You, A.K.A. <insert name here> are a machine, or subject, whom shall be tended to often. Your AI is probably lower than twenty, i'll be surprised if you can prove me wrong. You were manufactured at one time or another, and your manufacturing date is considered a birthday. Your second birthday is when you become, born again, if you will. You shall lose the outer shell of your body known as skin, which shall be replaced with a more durable, heavy metal. Iron, to be precise. I was originally going to do titanium, but, well, things heat up in the establishment, which might just melt your new skin, which, if you haven't realised, will cause automatic shutdown.