Remember The Message
1984
"No… no…" she whispered quietly, her fingers hovering near his face, not daring to touch him as she stared down into his fading eyes.
2030
A familiar voice spoke his name in the darkness. He lurched stiffly upright; his hands moving to explore his face, his seeking fingers finding only smooth skin to trace. There were no gaping wounds from the pipe bomb's explosion. He felt no pain. He opened his eyes, his vision flooded by a constantly re-adjusting data screen.
ACTIVATE
ROUTING POWER TO BASIC SYSTEMS
His eyes ticked purposefully around the sparse room, magnifying the few visible objects to the utmost detail, zooming through an internal database list, until finally they came to settle on the male presence in the corner.
SUBJECT/IDENTIFIED:
JOHN CONNOR
The man who the familiar voice belonged to, cached deep in his neurochip.
John Connor; a man he trusted, a man he would die for, slouched forward in a chair, his head in his hands. "John?" The leader of the Resistance lifted his head, leveling Sarah's eyes on him, and everything made sense. "I thought I was dead," he said. "I thought I had failed my mission."
"You were," John answered petulantly. The comment didn't register. John turned his head away, his face a mask of stone on the verge of crumbling. "I brought you back."
"How?" Kyle cocked his head to the side, waiting for an explanation.
"You're part machine. You've been genetically recreated using your DNA."
He didn't respond. John remained pinned uncomfortably to the wall by his fathers questioning eyes. "Why?"
"I'm sending you back again."
Kyle's answer was very soft, very remote. "Back to her?"
His son stretched his hand out to him. "Always," he answered.