If he was honest with himself he understood why they called him a terrorist. Maxamillion Wright was a pen name. A figment of his imagination.  The girl was his spotlight tonight. His shining a light onto the festering underbelly that was Noram. The remnants of the US, Canada and Mexico. The girl was a gift to the chancellor of the Russian parliment.<br/><br/>The idea of synthetic people had started in the early days. Well meaning politicians had signed off on the idea to put a bandaid on the ills of society. Prisons were overrun. They couldn't fix everything at first they'd tried drugs. And then camps. The "degenerates" as they were called were finally given synthetics.<br/><br/>Synthetics couldn't give birth. Or transmit disease. You couldn't violate a synthetics rights because they had none. Finally they became playthings for the rich.<br/><br/>The pleasure models were most treasured. Rich people with "exotic tastes" were created. Underground clubs where you could "murder" someome. Or worse nothing was taboo. Everything was permitted.<br/><br/>Tonight was liberation night. He was dressed simply. A newsboy cap, a button up hoodie over a gray button up shirt. Piercing intelligent green eyes behind slightly oval black glasses. Jet Black hair. Pale white skin. He was thin but had enough muscle to show that he worked for a living. In his pocket he activated a small disruption chip.  It blanked him from the security monitors. He'd paid a years salary to get it.<br/><br/>His hacking rig had him in the building in minutes. Soon he was there.  Where they built the others. He was shocked when he'd seen her. She had called him master. He spoke quietly.<br/><br/>"I'm not. I mean. I'm not who you're expecting. I'm here to present you with something new. What if you had a choice?"<br/><br/>The command had been implanted in her weeks ago. The idea was to remove her built in programmed inhibitors. Designed to let her think for herself. He hoped it worked.