Electricity is in the air as I fingers strum against the strings of my guitar. Sweat beads on my forehead. The music is roaring around me as I let forth another epic riff. "Upside down – A – B – A – B – B – A – B –A," the words sound from my sister hypnotically as I spin on my booted heel and face her. She gives me a sultry grin and I wink in response as we continue our ministrations. The music drowns out the crowd who roars for us as I take the opportunity to take a few intense steps forward, standing in the foreground.

Wearing little more than a vest, left open, black, glimmering pants, both of which are made of leather, and a pair of combat boots, I can hear the screams of our adoring fans as I drag a few fingers down my chest, wiping away sweat before bringing it to my mouth. Weird things like this seem to bring out the best in crowds, and by the roars that succeed my strange actions, I know I've done my job. Hurrying around, Rin and I switch places as she saunters forward in her white heels, leaning forward and brushing her hand against a man's forehead, to which he seems to, if in spirit, orgasm at the touch.

Ours is a career of debauchery, of pandering to the perverse elements of people's psyches that they would never show in public. But when Len and Rin Kagamine take the stage playing the Cyberpunk Remix of Remote Control, along with many other songs, nobody leaves the concert feeling unaroused. I think it's part of being a former Vocaloid to be a degenerate, really.

The song crescendos around us into the fourth and final stage, and we're both looking appropriately sweat stained and ragged. Taking a moment as Rin sings her own lines, I sprint behind her and pull her hair off her shoulder. These kinds of acts were intensely uncomfortable, but a performer has to sacrifice! I lean very close and give her shoulder the slightest of kisses, and find the action downright repulsive. I imagine she does too, but we have a reputation to keep up, and that reputation keeps good people in good places.

I return to the song with my voice bellowing: "Sit down, sit down, sit down please!" I chant and can almost see a few people in the front rows buckle to my commands and barely stop themselves from doing so. "Goin' around, goin' around, turn it around," I let off another riff from my guitar, and follow it with a screeching squeal as I drag my nails against the cold metal of the strings before finishing the song, back to back with Rin: "Dancin', dancin', dancin' night – beltin' out, singin' now, I wanna be the one like her!"

Our instruments fall silent and the crowd roars, cheering, applauding, screaming our names in a maddened frenzy of hormone driven madness. In truth it's rather disturbing that our target audience is actually younger than ourselves, but, again, whether you still call yourself a Vocaloid or not, teenagers will always lust after you. Standing there, chest expanding and contracting rapidly as I pant after the song, still holding my pose with my sister, we drop our arms in unison and I raise look over the crowd: "Thanks for coming everyone!"

The thousand strong crowd roars my name as I speak, and Rin steps forward, a hand placed seductively on her hip, playing with the frayed ends of the tiny jean cut off shorts she's wearing, "Oh is that how it is, Len?" She teases, pretending to sound annoyed. The crowd lets off an 'ooh' of suspense as she stares at me. I can see in her eye that twinkle of mischief, something that we've both had since we were newcomers to the public eye. "You'll thank them, but not me?!" She flat out states, and I force a blush to myself, letting a crimson paint my pale features. The crowd screams in shock and delight at our somewhat incestual connotations. "We'll have to have a talk!" Her voice echoes through the countless speakers around the stage, and begins to mock drag me off.

Our bouts of sibling rivalry are always received well, so we do them once in a while to entice the fans. It's an exhausting business being a pair of super star twins whose main draw is being strangely close and entirely inappropriate. To think we used to be the cute kids who only sang about cute things. We step off stage and into the curtains behind where we're offered towels. I take my own and discard my leather vest, finding it chafing and uncomfortable. Toweling myself off as I walk, I ignore the congratulatory remarks of the backstage workers: I'm far too tired for pandering!

Rin is drying herself off of her own sweat and grime, and frankly I can see in her eyes that she's getting tired of this shtick. You can only pull off a look for so long, and soon enough we'll have to reinvent the Kagamine twins again. "Len," a voice sounds behind me, and I look back to find our manager hurrying toward me. He's a portly old American with a penchant for clapping me on the shoulder, which I hate, but he's a necessary evil. "Great performance, buddy," he smacks me on the bare shoulder-blade and grins, to which I only roll my eyes as he continues to speak: "The crowd loved you two! But-"

I wave a hand dismissively at him, "Yeah, yeah. I know; VIPs need meeting. Let us at least shower or something? I'm sick of smelling like sweat and my sister. Why do people even like this gag? It's sick!" I groan in annoyance as he fails to understand my point and gives me a confused look. Now standing in the doorway of my dressing room, I run a hand over my long blond hair, left in a loose pony tail that wags around the centre of my shoulder blades, I explain myself. "This whole… almost-incest thing we're doing. It's just weird." He's trying to speak again, but I cut him off; his voice is just annoying: he sounds very cliché.

"Okay, I get it, shut up," I begin to close the door to my dressing room as I step in, "I'll be, like… five minutes. Tell those snivelling fucks to keep it in their pants, okay?" With that said, I slam the door closed and give the wall a firm kick. The room is surprisingly sparse, but that's how I like it. My normal clothes are neatly folded and seated on a chair which is placed before a dressing table and a mirror, while opposite to it is a large wardrobe filled with my stage clothing. On the aforementioned table are my cellphone and ring. The ring is little more than a gold band, and in truth looks more like a wedding ring, but it was nothing of the sort.

A fan gave it to me when I was touring England a year or two ago. Some guy my age said he thought it looked like something I'd like, and it didn't seem like a weird pickup line, so I kept it. It seemed like a good way to not forget who I was doing this for. I don't really remember him anymore, but I'm sure he was one of those dime-a-dozen pricks who you can always forget about.

Returning my attention to my sweat stained self, I forgo the shower, knowing the VIPs will like it more if I seem grungy, and instead merely strip out of the constricting leather and slip on a pair of pants which are styled to seem like a mockery of my former attire as a Vocaloid. Where I once wore a pair of white shorts with gold and black trim, now I wear a pair of pants with one leg stopping at the knee and with such detailing, while the other ends like a normal pant leg would with the same design. Matching it with a black sport coat and a yellow shirt, I decide I've driven home the point that these are my favourite colours enough through my attire and run a hand through my hair.

Looking into the mirror, I find a familiar sight. My boyishly cute features gave way to a slim, stunning young man with high cheekbones, brilliant blue eyes with the same vibrancy as my sister's, and a pointed, proud chin. I'm much more toned than I used to be, which helps when I'm wearing pretty much what a male prostitute would wear on stage, and I seem to attract more fans this way anyways. Slipping my ring on, I check my phone to find a few messages from my friends and coworkers, but one strikes me as odd. It's from a person I haven't spoken to in years.

The message reads: "Hey Len! Saw your performance. Are you sure you're not laying it on a little strong? JK love, I'm just teasing! Want to meet up? I miss your fine caboose!" Miku always had a strange way about making her point, and although we dated for a year, we broke it off when Rin and I decided to continue with our more intense singing and my green haired girlfriend wanted to keep with the Lady Gaga replacement gig. Not that I really ever enjoyed dating her; we barely did anything other than watch movies and bitch about who had worse music.

Moving to the exit of my dressing room, I open the door and step into the cool air that leaks in from the open stage nearby. Night was in full swing since the concert had lasted a few hours, but the roars of patrons outside told me it would continue for some time even without Rin and I singing. The aforementioned sister is walking up to me as I ponder why people hang around for so long, and as I go to greet her, she hooks her arm in the crook of mine and we go to meet the VIPs on the other side of the backstage area. "I heard Miku texted you," she begins with a smirk, and I roll my eyes. "Gonna get back together? The tabloids would have a field day with that."

I laugh coldly at the thought before speaking, "I think I'll pass on playing arm candy to Lady Miku, thank you very much. And for the record you know I don't even-" She shushes me with a wave of her hand as we pass by a few stage hands, and I relent to her wisdom. Best to not let that be known. "Good point, sorry," I apologise a tad meekly, and she smiles at me for a moment. We had always been close all our lives, and with both of us being natural singers and performers, it made sense to go into singing together. The Vocaloid Corporation found us as thirteen year olds and brought us into the fold where we became almost instantly famous for being attractive, exuberant, and willing to sing about anything.

Even as kids we sang about things as innocent as being super heroes to real topics like losing your beloved. The sad songs have always been my favourite, and I miss singing them, but sometimes life has a way of moving you past what you want. "Anyways, I'll hang out with her," I say after a pause, and Rin nods thoughtfully, "We're still friends, even if we're both busy. She and I have a lot of history, so I think it's important we don't let our friendship be destroyed just because we dated." Once more, my sister only nods, a thoughtful look on her face, and I smack her lightly on the arm, scolding her: "Stop thinking about Kaito!" I frown, and she only sighs wistfully, "He's not coming back no matter how much you want. The guy's an asshole and I won't let you waste your time pining for him. You're Rin fucking Kagamine, you can have any guy you want."

She scoffs indignantly at my notion of her having anyone, "I don't want just anyone. Unlike you I don't just parade people through my love life, I'm very picky!" Her critique hits home hard, and my arm tenses in her grasp. She offers me an apologetic look, and I can feel my anger fading quickly; I can never stay mad at her for very long, "Kaito and I were engaged, Len. He told me he loved me all the time and then just one day…" I shush her softly as she falls into morbid thoughts.

"Don't give it any thought. The guy's a douche," I assure her, before smiling a rarely seen smile at her, "Besides, you have me! I'm way better than any blue haired idiot. Ask the tabloids, we're really close," I wink slyly and she only grunts at the things tabloids thought of us and what we did. Many thought we had an incest-born child in Canada while others thought we were secretly married and weren't even related. It was all just an act to garner support, and it worked wonders.

We turn the corner and enter a wide room comprised of a few circular tables and roughly fifteen people gathered around them, talking amongst one another. Rin and I enter as quietly as possible, silently thanking the security guards for situating the VIPs to thinking we'd enter from the far doors, and instead we simply unlink our arms and take a seat at the empty tables on the near side of the room. As opposed to making our presences known, I take out my phone and text Miku, while Rin pulls out a small mirror and fixes her hair. I think it's been over a minute before someone finally turns around and quite literally squeals in delight.

Our cover is blown and the other fourteen are now bearing down on us, jockeying to sit with us. Many of the teenage girls go to sit with Rin, along with a few males likely infatuated with her, while the opposite is the case for me. Somehow we seem to attract a great deal of admiration from the same sex without it even being romantic. Teenage boys seem to admire my brusque attitude in interviews while teenage girls adore Rin's confident demeanor and her stances on bullying and drug abuse. "Oh my god this is cool!" One person looks around excitedly as they sit across from me. Another reaches forward to either stroke my hair or poke my cheek, but in either case I slowly lean back, and they catch the hint: "Oh wow…" She speaks with reverence, "You're hot!"

I laugh a little, and thank her and begin to answer all the questions they have, along with signing all the merchandise they brought with them. After some convincing I'm able to get them to switch seats with those standing so they too can see me. Before me now are two young women looking to be either nineteen or twenty, along with a male seemingly a little order than the previous two. They're all wearing large hoods and are hiding their faces with them, so I decide I'd lessen the awkwardness: "Well then my friends, why the hoods? I don't bite!" I snap my jaws like a dog and grin, "Oh, I guess I do. Better watch out!" We all share a laugh and those behind them seem to lean in at my gruff, jovial nature.

The three before me exchange a few gazes before dropping their hoods, revealing themselves to be none other than Gumi, Luka, and Gakupo. Those gathered shout and scream in shock at the three Vocaloids, both former and current, having snuck into the VIP area. I stand abruptly and before I realise it, Rin and Gumi are embracing each other tightly, laughing and joking already. The fans seem to adore the exchanges and so I grin and fist bump Gakupo, who instead stubbornly grasps my fist and shakes it, as though we were shaking hands. It's a very awkward spectacle and those watching us seem to eat it all up. Turning my attention to Luka, I hug her lightly and she smiles at me before speaking: "Len, you smell awful and look like garbage. You dirty boy, what have you been up to!? This is why you should've stayed with Vocaloid! We kept you under control!"

Gakupo scoffs and waves dismissively, "Don't listen to her!" The ex-Vocaloid assures me, "I love your new look and genre, it's badass." I nod confidently at him and he returns the gesture, before we turn our attention to the fans. We three pose for them in a picture before taking some with each one, and a few group shots. Before I realise it, an hour has gone by and we have to leave. To be quite honest I was enjoying my time with the fans and my old friends, and Rin seemed to be thoroughly enjoying Gumi's company, the two of them feeding off their weirdness. "It's like some sort of weird off with those two… Green haired Honeyworks chick and yellow haired grunge babe," the violet haired man comments.

I'm sitting in a café in Dublin, impatiently waiting for Miku to show up, and I'm quickly realising I wish I had asked Rin to come. A third party would have provided something for us to talk about, as opposed to our complex friendship. However I'm glad the venue is what it is, as I can more easily blend in here; Vocaloid took Europe by storm years ago, but Rin and I don't do as well here because the society isn't as conducive to our kind of music, which is just fine for me.

The smell of coffee beans is thick in the air, and it's really helping me stay awake. The absurd blue haired girl insisted we meet in the morning for some horrible reason, and if not for a few bananas and a litre of coffee, I'd be drooling peacefully on the table, happily asleep. Sets of tables and chairs are strewn about on granite tiled floor, and the dark, woody countenance of the furniture seems to give a soothing atmosphere when coupled with the wallpaper. It really is a nice coffee shop, so I must admit that Miku has good taste in her locale for our meet up.

Alas, I'm awake and bored, so I remove the ring from my middle finger and roll it around in my hand, idly thumbing it about. The morning sunlight catches it and it sparkles brilliantly. It really is a lovely ring, and I wish I could remember the guy who gave it to me, but for the life of me, his face will not come to mind. The door chimes as its pulled open via a small bell above, and I look over to find a familiar face, along with two prominent aquamarine ponytails on either side, trailing behind her person. Wearing a simple floral dress, she looks the part of a Parisian, and she smiles at the man behind the counter on the far side of the establishment. Much to my surprise, no one seems to notice who she is, and I'm deeply grateful that I don't have to deal with being seen in public with my ex.

However more interestingly, following Miku is a young man looking to be twenty or maybe a year or two older. His hair is a bright blond, almost as bright as mine, but it's cropped short and styled in an almost militant style. He's wearing a pair of dress slacks, matching shoes, and a blazer over a collarless button up shirt. Most notably is the fact that he wears a white eyepatch over his left eye and has a few bandages around his hand. He seems familiar, so I assume he's a Vocaloid I haven't met. The two of them bear down on me, and I stand to greet them. Miku embraces me tightly and plants a kiss on my cheek, to which I only roll my eyes. "Len!" She chirps, spinning me around and looking me over. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt, I look entirely the part of a normal person, "What a dull outfit. You can do better," she quips and gives me a sly wink, letting me know she likes what she sees.

"Hello to you too, Miku!" I chuckle and let her go before she takes a seat, before I turn my attention to our third party. Thankfully she had done what I had not and brought someone to break the awkwardness that will undoubtedly begin if I don't say something to him. I extend a hand to him, and nod: "Len Kagamine, but you probably knew that." He takes my hand in both of his and shakes them almost nervously. My cocky disposition seems to have no effect on him, much to my surprise, and he only seems to brighten at my words.

The young man smiles a stunning smile, and I'm taken aback at his positive vibe. "It's bloody great to meet you, Len!" His voice sounds a thick English accent, and he seems to flush at it, "I, uh…" He scratches the back of his head after releasing my hand, "Mister Kagamine, I mean." Motioning for him to sit, I do the same after he does and look to Miku critically. 'What are you planning?' I silently question her, though, as we are not telepathic, I am not privy to her thoughts. The Englishman folds his hands before him and seems to compose himself, "Oh! I didn't tell you my name, did I? Blimey, I'm daft. My name is Oliver Cromwell." He grins at the joke that apparently I have no idea he's making.

Miku giggles lightly under her hand and bursts into laughter as she watches me scrutinise them for the answer to what the hell was so funny. "Oliver Cromwell was Protector of England back in the day when they killed a king – Oh never mind, Len…" She laughs further, wiping a tear away. "That is his name, but I think it's a funny coincidence." Tapping the table lightly, she changes the topic, "Oliver and I are touring, along with some of the other Vocaloids, in Europe right now, so I figured you'd love to take a seven hour flight to see me for a few hours." The Engloid looks expectantly to me, and I shrug indifferently.

"Still full of yourself, Lady Miku?" I jeer lightly, and she scoffs, "Well I figured I'd come see an old friend and take in the sights while Rin visits home for a little while. Time away from one another helps so we don't get sick of one another and kill each other." Miku nods thoughtfully, but I can't help but find my attention drawn to Oliver. His singular gaze is transfixed on me, and for a long moment I just stare back. Instincts kick in and I'm an abject jerk as I speak: "Like what you see?" I grin and say with a cheeky overtone.

He flushes and shakes his head, "No it's just…!" He trails off, looking embarrassed. I give a little flourish of my hand for him to continue his point, "When I was just getting going as a Vocaloid I always wanted to be like you… You're so cool and badass; you sing about intense topics and do it in such a… oh what's the word… such an awesome way." He quickly falls silent after realising he shamelessly gushed about me, but it doesn't really bother me, and in fact, I'm oddly honoured. Most of the time I just laugh and discount what people say about my performance, but something about this Oliver approving of my work seems really gratifying.

Miku abruptly pulls out her phone and presses it to the side of her head, brushing back an extremely long ponytail in the process. She gives a few short responses before saying goodbye and tossing the device onto the table, "Sorry Len, we'll have to bounce for a few minutes here. My manager's telling me there's some dumb meet and greet he wants us at. We'll be back in an hour, I swear!" She pushes herself up and ushers Oliver to follow her, and he seems strangely remiss to do so. After a moment of resistance, he stands, but before he goes to follow Miku, who's already hurrying out the door, grumbling obscenities and other less than admirable things, he stops and stares at me.

"I'm… really glad we go to meet, Len," he says quietly, "And it's really nice to see you're still wearing my ring…" I look down at the glittering band on my finger and back up to him, but he's already leaving.

How did I forget him?