Utatane Piko opened his eyes for the first time in what must have been years. As he began to sit up, he noticed he in an empty room that had been painted pure white.

The room was empty and spacious, seeming to reach into infinity. He looked around and, just has he had suspected, nobody else was with him-- no other Vocaloids, not even his "masters", the employees that ran VOCALOID2.

Piko stood up, wincing in pain. He pulled at the large "collar" that covered nearly his whole neck. The collar, looking like something that would be put on a dog to keep it from biting its leg, was probably his least favorite part of the costume, which he completely hated. Perhaps the company's poor design choice for his costume was one of the reasons he was forgotten.

Some android singers lived in luxury. These were Vocaloids from big-name companies: Crypton, Yamaha, InternetCo, Zero-G, and some others. These were the companies that took all the glory, bringing new fans in and keeping old ones coming back by creating, advertising, and updating singers with unique voices and beautiful designs. These were the singers that everybody knew and would always listen to. Piko, however, wasn't as lucky.

He started to walk through the room, the nonexistent walls echoing each footstep made by his boots. "Hello?" he called out, wishing for someone, anyone, to answer him.

Once again, he glanced around the room. There has to be an end to this place... He started to run.

As Piko kept running for miles and miles, still reaching nothing, he realized that his steps were growing painful. Every time his foot hit the ground, a flash of burning terror ran through him. Even as he began to hurt more and more, he still kept running.

Eventually he could no longer take it. He felt as though he was being torn apart more and more fiercly. He let out a defeated sigh of lost hope, falling onto his side.

He trembled ever so slightly, whimpering sobs that nobody would hear. "Let me out..." he whispered to nobody. "What are you doing this?"

He heard some voices somewhere. Voices he recognized. It was his masters. Hope flickered in his eyes for just a second...until he heard what was being said.

"Preparing termination of VOCALOID2 program now, sir."

"Have all the voicebanks been updated past this point?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes. VOCALOID2 is now ready to be terminated."

A beep resounded through the room-- a horrific, painful shriek of a sound. More noises like this followed. "Wait!" Piko cried. "I'm still here! Let me out!"

Pain seared through the boy's chest, and he curled up in an attempt to stop it. Tears spilled from his green and blue eyes and mixed with the blood pooling under him. The ground began to break apart and disappear. Through the pain, through the fear, only one thought remained in his mind: They forgot me.

What had he done to deserve this pain now? Hadn't he always tried to sing the best he could? Was it his own fault that he never became popular and well-loved? It couldn't have been... but it had to have been. Why else would they have left him behind?

Piko's thoughts began to distort. His body slowly broke apart into pixels and vanished. His eyes were broken glass, clouded over stained with red, staring at something that may have once existed but no longer did, just as he no longer existed. Very faintly, he could still hear the voices.

"Sir! I looked again, and there was a Vocaloid that wasn't updated. Piko's still there! What do we do?"

"There's nothing to do. The program is almost fully deleted. Besides, it's not like anyone else will remember him, either."

Piko whispered one last "I'm sorry."

Piko disappeared.