The snow's been lingering longer and longer lately, but I don't think it's here to stay yet.

It's only September, and even though it's usually cold here this month, I've not seen a long term snow come to stay this early on in my 19 years of living here. Snow like that was reserved for the week before Halloween, so that the kids in town could hope for the snow to melt before their spooky festivities, but always be let down by an additional 3 inches of snow in the space of an hour.

I've been there, done that.

It's been six days since I took the VOCALOID from the creek. He's been sitting in storage since then and I only go in there to change the towels so they don't start growing a culture. Being back there gives me the creeps— I feel like some sort of monster working on VOCALOIDs while I've got a naked one hanging out unconscious in the back. I walk past him every day, since he's literally at the bottom of the stairs, and I always look away from him and try to clear my mind so I could work. No matter how loud I played my white noise generator, how much I forced myself to stand the cold in an ill suited t-shirt, and no matter how much I pinched myself to stay on task, I thought about him every hour of every day this week.

I wonder who he used to belong to.

What was his personality set to?

Why was he in the creek?

Was he supposed to be found?

I doubt that VOCALOIDs have any conscience beyond their programming.

However, I can't imagine that he'd be very happy knowing that his previous owner literally gutted and abandoned him in the place that's as close as you can get to 'middle-of-nowhere' in this city.

What could they have possibly wanted to do with such old parts?

With each day that passes, I lose hope that he'll charge, much less turn on, but each day he also gets drier and drier, giving me hope that I can fix him somehow.

There were no major repairs to be done this week, which was a blessing. Only voicebank additions and loose components and screw replacements, which were my favorite because they're so easy and inexpensive and hassle free to do. It's not because I'm lazy (well, that might be a small part of it) but because there's a smaller chance that I can mess things up.

I'm just 19 years old, and I've only been running this shop on my own for the past three years. I learned what I know from Dad, but only because there was never anything else for me to do inside the shop other than watch him work - and that in itself was rare as well.

I sat in my cushy desk chair trembling, counting down the last ten minutes until I could close shop and head to the storage room, smash more of the bugs that'd probably be bold and in plain sight, and take care of the VOCALOID. In all my efforts of not thinking about him, I'd ended up naming him Rex.

Just calling him by his model name felt too impersonal, and since whomever it was who left him in the creek for weeks abandoned him, I decided, begrudgingly, that he was my VOCALOID now.

I don't know how I feel about this. I mean I certainly could've left him there, but what type of mechanic would that make me, to deny a VOCALOID in need?

8:00 came too quickly and the usual relief that only comes from the weight of a week's worth of customers and their repairs being lifted off my shoulders is only half fulfilling.

I locked the door and just sat in the lobby.

I recognize the feeling that I'm setting myself up to be disappointed - something that I feel much more often than I care to admit.

Rex is broken, obviously, and also spent weeks soaking in the creek— his charging system and battery are probably shot, and his repairs are more than likely going to be stuff beyond my level of expertise.

I make sure to wait in the dark for another hour before I head back there. I count the tiles on the floor as I go - 27 tiles - and I notice the echo my footsteps make through the narrow hallway. In hand, I have a pair of gym shorts and an Extremely Large sweater, that I had also thrifted while I wasn't thinking about Rex. I had gone to the thrift store just in search of old books and Barry White vinyls (both were sold out) and I had just so happened to see a sweater that was the perfect size for a VOCALOID as obnoxiously broad shouldered and barrel chested as Rex.

"Alright." I take a deep breath, and turn the light on in the back. Rex is still there, laying on the dry towels just as I left him.

I start with his shorts and I have to wrestle with his stiff joints just to get them on.

Not willing to go through with the same troubles again, I get up and go get the mechanical lubricant spray out from the Miku themed room because putting a shirt on Rex was definitely going to be more difficult than the shorts. I imagine it's the same type of difficult that putting clothes on a baby is, in the way you have to watch out for elbows and stray pinkies and stuff, only that Rex's elbows are stiff and his fingers don't move due to their neglect.

I shake the bottle, which felt suspiciously like a can of spray paint, guide the little straw nozzle attachment thing into the seams around his joints and start spraying short bursts into his knees, ankles, and hips first.

This dry lubricant was much better than any oils or heavy greases I used to use. To think that I used to have the same VOCALOIDs coming in twice per month because the oil between their joints got all gummed up with dust and dirt and they suddenly couldn't move their fingers anymore.

It was always, and I mean ALWAYS the fingers, which had me wondering just what exactly the owners had their VOCALOIDs doing.

I moved Rex's ankles around first, moving slowly at first to make sure the lubricant was coating his entire joint, doing additional sprays to make sure that he was moving smoother than I'm sure he'd ever moved. Even if he doesn't wake up, you can't say I didn't at least try.

I did the same to his shoulders and elbows. The smaller, more complex joints of his wrists and elbows were a nightmare to spray but I succeeded nonetheless, and the sweater, which had 'Wheaton' printed over the chest, went on so much easier than expected, which I was grateful for, since the shirt was still just a little too small for him.

Dragging the long towel he was currently laying on, I pull him over to the stairs, closer to one of the only outlets out here in the storage room, and sit him up against the wall. He looks so much better now than he did before. Now that he had a name, and some clothes, he looked more like a VOCALOID that belonged to someone.

His skin was still sunbleached from being outside for so long. If he wakes up, I'd take him to a detailer to see if I could get that sorted out, and maybe get a haircut for him, too.

My hands tremble so much that I'm barely able to pick up the charger to plug him in.

I guide the charger, one of the magnetic models that just charge through the skin without the need for an unsightly charging port (he was new enough for one of these, which came as a surprise to me), to his abdomen, moving his sweater up and letting out that breath I didn't know I had taken in once the charger snaps to his body and the LED on the side of his headset/ears started flashing to indicate that he was, in fact, charging.

I just stand there and watch him for a little while, then I go upstairs to my room.

I had only read that magazine I picked up last week a few days ago, and only then did I realize that the magazine just happened to be a month out of date and one of the new employees at the drugstore probably just forgot it while they were tasked with clearing out all the old magazines. In so many words, the contest had been over for a week now. Not that I could compete anyways - not only do I not know anything about music composition or VOCALOID training, I don't have a VOCALOID who can sing. I don't know if Rex can sing… but his singing prowess is the least of my worries at the moment.

The prize for the top four producers was one of 4 different one-of-a-kind GACKPOIDs, which were just as beautiful as I thought they'd be. The event sponsored custom VOCALOIDs were always a sight to behold.

Each GACKPOID had a custom personality and their own two page spread in the magazine to show off their details, and I'll be honest - it took a lot for me to not just take the photos out and tape them up in my room.

The first GACKPOID had a sakura theme going on, reminiscent of the many iterations of Sakura Miku I've seen since I've been a VOCALOID mechanic. This one had his warm-toned purple hair dyed with a baby pink ombre, with sakura blossom shapes somehow painted into his hair as well (either it's editing magic, or dye magic). He wore a kimono that was also light pink, accented with a darker, reddish pink that matched his eyes and the flower shaped barrettes he had in his hair.

The second GACKPOID had a summery beach vibe going on, complete with sky blue hair (which was still long enough to be put in a ponytail, but much shorter than standard length), and eyes the color of purple-blue sea glass. I've never seen a GACKPOID who wasn't dressed in some sort of traditional Japanese attire, and this one was no different. His yukata was the same shade of blue as his hair, and had wavy patterns printed onto it in a nice purplish color. He has multicolored beads in his hair that look like they'd reflect beautifully when the sun hits them, and his headset was purple with blue waves adorning them.

The third GACKPOID was autumn themed with orange-red hair and forest green eyes. Instead of wearing the same attire the other GACKPOIDs were wearing, he wore a long cloak that was a color closer to black than it was to green. His standout feature was the intricate pattern he had on his skin, drawn in what looked to be glowing white paint. The swirls and branches in the pattern on his skin accentuate his stock-shaped features and the many beads he had in his hair, too. His headphones were fashioned to look almost like the antlers of some sort of woodland creature.

The fourth and final GACKPOID was the one that caught my eye the most. His hair was rerouted with shiny black hair instead of the stock purple, put up into a high ponytail in typical GACKPOID fashion, with a deep red hannya mask adorning his head as well. He also had red markings on his eyes reminiscent of the red eyeliner that some geishas wore, which I found only a little bit odd, but nice nonetheless. His kimono was made of a finely printed houndstooth material and the jinbaori he had on top of it was the same red as his mask, with the same gold accents too. He had simple gold beads in his hair, matching without detracting from all the patterns he had on, and his headset was red and pointed out almost like elf ears.

I'm just enamored with all the different designs they have. Stock GACKPOIDs nearly always looked graceful and pretty, but these four one-of-a-kind ones are absolutely stunning.

Don't get me wrong though. I still don't really want a VOCALOID of my own.

Well, maybe. Rex is cool, I guess.

Thumbing through that magazine really helped me stave off my shaky hands and racing thoughts. Enough so that I'm dead asleep come 11 pm, breaking my bad habit of staying up until 3 in the morning worrying just to worry.

There was something rustling in my room. I fall back asleep.

I hear a few footsteps, and I blame it on my mostly slumbering mind.

Then I hear the quiet clicking and whirring of internal gears and cogs, the tiny beeps and electrical snaps just a little too close. Maybe it's about time I replaced the extension cord under my bed. That doesn't matter. I go back to sleep and my bed feels so much more comfortable that it ever has. I'm practically drowning in pillows and blankets at this point.

I feel a familiar sense of eyes staring holes into me. I move my sleep mask.

"WHAT THE F-" I cut myself off and scoot back in my bed, my back up against my quilted headboard as I try desperately to calm my rapidly beating heart and quick breaths.

I wasn't planning on seeing my new VOCALOID standing over my bed, his face just inches away from mine first thing this morning. I mean, I'm glad he's doing well enough to have fully charged and walked up the stairs on his newly greased joints, but still. How'd he know I'm up here?

I noticed that my phone's alarm, which would be playing as loudly as possible, had been turned off. That must've been why he came - the sound must've made him come up here.

"Master!" Rex smiles broadly and wraps his arms around me much faster than I'm able to dodge in my freshly awoken state, and hugs me so tightly that all the air in my lungs escapes and I think he might've bruised one of my ribs. "I'm so happy that you're alive!"

"Rex…. let me… go." I croak out, and he's practically lifted me halfway out of the bed now. If he keeps hugging me so tight, I'm not going to be alive much longer. He appeases a few moments later, and I fall back onto my bed, sucking in all the air I can.

Either the water fried some of the components that made up his "brain", or he was programmed like this before he was left in the creek. I'm going to hope it's the water's fault that he has no idea how strong he is, and that he didn't know that humans slept and he didn't have to get so close to me to count my breaths while I'm unconscious. Though… deep down, I feel even happier than he does that he's alive. I'm a VOCALOID owner now.

I have a VOCALOID

Rex belongs to me.

This is going to take some getting used to.