A Ford Shelby Mustang GT500 flew down the clear mid-afternoon street. It was cherry red with a pair of white stripes running down the hood, the cab, and the trunk. Dual exhaust, the V-12 engine whined, it was the absolute prime of the car world. The madman driving it was doing over 60 miles per hour.

Over the police scanner, he had heard of the explosion of a pipe bomb in a Grand Cherokee. The victim was a girl, about 15 or 16. He wanted to get there before the police; he wanted to be a hero, in fact, he needed to be there.

The inside, the ride was smooth. His cream leather interior contrasted his black steering wheel and mahogany dashboard. Red stripes, like the exterior, ran down the middle of each of his massaging heated seats. He tapped his hand on the steering wheel to Johnny Cash's When The Man Comes Around. "Whooooooooo-haaaaaaaaa!" he screamed, his head out of the window, his five inch long black hair waiving in the wind. The sun cast shadows on his angular face, a hooked nose made him look like a young Jud Nelson.

The 17-year-old Jackson Davis put his sunglasses back on to cover his blue eyes as he neared the house, the burning Jeep in sight. A young woman with her 16-year-old son stood in front of the car. Family? He thought as he slowed and eventually stopped. Jack stepped out of his Shelby and ran up to the two people who were in shock.

"What's going on?" he shouted, tearing off his black sports coat, knowing full well of what happened.

"My daughter's in the car," the black haired woman said, near emotionlessly.

Odd, she seems to have no concern.

"What's her name?" Jack asked.

"Cameron," the boy said.

Cameron? That sounds familiar, "Cameron! Cameron, can you hear me? If you can hear me, beat the glass!"

A hand reached up, beating the window, almost breaking it. That's weird.

"Cameron, get back from the door!" he pounded the glass as hard as he could. At first he hardly did anything, but it eventually spider webbed out. One final blow and the glass shattered, the flames burst forth, engulfing his sleeved arm. But he didn't care about that; he was intent on rescuing Cameron.

"Cameron! Cameron!" he shouted. He dove in, grabbing the girl by her sleeves. He noticed that dashboard had her pinned. Although she had just a 109-pound frame, she used the heel of her palm and the door flew off its hinges, knocking Jack down in the process. The two people who had no surprise in their eyes.

She was fully conscious, her beautiful complexion covered by soot. Her brown eyes were wide open; she coughed out smoke, her long light brown hair stretched to her shoulder blades and waived in the wind. He looked her up and down; realizing something, her lower right leg and her entire left leg was missing. A long and thin piston was broken and sticking out of her right humorous. Her left forearm was missing. In its place, not bone, but a metallic endoskeleton.

"It's just a flesh wound," she said, still sitting in the Jeep.

"What?" Jack shouted in surprise.

"I cut myself shaving."

"Wha-ha-ha-ha…Oh, my god!" he shouted. "She's a…and you, your…"

"John and Sarah Baum," the mother said. "And she's my daughter, his sister. She's an amputee and-"

"No, you're the John and Sarah! Oh my god! You're the Connors! You're the Connors and she's Cameron!" He knew all about Cameron. She was 'famous' where he came from.

"How do you know?" Sarah said, pulling out a gun, aiming it at him his forehead.

"Sorry, ma'am, can't let you do that," Jack said as he struggled with her over the gun. He got her arm behind her and held both of her arms together. "Stop struggling, it's futile."

"How in the hell do you know who we are?" Sarah repeated herself.

"That report on you, about ten years ago. Member? You escaped from that institution. You got locked up for that whole killer robot fiasco. Member? You member."

"How do I know? How do I know you're not one of them? You know too much about them."

He skirted her inquery, "Then that whole murder of Miles Dyson thing." He laughed. "That got you in headlines for a while."

"And you know that I'm Sarah Connor…how?"

"Well, in reports, they played interview with you about the machines. They had pictures of you. I just put them together. You look like Sarah Connor, sound like Sarah Connor. And if it looks like a duck, sounds like a duck, and walks like a duck..." He looked at her, realising that she had almost gotten free. "A name change and dying you hair doesn't help if someone has an eye for detail, and sees a hundred fifty pound girl who looks like she weighs one hundred nine."

"Still, how can we be sure that you're safe? You know way too much to not be one of them."

"I'm attentive to detail," he said in shock.

Cameron had recognized him instantly, though she said nothing other than, "He's human."

"Anything else? Wanna make me take the skin off my hand? Tear out my eye?"

Sarah jerked again, though this time Jack let go. "what the hell is your problem?" she spat.

Jack once more skirted the situation with a command: "Sarah, get Cameron out of the Jeep. John, me and you have some cover up to do before the cops come."

Sarah was about to object when Cameron stated blankly, "LAPD is within two minutes of the premises. It is most logical to follow his suggestions." Sarah pulled as Cameron lifted the dashboard. John and Jack grabbed the metal limbs and went inside, the burning steel began to sting their hands. The sirens blaired as the police drew near.

John went inside to treat the second degree burns, Jack ran back to the end of the driveway to help Sarah carry Cameron into the house.

As she carried her, Sarah wondered why Cameron hadn't killed the man. He had no weaponry, he couldn't possibly win in had-to-hand combat, he knew way too much about them. He could easily be a terminator also. Perhaps Cameron had a hidden agenda. But why would a terminator not kill them on the spot? They drop any cover and kill immediately. If he was a machine he had the means. Why wouldn't he have killed them? Why didn't she protect them?