-OLD RADIO-

Author: Smiling Mask.

Beta-reader: symbolism_egg (livejournal).

Rating: T.

Fandom: Vocaloid.

Genre: Angst, Slight Shounen ai.

Characters: Shion Kaito, Sakine Meiko, Kagamine Len, Kagamine Rin, Hatsune Miku, Kamui Gakupo, Megurine Luka, Master.

Disclaimer: I don't own any Vocaloid or any of their songs.

Summary: He is a machine. All machines will degrade. The new generations will come; the old ones are to be thrown away. He had always known that, and was ready to depart. But why… why are there invisible links holding him back? What did he have to regret?

-Prologue: Old Radio-

Created with 0s and 1s,

making electronic sounds.

Has my voice reached you also?

The threads that control this heartless puppet

tangles up with all my feelings and tearing them apart.

(Imitator – Kaito Version)

oOo

I was "born" a machine, a toy to imitate humans.

I was given a beautiful voice.

I was told that my whole existence was but for one reason: to sing.

So I sang.

And I found out that my singing could make people "happy".

I found out that my songs made people "smile".

I like to see smiles.

So I wore that "smile" on my face. Every day. Always. So often that people thought it was the only facial expression I could make. That the programming of my intelligence was so simple I couldn't help but be "happy" all the time.

It wasn't true. But it didn't matter what they thought. As long as my voice still pleased them, I kept singing.

And I should keep singing, just keep singing, until my last "breath", until the last beat of my mechanic "heart", until my very last gear rusts away, and my body falls apart beyond repair.

Until this ephemeral physical form couldn't take anymore of that divine voice that it was made to carry, and melted away, releasing the voice back to this big, big world, to find another vessel to carry it.

I don't know who its next host would be. But I should be praying for that person. I should be praying for him or her as I get dismantled, dispatched, thrown away, and then I know I'm no longer wanted, and I should disappear away from this world.

Just like an old radio that can no longer sing, being tossed into a trash bin by the sidewalk, counting days until it crumbles to dust and is completely forgotten.

A rectangular box with buttons, made to sing. What use could it be when it can no longer sing? Why would anybody ever give a second thought to it?

I know that I, too, won't be remembered by anyone.

When my time comes, I shall depart with a smile, because I won't leave a burden on anyone's mind, not even once.