Rex seems to have some sort of issue with personal space.

He was in my hip pocket as I picked out the outfit I was going to wear today, his feet magically made their way under mine somehow as I went to the kitchen, and he stood just mere inches away from me as I made a simple bowl of cereal, watching with pure amazement as though he was unfamiliar with the arcane magic that was Aldi's brand Crispy Rice and almond milk. If we were any closer, we'd be inside each other, which was a thought I shuddered at.

"Rex." I say, and it comes out a little firmer than I'd want, but I literally had just woken up and I haven't had a chance to eat my breakfast yet.

"Yes, Master?"

"You don't have to stand so close to me."

Rex takes a few steps back and sits across from me at the little folding table I kept in the kitchen. He's so funny looking, a large VOCALOID in such a smallish chair, and he's careful not to bump the table with his knees as he sits and it's only now that I notice that no one has sat in that chair for years now. There were two chairs at the table, and I only ever sat in the one I'm sitting in right now. I've been thinking of putting it in storage somewhere, but I never got around to it. There's no use now, anyways.

I don't really like how Rex calls me Master, to be honest. It's the basic greeting that VOCALOIDs use when they're referring to their owner (which, like most things, can be changed) but right now I can't think of another title I can use that didn't sound so…. like that.

I check my email and respond to the simple google-able customer questions in there between unsatisfying soggy bites of Rice Krispies, scroll through Twitter, retweeting any info about upcoming VOCALOID events as I take bites of the apple I sliced.

Today, I think that I'll go to that nice hair salon that's about an hour south of here. Treating myself is something I have trouble doing, so that should be a step in the direction of doing so.

But, I have a feeling that they won't let Rex in there, because of how he looks. The only difference he has now compared to how he looked only last week is that he's clothed now and that he's not covered in creek grime anymore. His outfit barely matches and he doesn't even have shoes yet. I don't want him to feel out of place against all the fashionable ZOLA Project VOCALOIDs that'd probably be in there or anything.

I can't leave him here, because he'll probably find a way to burn the place down, and possibly hurt himself with the tools and software downstairs… or break everything. Plus, you're not supposed to leave a VOCALOID at home unless they've been trained to take care of the house and stay home anyways (I highly doubt Rex has been trained to do that, just based on how he's been acting).

I also can't just leave him in the car, either. An image of Rex busting the windows to get out and join me in the salon comes to mind, and so does an image of some wackos busting my windows to get Rex out just because they think it's cruel to keep a VOCALOID in a car for some reason, and I almost feel my bank account shuddering in fear at the prospect of paying to get my windows replaced.

Dammit, I'll just do my hair at home. I'll look up a tutorial on styling VOCALOID hair— I doubt it's that complicated.

Rex was looking out the small window next to the table, out to that little soul patch of crunchy hay-colored grass that was outside, and the parking lot with its shitty asphalt rife with crater sized potholes, and to my car too.

I wonder what he's thinking about. He woke up in a much better mood than I was expecting, but maybe that's just because of his model. Personalities differ from android to android, and I've only met two other BIG ALs, but both were just big softies. I've only known Rex for a few hours now, but I have a feeling that he's going to be the same.

He's probably just taking everything in right now, and I feel kind of bad about sitting here and eating my breakfast in silence without talking to him or anything. I know that you're able to talk to your VOCALOID… But about what? Most of the VOCALOIDs I see on TV do little menial tasks like play music, do calculations, or check on your stocks for you. There's a few different plugins you can get that allow your VOCALOIDs to do other things too, like tell jokes and stuff, but Rex is completely bare of all plugins and everything, other than his battery and voice, it seems.

Rex turns to look at me and I can almost see a question trying to be formed in his mind. I didn't think I was sitting here staring at him for as long as I have been. I want to ask him what he remembers about his old master. What he remembers about the moments leading up to being dumped in the creek.

"I'm going to do your hair today, Rex. How's that sound?" I say.

Now that I think about it, my hair could probably last another day before it was time for me to wash it. Maybe after I do his hair, I can go out and look for an outfit for him too, then I can go to the salon tomorrow instead.

I watch his face for a response, waiting while he thinks about it as though this were some sort of life-or-death situation, before finally he responds with a simple "Okay, Master".

There's no room for personality when you're missing so many of your components, I suppose.

If I have enough money after buying his clothes, which I probably will thanks to the repairs I've done this month, I'll be sure to buy some components soon. I haven't even begun to think about what sort of personality I want him to have. Curious? Friendly? Kind?

Maybe I'll just take him to a component store and let him pick his personality instead.

Rex gets up at the same exact second as I do, and stands idly in the middle of the kitchen while I wash my dishes and put them back in the cabinet where they belong. I fold the chair he was sitting in at the table and before I can even lift it, Rex takes it from my hands.

"Oookay…" I say, under my breath - I wasn't expecting him to take it from my hands. I was totally capable of bringing it into the bathroom on my own, but I guess that's what he's here for - to make things easier.

Wielding one of my many trusty combs and a spray bottle heavy with a solution of water and sweet-smelling moisturizing conditioner, I mentally prepare myself to tackle Rex's hair, which was a lot more tangled and unkempt than I remember it being.

I spray his entire head with the conditioner, careful not to spray his face on accident, and I can't help but notice that even though it's of higher quality, a VOCALOID's hair feels kind of like Barbie hair, or kind of like the more expensive braiding hair I can buy at the beauty supply. This'll be easy. If I had a quarter for every hour I spent detangling hair, I'd have enough money to close the shop and live on my own private island.

A few passes of my comb and a gallon of elbow grease later, I've detangled his hair enough that I can see the little sections of white hair on his temples, solidifying that (if his size didn't give it away) Rex was, in fact, a BIG AL. Rex just sits there, unnervingly silent, looking around to count how many of the tiles on the floor were cracked, and how it was about time I bought a new rug because the one I was standing on did no favors in protecting my bare feet from the coldness of the tile.

"Rex, do you remember anything about your old master?" comes spilling out from my mouth, and Rex doesn't immediately respond. He just sits there, looking down at the floor, idly tapping his fingers against his knees.

I get the old pair of clippers out of the closet, trying to remember the technique used in the YouTube tutorial I'd watched earlier.

"You are my master." Rex says. Incorrect response. It's probably due to water damage, component loss, or any of the other numerous cards stacked against him.

"Okay." I say. There's not really any use in interrogating him right now. How does he know that I'm his master? He's not registered to me. All the water inside him definitely fried the registration chip.

I use the comb to hold his hair, starting at the nape of his neck, shaving down the already short hair with unsteady hands as I try to crudely emulate the slight fade the overly bubbly woman in the video did.

What happened to how Rex was acting earlier? VOCALOIDs don't act like that fresh out the box (which aside from the damage, was where Rex would be right now). They don't wake you up with bone crushing hugs, especially not when they're missing a personality.

It takes a while for me to get the fade even.

I reach into the bag on the counter and get out the foam rollers I used to use back when my hair was relaxed, carefully rolling sections of Rex's hair into them. You can't use heat tools like a curling iron on synthetic VOCALOID hair, and I want his hair to have a sort of wavy pompadour type of look, like the greasers from the fifties.

"Rex, do you know who your master was?" I ask again, speaking slower, with more emphasis as though that'd help him pull his nonexistent memories out from the components probably still lost deep under the creek rocks.

"YYYY-ou Rr-mmY MAst3rR" Comes out of Rex, his voice suddenly turned up to its maximum volume, harsh and grating as it bounced off the walls and into my ears. "m4s-~tER, MaSZtt-TtR, MA—" he repeats himself over and over, until he suddenly falls silent.

"...Rex?" No response. "Rex, are you okay?"

It's then that I notice that he'd shut himself down, so I run as quickly as I can downstairs to get one of the chargers. His battery was probably low, and he didn't notify me. How long could he have possibly been awake? I don't move him out of the chair, I just plug in the charger and hook him up just in here while.

Why the hell did that happen? My heart was still beating out of my chest at the sudden loud noise.

I focus on the sound of the blow dryer, the way its heatless setting was so much quieter than its normal setting, and how the noise echoed softly off the walls in the tiny room, how its whisper blew the little hair clippings off of Rex's shoulders and onto the floor to be swept up later.

I take the rollers out of his hair once they've dried, careful not to crush the synthetic curls in my slightly clammy, cold hands, and pick them apart with a light coating of eco styler gel on my fingers. The haircut looked a lot better than I was expecting— the fade looked like it had been done by an amateur of coutse, but the waviness in his hair now and the perfect coil on his forehead more than made up for what that lacked.

I rest my hands on his shoulders, and try to loosen the furrow in my brow and the frown on my face before I find the power button at the side of his neck. He stirs not before long, and adjusts himself for balance in the chair.

"Rex, are you okay? You kind of… spooked me there." I ask, not moving my hands off his shoulders yet. I find myself rubbing light, nervous circles— maybe he wasn't as okay as I had originally thought.

"Yes." He says. "I am Sorry, Master."

In one of the counter drawers, under a bunch of broken rubber bands and old containers of hair products I had decided were shit, I find the hand mirror I'd been looking for and give it to Rex, who opens his hand but doesn't wrap his fingers around it for some reason, so I carefully do it for him.

"Here. I finished your haircut." No response. "Rex, do you like your new haircut?"

"Yes, Master."

I can't help but frown. As life threatening as it was, I want the Rex from this morning back. Even if he was watching me sleep, turned my alarm off so I overslept, and nearly suffocated me, he was much more interesting than this simple Yes/No Rex I have now. He wasn't even looking at himself in the hand mirror, he was just staring vacantly like he had been doing at the tiles earlier, and the window outside.

"I'm going to fix you." I pat his shoulder a final time. "I'm going to fix you."

I had no idea which internals of his were fried, nor to what extent, but damn if it wasn't my job to fix this problem.

"Okay, Rex, stand up, please." I command, and he stands up instantly. I fold up the chair, and he doesn't take it from me this time as I put it back in it's rightful spot in the kitchen. He is close behind me though, as he always has been.

It seems like he's only capable of the most basic functions all VOCALOIDs have at the moment— yes/no, doing simple tasks, and following a master around. He can't talk to me, or tell me anything, because he's broken.

I can't help but daydream about him talking one day, telling me about something he dreamt about, or something about his old master. Waiting around a corner so he can scare me when I walk past. Reading me a headline… just… something. I want him to tell me something other than yes or no, other than his battery status, other than "I'm sorry" or "you're my master"... I just don't know how long that'll take.