Chapter 1

'Wake-Em and Shake-Em'

In the post nuclear southern California suburb of Harrier, within the bowels of a big blue house, a T-830 endoskeleton lay peacefully on the frame of a bed in its low-power state. It's axial drive-motors giving off a slight hum as they awaited commands from the human cortex within the cyborg's intricate skull. Scattered among the bedroom were miscellaneous blue-prints, a pair of WM-27 phased plasma rifles, and a series of articles concerning the growing of human tissue. Suddenly, a tall, olive-skinned vixen dressed in a silk red nightgown bursts into the room, knocking an MG-3 machinegun against the Terminator's desktop computer. "Thomson...? General Draith is on the horn, he sounds like a nervous wreck, you need to come talk to him." She said drawing open the aluminum blinds and stooping down next to the motionless endoskeleton. "Really..? -Jill how do you pull an endo out of 'sleep mode' if they can't hear anything!" She called brushing her brown hair over her broad shoulders, somewhat annoyed.

"Linda, I told you to call me 'mom' we're undercover remember..?" Jill called from the kitchen as Linda rolled her black eyes in a patronizing retort, "Mommy... How do I-, wake my 'deaf,' 'dumb,' I-Robot wannabe boyfriend when he can't 'hear' or 'feel' in 'sleep mode...?'" -"He doesn't have a nervous system anymore, you have to trigger one of his impact sensors, or move his arms around so the servos can pick up a change in his position. Dr. Isenberg spent all yesterday evening walking you through his systems, you should know this stuff." Jill called back, as Linda let out an inward sigh and started at the T-830. "This relationship is more like owning a really fast car that get's shitty gas mileage and breaks down allot..." The girl commented, shaking the endoskeleton and moving its arms about in a goofy fashion. Suddenly, Thomson's grip tightens slightly around Linda's forearms, his LEDs dilating as the Terminator slowly sat up and panned around the room. "Draith is requesting you on Comms like yesterday..." Linda drones as the T-830 cants his head left and right, pointing to one of his auditory sensors.

Gently cupping the cyborg's chin in her hands, Linda comments "So you're awake now, but still deaf, and you can't read lips...?" Then kissing him on the forehead she adds, "You are soo a V6 Mustang on legs..." About 2minutes later the cyborg's sound driver and vocal unit came online. -"Draith is on his way here right now guys, better wake em and shake em!" Came Jill's voice as the house began to tremble at the sound of an incoming aircraft. "What? Why...? Isn't it friggin winter solstice or that one holiday with the dradles and the greedy white people with the hacky-sacs on their heads...?" Thomson asked as he tiredly threw a magnetized Nazi helmet over his head and rolled to his feet. "You mean Hanukah...?" Linda asked as she started for the door. "In 'Merica' we call it 'Christmas,' birth of baby Jesus...? Ring a bell?" She added as the couple's conversation was drowned out by a loud metallic series of thuds in the front yard. After the strangled whimpers of jet engines subside, Thomson leans out the bedroom window, peering around the corner of the house to find an army-green UDL-4 dropship on the driveway. General Draith stood at parade rest just under the nose-mounted Vulcan cannon, accompanied by a pair of Terranovan Marines armed with M41A pulse rifles.

"Wasn't that chap actually born in the spring..? I distinctly recall coming across an article about that..." Thomson said, lightly jogging up the hall, through the dining room and patting his mother on the head before proceeding through the kitchen and entering the garage. The endoskeleton stood at attention, saluting the General and falling to a parade rest. -"At ease soldier..." Draith said, synching a smile and starting forward in a nervous fashion. Thomson let's his arms fall to his side, the trailing links on what would be his collarbone, drooping as Linda leaned her weight on his shoulders. "I know it's close to Christmas and you'd rather be with family but I'm afraid an urgent situation has come to light in regards to our war against Umbrella's terrorism." The general said, handing Thomson a red file and letting the Terminator look it over.

"Five children have been ritualistically murdered in Queens, New York over the past week, their bodies were all recovered in an eviscerated state and in various locations within that particular city. Our analysts have uncovered evidence left on the bodies pointing to a Neo-Satanist movement that allegedly rose from the ashes of the 'Merkava' touchdown a couple years ago. The local law enforcement are circulating rumors that this organization 'The New Dawn' is being funded by the Umbrellian government, and is becoming a threat to national security." Draith finished as the endoskeleton held up a photo of a green-eyed man with curly hair.

"That man is Eric Stark, he is recruiting young adults and teens into this strange cult and spreading his political influence at an alarming rate." The General said pacing back and forth as Linda asked, "you're not gonna send us after this guy are you? He's got Charles Manson written all over him..." Leaning against the frame of the garage door Draith replies, "you guys survived Skynet, two outbreaks of the T-virus, the nuclear blast left behind by the Harrier launch and even the deployment of Project Jeremiah by the Knackamichie Corporation. Somehow I think you can handle a few teenagers with pocket knives and handguns." The General finished as both Thomson and Linda thought in silence. Before either could answer, Jill swaggers into the room sipping a glass of bourbon. "Well, see, every time you say 'it's gonna be a piece of cake' we get our asses handed to us and barely make it out alive... You are seriously gonna get these kids killed one day..." Jill finished, heading back to the kitchen before Draith could reply.

"You're not sending us after this guy… You're NOT sending us after this guy..." Thomson chants, waving a medallion across the general's face and canting his head in anticipation. "Thomson? Stop waving that thing around like a Jedi or something. You're going and that's final." Draith finished, snatching the medallion from the cyborg's frail hands. Thomson's left LED contracted in frustration; -"that stupid telepath said it would work..!" The T-830 muttered through gritted teeth, pulling a laptop out of a nearby drawer, flipping it open and typing in a few digits onto the keyboard. Draith and Linda are startled as a missile shoots up from behind the house, arching towards the southern horizon. -"what did you just do...?" Linda asked as the General crossed his arms with a low chuckle. "I just fired my new Nike missile defense system at the residence of a wiccan shop owner in Chino Hills..." The Terminator said nonchalantly, shutting the laptop and resuming his attention on Draith. "Murder...? Really? Over thirty bucks...?" Linda asked flicking the cyborg's forehead as he replied, "Oh, calm down Lindsay Lohan, the warhead is empty, it'll just make a mess of her front lawn, and maybe crush her car. No harm done..."

"Oh yeah Crippletron, and what if she's in her car when the missile hits...?" Linda asked as Draith arced a brow in agreement. "Honey you know how I feel about 'thinking ahead,' -it's what old couples do when they know they're gonna die soon, we're young, live on the edge! Crush your enemies!" The endoskeleton replied, starting towards the kitchen door. -"when do we leave..." Linda sighed as a faint explosion is heard in the distance and Thomson lets out a hiccup of laughter. "One hour... And Thomson...? You'll need to scramble up a team, we'll meet on the TRM-Auriga, where your men will be thoroughly briefed about the operation. -Got any Beer...?" The General concluded as Linda rolled her eyes replying, "in the fridge bottom shelf..." climbing into a hatch on the garage floor.

As Draith and Jill chat over drinks in the kitchen, Thomson lazily walks up a wooden staircase and onto a balcony lined with a series of doors, stopping to face the first one. "Demetri you up..!" He called through the door with a light knock. After receiving no answer the Terminator jiggles the knob finding it to be locked. "Hey Hulk!? Stop shaggin and answer the damn door..!" He came again, backing up to kick the door in. Before he could strike, he catches a glimpse of an infrared beam sweeping him from behind. Turning to find Jill in the foyer hip-aiming an M-82 Barrett rifle in his direction. "Break one more door in the house and so help me God, I will blow your little head off..." She said in a strange over-patronizing tone, ripping a sarcastic smile as Thomson threw his hands in the air. "Damn... Schizophrenia much...?" The T-830 said as the woman drops her aim and walks off. Resuming his attention on the door, Thomson knocks once more, positioning the briefing paper to hit the titan in the face as he answered the door. Without any further comment the endoskeleton proceeds to the next door reading the note posted above the doorknob.

-'Dear Crippletron, overheard you speaking with the brass this morning and felt compelled to swallow a cup of hydrogen peroxide. Will be in hospital all day with the shits, good luck and don't die. Love corporal Hicks and Sidney...'

-"Awe poop... Smart son of a bitch..." Thomson murmured, picking up slight vibrations from Linda's bedroom. Inching the door open, he is seemingly unnoticed by a young and very short Yautja warrior. The pubescent Predator is found relaxing on Linda's bed in a seemingly bored posture. He repeatedly pulled back the slide on Linda's USP .45, ejecting the ammo onto the polished wood floor. The T-830 thought for a second then, still remaining unnoticed, letting the briefing-paper drift onto the Predator's face, and starting for the exit. -"Cool another mission, is it a bug hunt..?" The Predator ranted, tarring the paper from his masked face. Stopping in the doorframe Thomson replies, "maybe..." "-Is it a stand-off fight?" The Yautja retorted, shooting up from the bed and starting for the foyer. The endoskeleton shrugged, muttering profanity under his breath before replying in a patronizing tone, "Read it Poe... Remember-, A-E-I-O-U, are vowels..."

-"But-but I don't like to read!" Poe whined as Thomson replied on his way downstairs, -"Then pretend to, and follow me." "Whatever..." Poe replies following the T-830. Thomson and Poe enter the kitchen area just as the dropship is taking off, waiting a minute for the smoke to clear before entering the garage and pulling open the hatch in the floor. Sparks flew from Thomson's hands and feet as he slid down the ladder, being knocked off balance slightly as the Predator lands behind him on the metal platform. As the two lightly jogged through a battery of computer servers, Thomson noting the 'No Running' sign on his way into the missile-control room, the T-830 trips on Linda, who was kneeling down, to put on her bra. Thomson slides face- flat across the grated floor like a rag doll, hitting a pile of 380mm shells. Poe, at this point distracted by an empty Nike missile gantry adjacent to the platform, trips on a round that strays off into the hallway. The Yautja back-flipped twice in the air before landing on his rear and moaning -"awe I broke my ass." -His voice muffled under his mask as Linda bursts out in laughter. Thomson's chrome head pokes up from the ammunition dump, Linda helping him up and kissing the side of his articulate head before asking, "Are you okay?" Before the Terminator could answer, Poe taps her on the shoulder, yelling upon her turnaround, -"Oh yeah those are nice! I think my ass just went numb because the blood-flow's goin somewhere else!" Then, like a child, the Predator darts in the opposite direction, disappearing between an isle of server computers.

After a brief pause in breathing, Linda realized she was bare-chested, slipping a black, leather low-cut blouse over her bare breasts as Thomson restacked the fallen tank shells. A few minutes later he tiredly trudged to the bedroom of yet another Terminator. "Bud...! Why does my lobby look like an explosion went-off in it!?" The T-830 griped as he kicked the base of Bud's bedroom door. Nearly ripping the door off its hinges, the T-800 infiltrator pokes his head out of the doorframe with a subtle "hmm...?" In the background, Thomson notices a pint-sized endoskeleton jumping up and down on the bed as it watched 'Blues Clues' on an old television. Turning his attention back to the hulking biker Thomson asks, "where'd the other half of your fuckin face go...? Do you have any idea how time consuming and expensive it is to grow human skin for a T-800...?" -"Yes... I was playing Ping-Pong boom..." Bud droned as one of Thomson's LEDs contracted in frustration. "Ping pong what...?" -"Ping pong boom, a sport in which two to four players pull the pin on a hand-grenade and hit it back and forth with table-tennis rackets..." The T-800 replied as Thomson scratched his head in confusion.

"So what's the point of the game...?" He asked after a brief pause. -"don't be the poor bastard with the grenade on his side of the net when it detonates..." The biker replied, his voice absent of emotion. The T-830 sighs, cupping the ridge of his nose as he asks, "-and where the hell would you get such a dipshit concept for a game...?" The Infiltrator silently turns to point at the bouncing infant-sized endoskeleton in front of the television. "Really...? Seriously...?" Thomson asked crossing his arms and letting his clavicle trailing-links sag as he awaited an answer. Bud nods silently... "Sooo, you're tryin ta tell me a bobble-head Terminator told you to play ping-pong with a live grenade and you actually listened..." Thomson commented, having mild difficulties uncrossing his arms as his actuators become hinged in his elbow-joint assemblies.

"Affirmative..." The T-800 replied just as Thomson frees his arms from themselves. -"you're just the kind of stupid we need..." The T-830 mumbles, handing Bud a copy of the mission briefing and starting in the direction of the dropship hangars. "Can you please patch up your skin-sheath and either wear a set of sunglasses or find another LED cover for your eye...? Thanks..." The cyborg called from down the corridor. About 30minutes later the crew convened in the dropship hangar, shielding their faces as the approaching vertical-takeoff-landing craft (VTAL) set-down on the metal platform and deployed its cargo ramp. "Damn Jill's cooking made me gassy..." Poe commented as the group started up the loading ramp. "Really now..." Thomson comments, snatching Linda's cell-phone from her back pocket with a flirtatious slap on her rear. "You say that like it's a good thing..." The Yautja drones as the crew settles into the vacant troop harnesses along the inner hull.

The endoskeleton silently probes the keypad with his pinky finger, putting it to the side of his head and waiting. "This is Hicks' phone, Sidney speaking." A woman said over the line. "Uh hey Sid it's Tommy boy, put Kyle on the phone will ya..?" The T-830 said waiting for a reply and putting the phone on loudspeaker. "This is Hicks..." Came the voice of a young man. Keeping silent Thomson motions Poe to come over, putting the phone to the Yautja's butt and silently counting down from three. After Poe rips a long high-pitched fart into the receiver, Thomson nonchalantly closes the flip-phone handing it back to Linda with a low, wheezing snicker. Within seconds hiccups of laughter escape from the group, Linda slapping the back of Thomson's skull commenting "you're getting too old for toilet humor, grow up. -Now my phone's gonna smell." -"Had to... He ditched suck-duty and now we're a man short." The endoskeleton laughed, strapping himself into a vacant harness just as the cargo ramp retracts and the ship takes flight for the Auriga.

Another half hour went by before the dropship docked with the Assault Carrier Earth's high orbit. The crew stepped off the cargo ramp in a military fashion gathering around a cluster of crates adjacent to an armored-personnel-carrier. "Okay ladies and plus one girl," the instructor began, -"this is a surgical strike not a chainsaw-massacre, don't bring any attention to yourselves, keep hidden and in large crowds and only take what you can carry, that means no air-strikes, no-tanks, no-APCs, and no heavy stuff..." The instructor said, snatching up a clip-board and glancing at its data briefly. "Damn... I left my handgun at home..." Linda commented, leaning her weight on a nearby crate as she continued to gripe. "How are we supposed to get around the city walk..? The Merkava touchdown has half the state covered in a radioactive cloud which tends to like rain acid... There are hostile gangs in the area, militias, bandits, the cops are probably corrupt. I don't know about the rest of you, but I ain't endin up in another lab." The girl finished sliding to a sitting position against the crate.

"Shit she's right they might need an APC for protection against mobs or extremists groups..." the General interrupted as Thomson butts in, -"this is my ship, my stuff and that's 'my' gun Lieutenant Gorman... Put it back on my desk before I light you on fire and piss on your ashes... Sir..." The endoskeleton said politely, the instructor placing a chromed .50cal Desert Eagle handgun on the ground before continuing. "Thomson tell me again why you refuse to wear a skin-sheath over that metal..?" Thomson rolls his LEDs replying, "first off, it takes a minimal of 40days to adequately graph living tissue onto an 800 series endoskeleton, it's not like I can slip into a meat-tux and skip off into the sunset. Second, because of my 'human' cortex, I suffer from 'phantom injuries' which only present themselves when I'm graphed with human tissue making me inert in combat..." The T-830 finished. -"sorry da hear that man. Regardless you've just volunteered to be central command on the ground. Though I'm not sure how people will take a WWII German battle tank crawling the streets of Brooklyn." The instructor said as a few low chuckles are heard from the crew.

"Alright lock-it up children... Our analysts at the Cheyenne mountain facility found a commonality between all five victims. They were all born on December 16th and suffered from various levels of autism. After running a survey on all the children within the state-line born on that particular date, we located one last child, who as far as we know is still alive and kicking." Gorman said, beginning to pace back and forth. "Her name is Cody O' Connor, she's 7 years old, lives with her aunt, Maggie O' Connor who works as a nurse at the local hospital. Biological mother is a one Jenna O' Connor, and woe... She's got quite a wrap-sheet..." Gorman said shaking his head with a chuckle as he continued looking on and off of his clipboard.

-"The residence is well outside the radioactive zone from the Merkava touchdown, so that should make things a bit easier on you guys. The O' Connors are Catholic so we've plotted a few possible Perishes in the area where planting hidden cameras and phone-taps might be wise. The Brass believe that using this little girl as bait will lead us to the organization responsible for these murders, and if it 'is' who we think it is, we'll be able to expose the crimes of The New Dawn, break the flow of funds from Umbrella Europe and crush Eric Stark's political influence on the Free States." The instructor finished setting the clipboard on a crate and pausing for questions. "Linda, I know you've got at least 'one' gripe, so lay it on me..." Gorman said as the nubile woman stepped forward and began. "First off, if we know it was probably Eric Stark, why don't we just kick-in his front door, riddle him full of holes, burn the body and be done with it...?"

After a brief silence Thomson's outburst of laughter becomes contagious, Gorman gesturing everyone to pipe down as he began. -"There are two problems with that, number one: we haven't the slightest idea where this guy is hold up, he's a fucking ghost. Number two: even if we 'did' find him, he's a celebrity, killing him without solid evidence would only make him a martyr for his own cause and we'd lose the entire eastern seaboard to The New Dawn. -That's means Umbrella Europe on our doorstep, and no more resistance..." The instructor finished, glancing at his wristwatch. -"Why don't we just nuke everything in the mouth...!" The Auriga's onboard A.I said with enthusiasm. -"I agree with the ship..." Came Thomson as Draith retorts, "of course 'you' do, you're the one that built the damn A.I..."

-"Hey, Father is his own fuggin island, his chi is like totally separate from mine I promise..." Thomson replied as the rest of the crew nodded with smirks. "If even a single ICBM leaves one of those pods before my say-so I'm gonna have my daughter graph a giant pink dick over your endoskeleton and kick you outta your own airlock..!" Draith barked as the hangar fell silent. "That's better... Now, Poe...? You're probably the stealthiest unit we've got so you will tail the little girl and in the event of a kidnapping, 'moderate' the situation. Interfere as little as possible as to not tip off The New Dawn of our involvement. Demetri, you were in the Nemesis project back in Umbrella's golden days and will easily pass as one of the many victims of the Merkava touchdown 2 years back. Just wrap your face in bandages and keep to the alleys, moving freely only at night or during periods of low civilian traffic. Keep track of Poe's position once he links up with the little girl, should the situation escalate before we can collect enough data, you will act as his primary means of heavy support." Draith says as Demetri and Poe give a compliant nod.

"Alright, time for the fun stuff..! -Tech talk...!" Thomson says swaggering to the front of the group and fanning the General to the side as he began. "Bud...! front n' center, I got a present for you..." The T-830 said, dropping a small vial in Bud's gloved hand. "This bug was derived from the same nanotechnology as the Sentinel drones currently crewing my old heavycruiser Norad III. It's programmed to painlessly embed itself into any given human's scalp where it can promptly convert vibrations off the person's skull into legible audio, and relay it to our battle-net. Happy birthday you frakkin Cylon..." The cyborg joked as Bud silently cinched a half-smile, stepping back in line with the others. "Linda..? Since you're a multitasker, you will act as our eyes and ears monitoring the spy-cam feeds and radar from the APC. You can also listen in on Maggie's frequency if you see fit to do so. Sound fair...?" The endoskeleton asked, noting Gorman as he tapped his wrist watch and started for the far-end of the vast centrifuge of hangars.

"Question, about the APC... Any upgrades...?" Linda asked as Draith jogged to catch up with Gorman. "The APC's heavy and inefficient twin diesel engines have been replaced by a pair of lightweight co-axial drive motors. Despite being electric, they produce a combined 2500 wheel horsepower as opposed to the twin Henschels which only put down about 1400hp. Sky's the limit for top-speed, just remember that the rig itself is still around 25tons and heavy things need a long breaking distance. It's all-wheel drive so handling should be pretty decent, rims are titanium-alloy with a half percentage of Coltan, so if the tires burst for whatever reason, or you need to cross a river of low temp lava, you can ride on the bare rims for miles. Armor unfortunately is the same 2inch thick woven-venlar crap with the foam packed hull lining-, it can take falls pretty well but I wouldn't trust it against anything that can hurt an Abrams tank..." Thomson finished as Demetri asked, "What's it's power source, and why does it look bigger...?"

"The motors are powered by several hydrogen fuel cells, located under the floor-lining near the forward turret assembly. Aside from being shielded inside a triple-armored subassembly, and the implementation of several software fail-safes, a rupture in one of the hydrogen cells will result in a blast equivalent to a 16.8kiloton nuclear warhead. As far as the size, I had to raise the floor-lining a bit to fit the all-wheel-drive components correctly, and lengthen the chassis so it would also have the same storage capacity regardless. I also took the time to have the sentinels re-design bigger dropships to carry the bigger line of APCs... " Thomson concluded, heading across the docking centrifuge towards the Norad III. "Wheels up in 10minutes...!" Called a Terranovan marine, the group of resistance fighters scrambling into the APC and speeding across the platform to meet up with Draith and Gorman.