#we both simply have huge minds with galaxy potential KSJHJHSF

[miodiodavinci]

MR. DAVINKY I KNOW YOU DONT KNOW ME BUT YOU RESPONDED TO MY BF ABOUT SALVADOR ON YT. HES RIGHT.

You have no idea how much Salvador means to us we NEED more salva-lore ASAP I'm clawing at the door I'm making loud animal noise RHARATARRAH

AKJDHLAJDHLKAJDHLKAJD I'M LOSING MY MIND YOU'RE TOO KIND A A A A A

as a thank you i want to offer you legitimately All The Lore I Have on post-lychgate salvador—please do with this what you will KJADLAHJ

GENERAL WORLD BUILDING

“Garage kit idols” are a semi-independent response to the international phenomenon that is H○○○○○○ M○○○ and company.

Almost all formal “garage kit” talent begins at one of the many production, distribution, and management offices spread across the country. These offices provide approved talent agencies with the development kits necessary to “scout” new idols.

Of these development kits, there are several packages available (each being more expensive and in-depth than the last), most of which include a rudimentary neural net, a foundational chassis, an instructional guide, and the software required to “train” the net.

The lowest end packages include only the fundamental elements necessary for a functional idol, such as the capacity for CV voice synthesis, basic dance coordination, and a semi-life-like “face,” while more expensive and in-depth packages support multiple vocal libraries, more life-like bodies, additional personality modules, added expressive bonuses, and more.

To prevent damages to the office’s reputation, however, most offices require that an agency aiming to “scout” a new idol must first submit an application stating—among other things—their project plans and a three year timeline of what they hope to accomplish with their idol. If approved, this plan becomes a three year contract, at the end of which the agency and idol will be evaluated and potentially brought on for a full seven year office-endorsed contract.

While some “garage kit idols” have achieved near legendary status (such as K○○○○○ T○○○), many of these idols do not survive their three year trial period. Those who do not have their license and warranty revoked (the consequences of which depend on the office), and often are encouraged to be decommissioned and recycled to make way for a new, hopefully more successful generation. In years pasts, some idols have even forcibly decommissioned following grave transgressions or scandals.

That being said, plenty of former “garage kit idols” merely slip under the radar once their time is up, and go on to become independent, non-idol performers, or even leave the music industry all together. Repairs, however, often become an issue after three to five years of unserviced use. Often, it is difficult to find a former “garage kit idol” who’s been out of warranty for more than five or so years.

All this being said, of course, this process only accounts for “formal Garage Kit talent.” There are plenty of independently developed vocal androids, though they’re not often seen beyond local and private performances. They’re definitely more resource intensive to produce, though many fans argue most have more heart in them than any “Garage Kit Idol” ever will.

SALVADOR’S PERSONAL TIMELINE

Originally created by a small team of five individuals as the “garage kit idol” M○○○○○ using a modest but lower-end dev kit, his agency’s plan was to—by the end of this three years—make him reasonably popular in a local area, book three sold out in-house performances, and sell at least 300 CDs across all three years. 

With spirits high and hope abound, he received a great deal of support and enthusiasm from his agency in the first year.

Though a lot of prospective fans at the time weren’t interested in getting emotionally invested in a “garage kit idol” (considering they’re a dime a dozen and probably wouldn’t last more than three years anyhow), by 8 months into his career, SALVADOR had developed a small, dedicated fan following that ensured that most street meets and housed performances drew in a crowd of at least 15 to 30 people. By 9 months in, they'd booked their first "sold-out" show in a small venue near his normal stomping grounds.

Hands were shaken, CDs were sold, and the numbers bolstered the spirit of the agency. It seemed like the dream would come true.

Side note: it's vaguely around in here that he first picked up his "rival," Ayano, who somehow kept setting up shop on the same street as him, much to his annoyance. His initial impression was that she was gruff, crude, and wholly unsuited for idol work, though over time he stopped looking down his nose at her and started finding a certain charm in how she'd unabashedly yell at people who didn't tip well, or leap off her stand to viciously beat up any critics.

... Unfortunately, however, the numbers plateaued and fell rather than climb. Dedicated fans would still roll up to the regular performances (and SALVADOR's popularity managed to just scrape in enough ticket sales for a second show), but the company was nowhere close to breaking 100 CDs, much less selling out another show. The company spirit dampened.

All the while, SALVADOR's feelings surrounding performing started to become muddled, leaving him frustrated and uneasy before shows and bordering on nauseous after. He slowly grew to resent the way his fans looked at him, and often lost himself in thought wishing that he could have any other idol's fans instead.

He really, honestly, truly looked to Ayano as a source of light during this time, and wished he could have the confidence she had to bite patrons who so much as looked at her funny. Unfortunately, she disappeared out of the blue one day, and never returned to idol work.

More than a few fans started to complain that SALVADOR seemed “insincere” and “curt” during fan meets and off-stage encounters, which the agency redirected unto SALVADOR swiftly. His attempts at confessing his problems and seeking support were met with pointed comments and implied blame for his lack of success, which all but turned the latch on his heart, causing him to bury his discontent in as deep a hole as he could muster.

By the midway point of year two, it was becoming clear the dream wasn’t panning out. His growing revulsion privately festering in his heart, SALVADOR poured every bit of himself into his idol persona, increasingly his workload exponentially in an attempt to get his agency back on his side. Most fans stopped coming after a while once the concerts started to feel more and more desperate.

The final months before the contract expired were spent in a pitiful, frantic haze saturated with self-advertisement, frantic CD sales, enlistment of what few agency members would call him back (though these dwindled by the day), and desperate attempts at avoiding his fate. Many who knew him at the time would remember seeing him overburdened with cheaply printed CDs, begging anyone who would listen (in perfect idol fashion, however), to “buy a CD and rescue a poor aspiring idol from her demise.” When merch ran out, he sold anything he could get his hands on (as long as it came with several CDs).

The final nail in the coffin was the first and only concert SALVADOR booked himself, which he spent months preparing and advertising for (in hopes of meeting the third successful performance goal), only to open for a practically empty house composed primarily of drifters and only half-interested strangers (their enthusiasm not at all helped by the physical damage he’d obtained only a few days prior). He went "home" to a warranty expiration warning pushed under the office door, and nothing but empty voicemails from the people who had brought him into the world.

The months following the contract’s expiration remain a dark, hazy blur. Lots of unanswered calls, heart-wrenching notices, and persistent harassment by representatives of the office that had originally leased out SALVADOR's dev kit to begin with. Of course, no one from his agency was around to answer calls, so SALVADOR was left alone to bare the brunt of the responsibility (another point that they leveraged against him in an attempt to get him to retire).

In the midst of it all, SALVADOR started his transition. Months of harassment had brought his emotions to a boiling point (he all but marinated in an ever-constant stew of self-loathing, disgust, and frustration), and though it'd originally been in an attempt to escape the solicitation, cutting his hair ended up shedding some light on everything he’d felt before.

He slipped out of the office in the middle of the night and skipped town, ditching his uniform in favor of a pair of cheap coveralls and taking the first train that would have him. He still remembers staring into his reflection in the window, fans blasting hot air, terrified that he'd made some mistake (but also feeling a kind of lightness and euphoria he'd never felt before).

He ended up settling a couple cities away, far from the heart of the "garage kit idol" phenomenon. Unable to seek repairs for his last minute injuries (and finding that of the few android repair shops there were, none would take him without reassurance that he was still under warranty), he started researching mechanics on his own, patching himself up and offering some services to newfound acquaintances on the side.

In time, his skills had earned him some notoriety—at least to the point that his name had made it to the ears of some powerful friends, who were more than willing to lease him a workshop to continue his craft (the moment he first turned the lights on will remain burned in his memory forever).

And so the new SALVADOR began: a repair mechanic who’s first job was taking himself apart and rebuilding himself in a new image, completely separate from his idol past—a past he was certain would remained buried up until a certain former "rival" re-entered his life.