Disclaimer: I don't own Vocaloid.

Everyone loves the circus. After all, it's main reason for existence is to entertain, right?

To look at all of the amazing things that humans (or not-so-humans) can do?

To see, in amazement, the freaks and creatures that exist in this world?

Outside of the arena, it's all fun and laughs, as the smell of popcorn wafts through the seating and the sun seems to gleam a little more to throw red and yellow circus tent light around and distort everything into a whimsical picture of fun.
Inside of the arena, however, it's... Not nearly as fun. Having to perform for jeering crowds, being mocked for deformity, it's not quite as happy as it seems on the outside. Surely making people laugh and have fun isn't such a bad thing, but there are some horrible things that can rapture the attention of the masses.
While the classic circus clown set up or freak show will attract attention, a good torture session is what really brings in the money. Whether it's watching victims fighting the lions set loose on them, or what my company affectionately calls 'acid baths,' it's so much worse having to watch over and over and over again, because there isn't one city where that attraction doesn't draw crowds. I don't know how anyone could possibly go into this business and willingly stay there.
I don't know why I stay here, either. I would leave if I could, but I'm in the freak section of the circus.

The freak section can never leave, ever.

Sure, we're given the liberty of not being put in cages that the mentally insane people use (probably because it's too expensive), but it's impossible to shake off the existence of the circus, regardless of how far you are from it. Cripples, the deformed, the surgically altered... They aren't accepted into regular society. And we've heard the stories, too. Every story ends in death, from execution in the streets or starvation.
The worst stories end with the runaway sent back to the circus.

Once a runaway, you become part of the torture segment of the show. Thrown in with the lions, given your own special acid bath… It's sick and despicable, but it's supposed to keep us in line, and it works.

In my own opinion, I don't think I really look like a deformed freak. I'm pretty normal looking as a thirteen-year-old boy. My name is Oliver. I wear an old sailor jacket from my father, along with a white button down and shorts. It's all I have in terms of clothing. Better than nothing, which is exactly what you get if you take things for granted. I also wear his old hat, which hides my messy hair. I've had a British accent that's never been shaken off after all these years, and I'm blonde with gold-tinted eyes.

Well, only one eye.

My deformity comes from my robotic eye. It makes me sick to look at it, and most of the time, when I'm not performing, I try to cover it with a bandage. I can't remember the times when I used to have both eyes very well, and I don't remember when I got a robot eye to replace it at all. I came into the circus as a toddler, though, maybe three or four. My parents have been reduced to voices in my memory, and the world goes fuzzy when I try to think of what it's like outside of the circus.
While I don't know much about how life works outside of here and what I do know is limited, I think that my time at the circus has simply been hell. One that I'll never be able to escape, until I die. Maybe not even then. At one point, I couldn't even imagine how I could possibly go on, that there was nothing more life had to offer someone like me.

It was honestly spiraling downhill fast, and it was getting worse.

That is, until I met her.

A/N: First Vocaloid fiction, so don't expect too much out of it, hehe. ^^
I'm thinking there might be a lemon in the future. Though the fact that this is such an unusual pair... I don't know.
Reviews are appreciated!