Within moments, she was running on a treadmill in front of a full length mirror. She could smell her own sweat, sharp and strong, but it didn't matter. Closing her eyes again, she stared at her own face, or at least the face of a nameless actress, blue eyes staring back at her from behind a blonde fringe, smiling with determination and the knowledge that she could push herself further this time. Digitac actresses almost always smiled. She pushed a few buttons on the treadmill's keypad, and it beeped in reply as the motor sped up. Her muscles soon started to ache, but it was worth it. She could feel every inch of her fully developed and well defined body. Every footstep filled her with the kind of satisfaction she couldn't get in real life. She was supple and slender, but not dangerously thin anymore. She was fully grown, with curves she would do anything to have in real life. Without warning, Faye felt a tap on her shoulder. She pressed the stop button on the player again and opened her eyes. "Your father and I would like to have a word with you when you're ready." Her mother was standing by the bed, looking down at her. "What did I do?" protested Faye. "It's nothing like that." Faye squinted up at her mother, shielding her eyes from the bedroom light with her hand. "What do you want then?" Her mother sighed in frustration. "Please, just come down." By the time Faye walked into the lounge, the television was off. Her parents were sitting in silence, staring at the fireplace. It was still covered in cards wishing Faye a happy birthday. "Please, sit down, dear," suggested her mother. Faye sat down on the couch, facing both her parents. They looked solemn, like the time her uncle had died. Her mother cleared her throat. "You know how you're... different from the other girls?" "I don't like Helen Fryer as much," suggested Faye. "Not that." Her mother sounded frustrated again now. "Your body," said her father, almost apologetically. "You know, the reason you work on your algebra while your friends have their swimming lessons." "Oh." Faye suddenly realised what they were getting at. "_That_." She looked down at the shag carpet. Years ago, her parents had sat her down for a similar talk. They had told her about how all babies have thorough medical checks these days, ever since the government worked out that prevention was cheaper than cure. When she'd had hers, the high definition MRI scan had apparently revealed that she was a perfectly healthy baby girl--despite her body giving her the appearance of a perfectly healthy baby boy. It was an age old condition, her parents had told her. In a funny sort of way, they'd said, she was lucky to have been born when she was. As recently as a few decades earlier, people with her medical issue had to work it out for themselves after decades and sometimes even lifetimes of mental anguish. Nowadays it was something your doctor told your parents at birth.