"Hi," you say over the thump of the bass of the techno song, "I'm Craig, what's your name?"
"Jessica," the blonde replies. You're incredibly turned on by this stunning creature, even though you know she's far from human. In fact, that's part of the turn on.
"So...are you a robot?" you ask, drawing a look of disdain from her.
"Do I LOOK like a robot?" she says, clearly displeased. "I'm a synthoid." And it all makes perfect sense to you now.
Synthoids began to emerge after nanotechnology had become commmonplace. At first, they sprang up almost unnoticed,but soon it seemed that they were practically everywhere. Synthoids were humans that had nanomachines controlling most of their vital functions, through either necessity or design. At first, Grandma becoming a synthoid meant she could live much longer, even though there was something artificial about her afterwards.
Naturally, once man had perfected the nanos to run vital functions, some other men began to invent nanos to perform cosmetic functions. Soon, women were getting nanomachines that could change breast size or hair color at will.
By 2050, it was estimated that roughly 25 percent of all American women were some level of nano-enhanced. The synthoids were still a relative minority, even of that percent, but they were found to be a growing number, as the nanomachines began to replicate faster than their original programming intended. There seemed to be some sort of invisible threshold, one that many people were reporting of a distinct behavioral change in nano-enhanced loved ones. Once nano machines reached a certain population inside a human, they ceased to truly BE human, rather declaring themselves "synthoids" and demanding rights.
In 2075, in response to growing numbers of hate crimes against synthoids, protective legislation was passed, declaring synthoids citizens with full rights as self-aware organisms of a uniquely bio-mechanical origin. This was met over widespread protest by grass roots groups opposed to the existence of synthoids, who declared them to be a dangerous element in human society. You'd never met one before tonight.
"You're a synthoid?" you say, slightly incredulous. You'd seen a video or two of them, but never realized just how gorgeous a synthoid female could be.
"Yes," she says, still sounding annoyed, "Just like every other woman in this club, that's why it's called 'Deus En Machina.'"
"Oh," you say, "Makes sense. Can you drink...err can I buy you a drink?" you ask, stumbling over your words.
"I thought you'd never ask," she says, "I'm dying for one."