Insanity Vocaloid Novels & Stories

“YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO, YOU TRUNK OF A MAN!” A low, sinister chuckle leaves his lips at my lame insult, his wide shoulders shaking slowly at the motion. “My name is Santino Ricca.”

His yell is so loud that I have to shift back a bit. "Who are you? What do you want?" I ask as I immediately suspect someone is in him. "I am... I am.. Isador." The Voice says at once, leaving me surprised...

V7" Don't be like that! They are trying their best! You should work more on your creation skill if you want them to be able to speak properly!" V1" V1's Products, only good for one thing. It's either thinking or speaking." ______________________________________________

he shouted. His voice was a deep bass-baritone. Roughly 110 hertz. If I weren't clinging to an inflatable donut for dear life right now, I could have added this voice to the relaxing ASMR videos I listen to before bed. "Give me your hand, I’ll pull you up!" To be honest, it was a voice that would make me cheat on the spa ladies in those Korean hair-washing videos... Give him your hand. Let him touch you. A giant red warning instantly flashed in my mind ACCESS DENIED.

“Uh… you okay?” “Okay?” I repeated aloud, louder than I intended. “Yeah. Totally okay. Fine. Fine. Not fine. Great. Terrific. Absolutely fine.” Why do I even talk to myself? I sound insane. Wait… I am insane. Totally insane. Lord Jesus. He raised an eyebrow. “Right. Sure. Totally normal, Isla. You always talk to yourself when you’re sane.” I huffed. “Shut up, Rico.”

it whispered to me. Yes, that’s correct. Why are you insulting me if you are me? “Since you are S-T-U-P-I-D,” said the voice within my head. You are simply insulting yourself too, if you are meant to be me. That only proves that you are also foolish. “…..” She stopped making comments after that. Is it possible that I was just having a mental argument? Oh my goodness, I must be going completely insane. “You were already,” the grating voice said. Well, This was really obnoxious. Now that it was evident, all I was doing was losing my mind. I was tired and needed to sleep.

“Ninety-eight percent.” Mr. Smith slowly shook his head. “Unbelievable.” I leaned forward. “Sam, create a deepfake audio file using Charles Rothschild’s voice.” “Command acknowledged.” The system hummed quietly as it began building the vocal model. Across the room one of the monitors flickered with lines of data as Sam mapped every tone, pause, and vocal inflection from Charles’s speech. “Voice profile complete,” Sam said after a moment. “Ready for scripted input.” I thought for a second.

He snatched the bread slices off her tray and shoved them into his mouth. After starving all morning and fueled by the rage of what'd happened the last two days, she lunged at him to snatch it back and shouted, "You psycho!" The man stopped chewing and stared at her expressionlessly. Then, he reached out and grabbed her outstretched right hand. With a sickening crack, he snapped her index finger at a grotesque angle. A pained scream that sounded like the cry of a dying animal escaped her throat. Here, all the tricks she'd learned pretending to be insane, including the fake screamings and bluffs, meant nothing. All she received was harsher, more direct, and more brutal violence.

She’d spent the last forty-eight hours hovering around me, and now that we were finally headed home, her shell had cracked even further. "Okay, but Avina, you have to listen to the new album," she was saying, her hands moving animatedly as she held her phone out. "It’s called DO IT. And Felix... his voice... it’s like... I don't even know how to describe it. It’s like chocolate mixed with gravel? But in a good way?" I laughed, the sound feeling light in my chest. "Chocolate and gravel. Got it." "He’s the one with the deep voice," she explained, scrolling through pictures of eight incredibly stylish Korean men. "Look at this choreography. They do this thing called the God’s Menu dance where t

INARA’S POV I pulled the heavy furs up to my chin, pressing my back flat against the carved wooden headboard as if I could physically back away from the voice inside my own skull. "Get out," I whispered into the dimly lit room. My voice sounded small, thin, and entirely stripped of the icy composure I had worked so hard to maintain. "Get out of my head." Do not be dramatic, Inara, Sova replied smoothly. The voice was distinctly feminine, cool, and layered with a sharp, sarcastic edge that felt entirely too human for a phantom. Yet it vibrated with an ancient weight, echoing through my mind as though speaking from the depths of a marble vault.