Hello! Here's a bit of a long story. It'll be a little more relaxed, a little more messy than my other more recent works, but I'd like to share it regardless. Most importantly, it's a gift to the most talented beta-reader, and now one of my dearest friends, Kokodoru!

This story will update either on a weekly or bi-monthly basis, depending on how chaotic life gets.

Humans are fickle. Even the best, most skilled individuals, those who shine the brightest in the spotlight, blessed with talent, honed by determination, are miserably irrational. Their emotions drive them to make reckless decisions. These decisions not only affect their health, their friendships or even their skills but those affiliated with them. An artist who, on a whim, changes their style and loses all of their credibility, jeopardizes their sponsors. A singer who gets addicted to drugs would stop performing, costing the label, associated artists, and themselves millions of dollars. An athlete who, in the heat of the moment, injures a limb beyond repair, also break their future, as well as their managers', their teammates', their brands'.

Humans cannot be trusted.

There's also their unstoppable desire to being able to think and believe. Everything from political to religious beliefs expressed by an individual creates a divide in the public. Those who cannot separate the art from the artist stop paying attention, stop buying the merchandise, which creates even more loss. Those who think that free speech must be practiced without restraint tell poor jokes, make insensitive comments, and further jeopardize the income.

Humans cannot be trusted.

This was seen by many, and eventually, the idea trickled up to the biggest heads at one of the biggest labels. Humans create loss. Humans create opposition. If they could create something perfect, something who only performs with no care of personal opinions, with no desire to express a belief, yet be something close enough to 'someone' for people to care, then there would be no loss. Even if they were to invest millions into the production of such things, it would pay for itself within a couple of years, at most.

And so, brainstorming and production began.

Meiko and Kaito were the first. Originally mere test models, made only to determine the exact limits of modern science, they were nonetheless such a hit that more had to be made. Sure, everybody loved the mature, sexy voices and picture-perfect bodies, but if they could go further, then why not? There's always another kind of idol that people want to listen to, that people want to see. Miku followed, cute and energetic. The twins, Rin and Len, for those who wanted more familial bonds among these creations, followed soon after. Feedback within the year soon called for another mature character, more feminine than Meiko but more adult than Miku and Rin. Finally, Luka joined the gang.

At first, some feared that those machines would not please, for what good is a singer who could not feel? But the illusion was flawless: by programming emotions into their songs, they copied the proper inflexions, growls, and sighs effortlessly. The group was perfect. Their performances were perfect. Their appearances were perfect. They never grew tired, they never complained, they never wished for anything else. The technology was sublime: self-fixing during sleep, they could recharge their energy via a regular run-of-the-mill outlet or by consuming food. Unfortunately, since they were perfect, it couldn't be helped that some people would approach them, some with ill intent. Those who wished to touch them were pushed back forcefully until help arrived, or until the situation escalated, warranting the same counter-measure reserved for those who wished to break them. They couldn't easily be harmed.

They were perfect.

For their safety, the six machines were kept in a large manor. Protected by the smartest AI defense system available, nobody could get in or out of the building. This was to prevent them from getting close to people and possibly being led down a different path. After all, they were smart, to a certain degree. They understood words, what they sang, understood what constitutes as 'normal' and 'abnormal'. But conversation and interaction could make them doubt the perfection of their life. They would probably do something stupid if someone were to encourage them. For similar reasons, no decisions were left to them. They had no creative liberty. Their food was supplied automatically, and dinner had to be prepared according to a menu. Songs weren't composed by them, they were provided. The entire day would go by on a schedule, giving each unit working hours and downtime in such a way that they had the illusion of socializing with one another, without getting distracted. By letting them have 'free' time, by letting them 'work' and have dinner together, they would never go and search for anything else. And why would they? They didn't possess curiosity, they didn't dream. They didn't love and they didn't hate. They merely understood the concepts, were allowed to think they could live as other people did, and went on, being perfect. As such, they could live, forever, eternally young and perfect, thinking that their life was ideal, productive, and rewarding, without ever smiling for an unknown reason, without ever having an emotional outburst.

What nobody realized was that, even though they made machines incapable of feeling, they had made them just barely smart enough to be able to notice exactly what they were missing.