A/N: Welcome to more randomly cracktacular Ulquiorra humiliation! Featuring falling facial features and bad deep south accents! Prepare! (And yes, there is a reason he speaks English. But you don't deserve to know just yet.)

HURT

Ulquiorra stepped off the alleged "aeorplane" and took in a breath of less-stale air. Finally, after so many hours cramped onboard with humans, he had reached his destination: Houston, Texas. Now, normally he would not have put up with these conditions, preferring to rip through a garganta, but Aizen-sama had stressed the importance of living as a human in a gigai. For his master's favour alone, he now stalked through the "airport", handbag over one shoulder and full airsick bag in the corresponding hand.

"Customs," he muttered, searching for the sign. He spotted it to the left of the terminal and dragged his feet over. The bullish man in a cowboy hat who manned the counter eyed him suspiciously.

"Passport," he said in a sticky southern drawl. Ulquiorra produced the booklet which Zael had so lovingly compiled for him (after about three direct threats from Aizen-sama). The officer studied the picture for a full minute before speaking again.

"Mr... Urkel Aizen?" he grunted.

"Ulquiorra," the Espada corrected in a monotone.

"Whatever. This isn't you."

"Of course it is." Well, it was true! Granted, this was a photograph he had stolen from his mother's wallet not long ago while she held a cocktail party, but it was definitely him... just less dead.

"You ain't got no tears in this picture."

"Nonsense," he droned. "You just can't see them."

"And would you please remove yer hat?"

"This?" asked Ulquiorra, indicating the remnants of his mask. "I'm afraid you can't remove it."

"What do you have in your carry-on?" the officer asked with narrowed eyes.

"My zanpakutou."

"And what's that?"

"Something I use to kill people. It's a sword."

The man jumped back and fingered a black object on his collar. "We have a situation at international arrivals," he said. "Subject is armed and dangerous. Possible drug user!"

Ulquiorra rolled his eyes. What was the harm of carrying a defensive weapon? He was so tempted to fire cero but did not want to destroy the delicate sleeves of his human dress shirt. He was accosted in an instant anyway, but four men in visored helmets, wearing armour and holding large human weaponry.

"Freeze, bitch!" cried one. "We be haulin' your ass to the can!"

Ulquiorra sighed deeply. The word "CERO" echoed through his mind demandingly. He followed the men quietly, severely limited by his wretched gigai. They dragged him into a sterile white room and slammed his bag down on the table. One angry fellow unzipped it and looked inside.

"Nothing," he muttered. Ah, naturally, such trashy souls would never see his marvellous zanpakutou.

"Look, Elquiere," said a portly man. "Take off yer shit."

"Ulquiorra," the Arrancar murmured. He complied, however, per Aizen-sama's orders to act natural. All that remained were his mask and a charm anklet fashioned of broken masks by Wonderweiss. He stood completely naked, otherwise.

"Take off the helmet."

"I can't."

The tallest of the men grabbed the edges of his mask and pulled, only annoying Ulquiorra and accomplishing little else. "Damn, this shit's fused to his skull or somethin'!"

Ulquiorra bristled and reached two fingers under the front edge to scratch his sweating scalp. A man yelped at how easily the mask moved and the portly one slipped on a glove.

"Now then, Orchid," he said, flashing his teeth, "bend down."

"It's Ulquiorra and what..."

Ulquiorra never finished his question, but it was answered so shockingly a moment later that his eye fell from its socket. "Aizen-sama," he croaked, "I die!"

Poorly written preview:

What's happening to poor Ulquy? WHO WILL SAVE HIS SOUL? Find out next time!