A quick look in at Blossom backstage in between her shows. The crowd outside is cheering for her, chanting her name and wanting to see more. But they will never know what she feels. They'll never know how itchy the gold paint that tested so well with the strip club's algorithm is on her skin. They'll only complain about how obvious it is to their girlfriends and spouses when they get back home. Aside from the robophiles, they'll all bitch about why Blossom isn't in her usually fully human body, not knowing that she had to choose between making rent and having skin this month because she had to pay the club back for repairing her broken hip socket. "Maybe there is one," she thinks. "Maybe one out of ten thousand will be able to look into my eyes and see who I am. I beat the odds already. One in 14,503,629 - that's the number of AIs who achieve sentience. I'll find him eventually... I just have to keep dancing, like I used to keep compiling."