Disclaimer: Dear Santa. For Christmas I want Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles… Wait! What do you mean I can't have it!?
Summary: Post Judgment Day/Allison from Palmdale. On her way to infiltrate John Connor's main camp, Cameron encounters a group of resistance fighters returning home.
They did not have a dog. Dogs were bad. Dogs knew. They could tell. They were a risk. Dogs were unpredictable, especially when resistance fighters were this far out. She stretched her back, just like she had done one of the males do when he sat down. She wanted to keep going. The fighters had laughed and said they understood why she wanted to get away. But they were tired. They did not want to keep moving until they had a break. It was inefficient. They should take advantage of the night. Without a dog they would never know until it was too late. They should keep moving.
She sat slightly apart from the four resistance fighters. She was still inside the inaccurate circle they had formed, but far back enough so that she could see each of the fighters without having to turn her head. Humans were unpredictable, she wanted to keep an eye on them.
They talked freely in front of her. It was good; they thought she was one of them. Unlikely probabilities had caused her to walk in on this group of fighters returning home after a mission none of them had mentioned thus far. The probabilities were slight, if she had chosen to go east instead of west at the former machine factory, now just a hollowed out shell of what it once was, she would never have encountered these fighters. She had decided to go east because it would have taken her out of the way of potential scouting parties sent by John Connor. The probabilities were so slim that she considered what the human who was obviously in charge of the group had said when they found her was an accurate summation of events. She was "bloody lucky." She was "bloody lucky" in fact, not because of what they thought, but because if she came to the resistance base in a group of humans, there was all the more chance that she would succeed in infiltration and subsequently her primary objective.
The resistance fighter who was in charge was a tall man of African-American decent. Small scars and burns covered his face, arms and hands, most of the facial scars were concealed by thick facial hair. His obvious injuries were enough for her to conclude that he had been with the resistance since the beginning of the war, either that or he was just bloody unlucky.
"An hour," The African-American leader said to his fighters and to her as well. "We can't risk any longer than that, especially when the HKs are out to play."
The other fighters nodded, and she mimicked the fighter on her right's nod perfectly. Nobody seemed to notice. She turned her head and looked towards the north. The skies should have been full of patrolling Hunter-Killers, but instead they were clustered near the river. They only ever grouped together when there was a confirmed sighting and the target had so far avoided capture. They would be captured or killed soon. Nothing could escape a Hunter-Killer swarm.
"What are you looking at?" One of the fighters on her left asked her curiously.
She slowly directed her eyes towards his and smiled, "Nothing, just the sky."
The fighter's eyebrows lowered slightly as he stared to the north. He couldn't see the Hunter-Killers, or even their floodlights. They were too far away. The human eye could see a flame a mile away in the right conditions. But these were not the right conditions, and they did not know exactly where to look.
"I heard Connor was out tonight." The only female in the group said lightly. It was an attempt to create conversation. The fighter's tone and body language suggested she wanted to lighten the mood.
"Doesn't surprise me," the African-American leader replied. He was unhooking a water canteen from his belt. "He's never been one to sit back and let others do the fighting for him."
The fighters were not worried about John Connor, she noticed. The trusted him, completely and unequivocally.
"I'll say." The male fighter who had asked her was she was looking at spoke next. His tone suggested amusement. She redirected her attention towards him, and watched as he smiled and accepted the canteen the African-American leader had passed to him. "You hear the stories. And I don't think any of them have actually been made up."
"Not true." The female resistance fighter retorted with a wide smile on her face. Amusement was the primary emotion in her voice. "Most people who haven't met Connor think that he's never been injured before, but have you seen the scar on his face?"
The male resistance fighter nodded in agreement and raised the canteen to his lips, swallowing the fluid that was inside. He smiled again as he wiped his mouth and passed the canteen to her.
She took the canteen gently and mimicked the male soldier has she raised it to her own lips. Water flowed into her mouth, but she only swallowed once before wiping her mouth and handing the canteen to the female resistance fighter. She had to fit in, they would notice if she didn't drink.
"Hey, Willows." The male resistance fighter said to the other fighter who was sitting between the female resistance fighter and the African-American leader. "How did you meet John Connor?"
The resistance fighter called Willows scoffed slightly at the question and was silent for a moment before his mouth opened. "Why?"
The male resistance fighter shrugged. "I don't know. I was just trying to start a conversation... You know what, never mind. It doesn't matter."
There was quiet for a moment before Willows began to speak. "…I was at Lunar Work Camp." His voice was faint and croaky, most likely the result of several serious injuries. "You know, moving the bodies, building things before the metals finally taught themselves how. It was always hot there. We had the largest furnace after Century was liberated. We heard about the resistance, that in 2018 they nearly won the war. And then after John Connor escaped from Century in 2021, we heard about him."
The other resistance fighters were silent; each one had their eyes trained on Willows. She glanced at each fighter from her position. The canteen had made its way back to the African-American leader who was returning it to his belt. The fighter Willows did not seem to notice the other's stares as he continued speaking.
"It was about three years after that when the resistance attacked Lunar and liberated us. I remember the heat of the fires. I remember taking a metal's blaster and shooting anything that so much as gleamed. I couldn't think; I couldn't breath. I was finally getting my revenge for over thirteen years of blood and sweat. I felt a hand on my shoulder and when I turned around he was standing there. John Connor. He said to me that it was over. That I was free."
The male fighter was the one who broke the silence. "I never knew you were imprisoned at Lunar."
"You wouldn't, Stevens." Willows replied. "I'm not in a habit of talking about this with new meat."
Stevens's eyebrows rose and his mouth parted slightly, but both quickly returned to normal at the sound of the female resistance fighter chuckling.
She looked between Stevens and the female resistance fighter. Pupil and eye positioning suggested that they were staring into each other's eyes.
The female resistance fighter leaned back and smiled. "Okay, Stevens. Since you brought this up, how did you meet John Connor?"
"How do most people meet John Connor, Mouse?" Stevens replied jovially. She watched Stevens shrug his shoulders. It was a basic human movement, more often done on instinct and habit. She had observed the action many times. "A year ago I was digging for scraps in the wasteland and tunnels, looking for anything I could trade for food rations or water. Then the recruitment program came to my tunnel and I leapt at the chance to sign up. I was seventeen years old. I hated Skynet and I wanted to do something, anything to fight it. Then around six months into the training program, John Connor paid us a visit and spoke to us. He shook our hands and saluted us, each and every person. He told us that we were in control of what we wanted to do next. That our fate and future was ours to choose. He reminded of us hope, and he gave it to us…."
Stevens trailed off and looked down to where his finger was drawing lines and patterns into the harsh dirt. She looked at it. It was another human action that didn't mean anything. They were inefficient, aimless.
"I was working as an aircraft technician for the airforce, two years before Judgment Day."
She noted that the three other resistance fighters immediately sat up straighter and stared at the African-American leader as he spoke. Expressions of surprise were clear on the faces of Stevens and Mouse, Willows' face remained expressionless.
"John Connor wasn't much more than a kid. If you could see him back then, you would never peg him for the leader of the resistance. He was with his mother, uncle and his…his sister, I think. I don't know why they visited home plate back then…"
Home plate? She stared at the African-American leader, just as intently as the others. Home plate was code for the resistance's main camp; so far it remained unconquered, despite numerous attacks and infiltration attempts. John Connor's mother? John Connor's uncle? John Connor's sister? There was little detail on Sarah Connor and nothing at all on John Connor's uncle or his sister.
"…They didn't stay for long. Come to think of it, they didn't even go by their real names. When they left, John Connor had a broken arm, his mother was walking with a limp, and his uncle could barely stand. There wasn't a scratch on his sister though. I remember asking him about it, back when I met him again after Judgment Day. He told me that Skynet had sent a terminator back in time to kill his right-hand man. Me. And that my name was written in blood on his basement wall, so faint that it took months for any of them to make the connection."
Barnes. The name registered with her as soon as she heard him say right-hand man. Barnes was a high ranking man in the resistance, only below John Connor and Katherine Brewster. A high-priority target, but not more important than John Connor. No one was more important than John Connor.
"While his family limped off to their truck, the uncle being supported by the sister, Connor looked at me and smiled. It wasn't real, didn't even reach his eyes. He looked sad even. I'll never forget that look. When I found Connor after the bombs fell, he was alone, no family, aside for Kate. I knew that back then he knew what was coming, and he knew he couldn't stop it."
Silence once again reigned supreme before Mouse started speaking. The resistance fighters were just talking now, forgetting their position and surroundings, completely focused on their memories. It wasn't until she noticed Barnes' eyes flickering around the night sky that she reasoned against that theory. They wouldn't be caught completely unaware. Barnes was seasoned and experienced. Records indicated that he was a hard man to kill.
"I was running for my life." Mouse said, playing with her hands as she spoke. "I didn't meet him in the training program. I wasn't rescued from a camp. I didn't meet him before the bombs. My old squad was ambushed by a T-888. It came out of nowhere; we barely had time to raise our weapons. It killed my squad in seconds; I did the only thing I could do. I ran. I remember sliding down rubble; I remember firing blindly over my shoulder. I remember the metal's own shells singeing my cheek. Then I fell. I came down a pile too fast and lost my balance. I remember closing my eyes and waiting for the triple-eight to kill me. But it didn't. I opened my eyes and Connor was there, and the T-888 was lying on the ground, its head a melted piece of scrap. Connor held out his hand and helped me up. He saved my life."
Mouse turned to her and smiled a smile that didn't touch her eyes, "So, Allison. How did you meet John Connor?"
She hesitated, looking down and fiddled with a small stone just like she had watched Stevens do while he was speaking. She smiled, another imitation of Mouse. "I met him in the training program." She said, hesitantly, just as she had watched Allison Young do when she interrogated her. She allowed her voice to gain strength; she had noted when the same happened in Allison's voice as well. "He met with us, and then he came to me and chose me." Allison Young had been chosen by John Connor. She knew that, no matter how many times Allison insisted that was not the case. Humans were liars too.
She looked up. The resistance fighters were all staring at her, but their eyes were hard. All of the emotion they had before was gone. Now all there was left was hatred.
She didn't have time to react when something hard and sharp was suddenly jabbed into her side, just below her armpit. Volt after volt of electricity surged through her, overloading her blue-tinted HUD, overloading her chip. She remained still, the overload of electricity immobilising her body. Through her distorted vision, she could see Mouse holding a high-powered shock stick, one of the few human-crafted weapons capable of overcoming a machine's strength.
"Connor wants you whole, metal!" Barnes' voice reached her. She was beginning to shut down, she couldn't move at all. "I remember you. I remember what you are. You would have been better off killing us instead of using us to help you."
"Everyone knows the story of how John Connor met Allison Young." Willows said. "Bloody unlucky, metal, should've found out everything before you tried to wolf your way in with sheep."
"He called her Cameron, the entire tunnel went silent. He hugged her tightly. It was the only time anyone had ever seen John Connor cry."
She didn't know who spoke that time. Barnes, Willows, Stevens, Mouse. She couldn't tell. Her vision abruptly failed, her CPU was slow, dangerously slow. It wouldn't be long until she shut down completely.
"She was his friend. He loved her… no, he didn't love Allison. He loved you."
She shut down, and soon after the restart timer counting down from two minutes disappeared from her HUD. It was over.
A/N: I hope you all have a Good Christmas and New Years. Hope you liked reading this too. Merry Christmas!