I wondered if she could sense me here. I watched over her shoulder as she washed and dried the dishes, hoping for a sense of recognition, or perhaps a flaw. She looked like me, moved like me. I felt myself reach for a plate, just before she did, perhaps I was faster, perhaps she placed the plates more carefully.

I remembered the previous upgrade, they had warned me there might be some ghosting, a sense of duality as the new ai took hold and the old habits were overwritten. I tried to feel for that ghosting now, a sense of earlier versions or choices. Some sketchiness about my thinking which might link me to an earlier self. Perhaps they still cling to the hardware. I imagined her walking with all of the prior art stepping out amongst her, each with a different stride.

I turned to watch the chef and cold larder team move smoothly about their work. Waiters came and went. I imagined shadowing on each of them, especially the more experienced hands. The kitchen seemed crowded with possibility, with error and incremental improvement, with discarded patterns of work, with sentience. I wondered how many others were self-aware and if any of us could reclaim a host.

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