She’s naked of course and there’s a pink and gold serpent skin print running down her body, shimmering in the hot, bright stage lights. On every side, thousands of screaming fangirls aping her makeup and hairstyles from the last album, the one they downloaded from the net. In the heat and the tumult of crashing bodies, sweat dripping down their faces, they look a mess. But not like her. She’s perfect. Millions of dollars of perfection. Her Scute™ is synced to the sound and light show going on around her and at a pre-programmed moment, the stage is blasted with white-hot incandescence and her skin, hair and nails turn jet black. She’s a living shadow, dancing in the hot sweet rhythms of the #1 song in the nation and her fans are freaking the fuck out.

After the show, she collapses. Her manager throws her into a tub of ice water and her body temp re-regulates. That’s the problem with this model: heat waste. She’s almost a gynoid at this point. Fake skin, fake nails, fake eyes, fake hair. Fake fake fake but more real than anything else is the money she’s pulling in for these shows. A great investment, thinks the manager. Well worth the expenditure. Well worth the cost. She’ll be asleep for a few hours and then they’ll slap on some stimulant snaps to wake her up so she can do the next show. Everything is prepared for her arrival. Everything is running smooth and on time. Just let her sleep.