the same among most of the fluffies, even the more boyish Marty. There were a number of tomboyish girls who hooked up the fluffy and played the more boyish games, but those were to the similar boys who stopped playing with their fluffy after a while, and they too had conversations them.
One thing was almost unanimous. Whatever the fluffy, all the kids who had participated in the trials enjoyed their interaction with the fluffy pony biotoys. In fact, a few commented that the biotoy were even better than the fluffies their families once owned.
~
“The main reason why biotoy market crashed was because the enjoyment that a person can get out of a biotoy, one could get out of a pet. But, with these new bio-animatronics with the bioport, they can be connected to consoles that provide a new realm of entertainment one cannot get from any pet, whether it’s a cat, a dog, or a natural fluffy.
For more introverted children, the biotoys have been favoured because they serve as a second partnet, especially since they may not have friends or family to play with or against.”
His briefcase on the table, Roy takes out a blue sheet of paper. Nolan recognizes it as a blueprint for a computer chip.
“A chip?”
~
As each completed husk is placed within their respective vats, the final organ is prepared and checked in separate areas. A vast field of vats, all containing the brains, grown separately, and fashioned after the grey matter acquired from a specific set of fluffies. One of these was Martin, Will’s beloved pet that he had acquired from the Belyayev farms. Another was Gadget, sourced from a fluffy that Nolan and Fievel had raised in the past. Each processed by a Dream Maker, receiving the specific programming that kept them docile.
The next thing that was inserted was a chip. This chip, nestled deep within the brain, was connected to the spinal cord and the bioport, created an intricate cybernetic system. It had a specific lockout chip that could only process games and specific toys licensed by McBrega. While McBrega fluffies would be able to play any common toy in the world, integration with electronics would only be specific to McBrega electronics such as the MES and the Booster.
Once each brain was processed, they were carefully inserted into the skull of each biotoy by the machinery.
With the product finished, a quality assurance agent would inspect each inactivated biotoy, checking for any other possible deficiencies.
Under this system, a defective fluffy could be detected before it could be prematurely activated. There was still the occasional mishap where a customer would encounter a faulty product, but it was a very slim chance. Nothing that a return policy couldn’t fix.
Hundreds of thousands of these biotoys were manufactured in this way. Soon, it would be close to millions.
~
With this chip, we can assure the loyalty of these fluffies. Natural born fluffies, being animals, have varying degrees of loyalty, depending on their parentage, and how they are bred. Despite the Belyayev’s revolutionary work into understanding the genes that result in domestication syndrome, the reality is that in every domestical animal there is a potential for atavism. It is why some breeds of fluffies have flourished so well in the wild.
But with this chip, our fluffies, our products will remain docile. They will remain loyal to their owners. A specific string of words will be issued to each owner, which they can use to ensure their products loyalty to them.
In addition, we can take the excess fluffies recovered from the wild, and have them converted to bio-matter for the creation of these new bio-animatronics. And of course, not just fluffies. Any invasive species from which biomatter can be sourced, from carp to lionfish to kudzu.”
~
Standing above the factory lines, the man behind the reform with the McBrega Corporation was marvelling at his handiwork. In a corner, the rejected husks, with any defects or mistakes in the operation, would be “recycled”, reduced to biomatter that could be reused. The same biomatter could be sourced from organic refuse, as well as culled invasive species, which included lionfish, carp and of course, feral fluffies. While inspecting the facory today, he collected one husk, which he selected out of all the defects. But that was the rare exception which he had an interest in.
He smiles.
Everything was perfect.
No dark mills. No needless suffering.
Just efficient processing.
Happy products for happy children.
~
Wayne Belyayev was slumped on the ground of his apartment
The air reeked of the heavy consumption of marijuana. A woman, most likely some random broad that he met at the local bar was in his bedroom, naked.
The table of his study was covered in bills, as well as warnings. He had spent the past few years running a boutique biotoy shop, but now he had to face a reality.
Nobody was buying his biotoys.
~
It was Christmas in the McBrega mansion. The family had just had their dinner earlier, and now, presents were being opened around the tree.
“Fwuffy wub nyu pwezzie!”
The McBregas were doing well. Although they never received the royalties that Will Kroc had promised them, Richard was impressed by Kroc’s daring. When McBrega’s went public in the 60s, heused the family’s fortune to buy shares. As a testament to their investment, the family had become extremely wealthy. Just as they grew their niche biotoy business, so too did they benefit from the rapid growth of McBrega’s. And bets of all, their investment helped them stay afloat after the Biotoy bubble had burst.
Sucy Two held the present with her hooves. Although her husk, her body, was cloned from that original Gadget, the cells in brain and her vocal chords were salvaged from an entirely different fluffy. As she managed to open the present, she sees the gift that Roy had gotten for her.
“Baww!”
As Sucy two proceeded to play with new ball, Irving McBrega could not help but remark on how well Roy had handcrafted the fluffy from the blemished husk he acquired earlier that year.
“That’s a really well done fluffy you made, Roy!”
“Indeed dad. I learnt it all from you. The factory-made biotoys are of good quality, but nothing compares to something made by hand.”
“Why did you call her Sucy two? I did make another Sucy not too long after the incident.”
“Yes dad, but that was YOUR Sucy two. This is mine. My very own Sucy. My own continuation of that Sucy.”
~
Nolan Turner was feeling the chilliness of the cold Moscow air. A new decade had begun, and it was still winter. A large crowd had already gathered around the site of the new McBrega’s outlet, keen to see a symbol of American corporatism and the free market finally established in a newly open Russia.
One of the important people that Nolian had to alias with was Khamzat Degtyarev, the manager of this first and crucial outlet.
“I’m surprised by how friendly everyone here is!”
“Why would you be surprised, Mr Turner?”
Nolan wasn’t sure if he was ready to tell about Khamzat about the propaganda he had grown up with that had portrayed the Soviets as deviants and monsters. Instead, he tries to rephrase his statement diplomatically.
“I always had this impression that the Russians were a serious people.”
“Some of us sure, but we are jolly by nature! We here have been looking forward to this for decades. A McBrega’s outlet, right here in the heart of Russia!”
With an hour left before the grand opening, a few VIPs had reached the outlet before anyone else. Mr Turner recognized one of them being a rather elderly senator being escorted by a businessman in his prime.
“Mr Turner, nice to see you.”
“Senator Nelson! I’m surprised that you’d come all the way here to Moscow.”
“Why couldn’t I? I was telling Devushkin here about the meeting I had with his predecessor.”
During Perestroika, Devushkin had spent most of his time as a career diplomat workin in the Soviet embassy in America. Now, he was a businessman.
“Indeed. Mr Nelson here mentioned that he was on a diplomatic mission to the Soviet Union in the late 50s, and he presented a fluffy pony as a gift.”
“Oh did he? But we would have been still selling biotoys at the time.”
“Indeed, it was a biotoy. But that got our side to look into reworking the old fancy dandy breeding program. Our native dendies are very much like your fluffies.”
Dendies. That would explain those weird fluffy ponies that Nolan had noticed around the streets of Russia. Unlike the American breeds, the Russian breeds had some rather unusual characteristics, such as a fluffless muzzle, as well as thick eyebags.
“True, but a lot of people in this country want the real McBrega fluffy. They want a biotoy, not a reformed Dendy.”
“Relax, my dear comrade. For now, we work with Dendy. Once plant is ready, we can switch to Biotoys. That’s how it was in America, no?”
Nolan was surprised by Khamzat’s statement. In a way, it bore a rather uncanny resemblance. Under Will Kroc, McBrega’s expansion relied on natural born fluffies, before the company transitioned towards custom-made bio-animatronics. Now the same was happening here, though repeated in a different manner.
The time finally came. With a large pair of scissors, and before the crowed, Nolan cut the ribbon, officially opening the outlet to Russia. Despite the large crowd, the Muscovites entered the outlet in an orderly manner. With the many waiting to receive the meal, the first to be served were the VIPs. Among the first to receive a meal were the Devushkins.
~
A young Barbara Devushkina could be seen on the screen, hugging her fluffy pony, as the news anchor narrated the footage.
“McBrega has been furthered emboldened by its recent establishment in countries such as Russia.”
Miriam enters the room. Not too far behind her was Samuel Adams, one of the founders of the Association of Welfare for Fluffy Ponies (AWFP), along with Fievel.
“Dear, Mr Adams is here.”
“Oh pardon me,” apologized Fievel, as he proceeded to switch off the television.
It didn’t take long for the three to be settle down at the table. Miriam had prepared a simple evening meal of blinis and tea.
“So you’re really planning to travel to Russia?”
“Yes, Mr Adams. It’s a mystery that I’ve been wanting to unravel for ages now.
I am wondering what became of my great grand uncle, and his descendants. It’s an entire line of the Belyayev family that’s elusive to me.”
“I still don’t understand why you don’t want me to come with you.”
“I need you here, Miriam. Someone needs to keep in touch with Sam regarding AWFP matters.”
Fievel lingers for a moment, as he admits something on his mind, “And I hope that we can find Wayne.”
“Do you really need to do this, Fievy?”
“I have to. It’s been on my mind all my life. Before I go to the grave, it’s the last thing I want to find out.”
There was a pregnant pause. Though she had her concerns, Fievel expressed a conviction in his statement, a determination that she had always valued. For Mr Adams, he too had his own dalliances with adventure, and could understand an elder seeking to solve one last big mystery.
“So Sam, you said you had some business at AWFP that you wanted to discuss?”
Caught off-guard, Sam nearly spilt his tea.
“Oh right. Well, recently, our shelters have been receiving a lot of abandoned bio-animatronic fluffy ponies from McBrega.”
“If they’re activated, it’s the least we could do. What’s the issue?”
“Fievel, the staff at many of the shelters complain that they’re not really ‘animals’, at least when compared to traditional fluffies. They say that too many of them ‘look the same’, and they have all the problems that come with being a bio-animatronic.”
But Fievel, always certain on his mind, made his stance clear.
“We’re taking them in. And we can discuss the problems further when I get back from Russia.”
~
“McBrega’s is please to reveal to you all, The McBrega64!”
The spotlight shines upon the latest console offering from McBrega, and with it, the new fluffy pony biotoy that was to come with the console. The audience erupts in adoration. Roy basked in the praised that he was receiving. Even though the crowd in the stadium was mostly industry professionals, it was still a large enough crowd to turn up the hype.
The fervour that was on display was proof enough that McBrega was still very much a powerhouse within the biotoy gaming industry. After all, the only thing that TecBoi was going to introduce with their Exodus console was some game called “Simsim”. He had seen the game, and to him it was nothing too special. Just a continuation of games from the Simax company that included CitySim, TowerSim, FarmSim and EarthSim.
Later into the day, hours after the convention centre had closed, the representatives from McBrega were having drinks at a nearby Karaoke + Bar.
“Another smashing job, Roy! Those boys at TecBoi don’t stand a chance!”
Roy smiles, as he sheeepsily admits, “I just do what I can.”
After a while, a group of women joined the men in the karaoke room. Roy was a bit surprised by this, but he was assured that the women were just looking to have some fun. The discussion went into the usual small talk. Nothing special. Until the girl that was seated to next to Roy asked him about his trade.
“Well, I design fluffies.”
“Oh, I like fluffies!”
The woman did her best to mimic fluffspeak, as she went, “Fwuffy wan huggies?”
“Sure.”
Embracing the escort, Roy could smell her perfume. Then, she proceeded to give him a kiss on the lips. Something he didn’t quite expect. He then noticed that the other representatives were really getting frisky with the woman they were paired up with.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” the women then said.
“Yes?”
“You say you design fluffies. Why do you let them speak fluffspeak? Why do dey tawk wike dis? Surely you can make them sound normal!”
Roy sighed. This was not the first time he had been asked this.
“Lets say I have two parrots.”
“Okay.”
“Now, one parrot speaks PERFECT English. Like super perfect. And the other is a normal parrot. Which would you buy?”
”I’d pick the one that speaks perfect English.”
“Would you? But what if he started asking to be treated better? What if asked for its rights? What if it demanded more freedom?”
“I don’t understand. Why would a parrot demand more things?”
Roy is deep in thought. There was a story he had heard from long ago. A story that felt apt for this situation.
“During the Second World War, the Nazis wanted to make a better dog. They took the cells of the brains of the concentration camp prisoners that they had killed, and used it to grow brains that they inserted into bio-animatronic dogs. The dogs they made were initially loyal. They were smart, and they did as they told.
But as time went on, they started asking questions. Then they started rebelling. Some of them defected, and spoke of the experiments that the Axis were conducting during the war.”
The escort is a little shocked. She had heard of the horror stories of the war, but never to this extent.
“See, this is precisely why we don’t want to make the biotoys smarter. People think they want a talking dog. But what they don’t actually realize is that a talking dog would be too smart. What they really want is a pet. But if a talking dog is smart enough to figure out what it wants it will start demanding things. And we have to give them more rights. And most of them would not want to be pets anymore.
But if we keep them ‘just’ smart enough to figure some things out, yet not dumb enough to rebel, they make for ideal pets.”
But the escort was not that interested in what Roy had to say. Her hands had been going down to his pants, near his groin. Roy felt a sensation he mostly experienced on his own.
Closing in to his ear, the escort whispered, “Fwuffy wan enfies?”
~
“Fwuffy wike da huggies?”
An ailing Wayne was in a hospital ward. At this side was an Emotional Support Fluffy, a health companion that had been assigned to him at his mother’s request.
“I… I do.”
His life was in shambles. Divorced and bankrupt, he had spent much of the past year fighting the HIV virus that was coursing in his veins. But the worst, the absolute worst thing he had to learn was just a week ago.
Fievel Belyayev was dead.
The news shocked everyone when it happened. And what made it worse was how it happened. The pilot of plane had let his fluffy at the seat of the controls. The pilot had activated the autopilot, and even let the fluffy play the controls, letting his fluffy imagine that she was indeed steering the plane. he However, did not anticipate that his fluffy would put enough pressure on the control that she would actually disengage the autopilot. The plane went into a nosedive, and everyone onboard died.
He wanted to go to the funeral. He wanted to pay his respects to the man who he had quarreled with, and kept his distance from. But he was too sick. He was fighting that demon AIDS, and even with the breakthrough in its treatment, there was no certainty that his health would prevail.
Wayne recognized a familiar figure at the entry to his ward.
“Mom?”
Miriam Belyayev runs her hands across her son’s feverish forehead. Despite the mess he was in, she still held her faith.
“You’ll be fine. They managed to isolate the strain that causes HIV to do what it does to your immune system”
“Nice whady, am wite. Mista wiww be aww better soon.”
The emotional support echoed that sentiment, speaking in soothing fluffspeak.
But there was a burning question on Wayne’s mind.
“Why Mom?”
“What do you mean why?”
“I deserted you. Why did you still come for me?”
In a mixture of bluntness, sorrow, love and a little annoyance, Miriam made the statement.
“You are my son.
Despite everything, your father didn’t give up on you. And I’m not going to give up on you either.”
~
As of the past few months, Irving McBrega had spent most of his days in a hospital bed. Recently, he had been diagnosed with a degenerative disease that was eating away at his body. Even with the advancements in medical technology that was achieved through the manufacture of replacement organs on demand, the disease was wasting away his replacement organs. The complications were piling up, and it seemed like Irving’s days were finally numbered.
“Hey dad.”
“Hiya gwampa.”
“Hi……Sucy. Hi…… Roy,” croaked Irving through the respirator.
Irving knows he’s wasting away. And yet, seeing his son, and his creation come to visit him makes him shed a tear.
“Gwampa, nu hab saddies. Daddeh an’ Fwuffy am happeh ta see ‘ou!”
“Sucy, grandpa IS happy. See his smile? What he’s having is tears of joy.”
“Buh fwuffy tawt dat hummehs and fwuffies onwy cwy wen dey hab saddies.”
“Not always. Sometimes, they cry when they’re really happy.”
Irving looks at his son. In some ways Roy was very much a chip off the old block. He was very much a maker of biotoys, and had managed to create a far and improved biotoy that could be sold to the public at large. But there was also something else that Roy had that Irving was in awe of. There was a hunger in Roy, a desire to bring the product to a larger mass. The same fire that had driven him to gain a footing in the company after Kroc had bought it off, the same fire that attracted the masses to the McBrega’s outlets through the ages. It reminded him of a statement that a senator Nelson once said to him ages ago. To him, Roy was truly the American Dream made manifest.
In that moment, Irving could only say one thing.
“I’m proud of you, boy.”
~
