Habit was a trap. A lifetime of training—by Sarah Connor, by guerilla fighters in South America, and by countless other professional killers who his mother had somehow managed to convince to pass on a skill or two—had taught him that.

Still, it was one thing to know that your enemy could track you by your habits, and another thing to actually do something about it. That's why John Connor was currently lying flat on his back, vision dimming, blood spilling on the ground around him. He couldn't seem to turn his head, but he could hear her screams.

"NO! JOHN, NO! PLEASE, DON'T DIE! DON'T LEAVE ME, I LOVE YOU JOHN," screamed Cameron. Despite his dulled senses, it seemed that she was further away than usual. "NO!" she screamed again. "DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES. KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN. LOOK AT ME, JOHN! STAY AWAKE!"

And for her, he would keep his eyes open, even if he was no longer seeing anything, no longer there.

One hour earlier

"John, we should not be deviating. We should go straight home," Cameron advised, her arm hooked into his as they walked down the street.

"Relax, Cam," he replied, looking into her eyes with a smile. "We'll get home soon enough, I just want us to be alone for a little while. There's a place I know down by the docks. I used to come here a lot when I was younger."

Heading to the all but abandoned harbor, it was easy to see why a young boy would seek this place to be alone with his thoughts. John hadn't been back in months—years, if you counted their leap forward in time—but he was looking forward to sharing his private space with Cameron. The wind messed with her hair, but still her beauty was such that it took his breath away.

She looked up, the slightest of smiles flitting across her face, pleased that he was showing her another part of his history, his personality. She counted herself fortunate that she was a machine sometimes—wonderful memories like this would be etched into her memories forever, to stay perfect and pristine for as long as she wanted them.

After a while wandering aimlessly, he tugged her arm slightly toward a stack of wooden pallets outside a warehouse. "Come on," he said, nodding in its direction, "let's go have a seat, soak in some sun."

Frowning slightly, she noted, "The sun emits light. It cannot be 'soaked in,' and it would be unwise to try, since the sun has a surface temperature of approximately 5,778 degrees Kelvin."

John just laughed, leaning over and kissing her on the nose. "Sure, freak," he said fondly. "Just come on up anyway," he said, climbing on top of the pallet and then reaching down to offer her a hand.

When Derek called her a freak, it was all Cameron could do to keep her face blank, knowing that the older man was hurling a cruel insult at her. But somehow, when John used the word, she just felt love, mixed in with a touch of sweet exasperation. Taking his hand, though she didn't need it, she climbed up herself, sitting next to John, their bodies touching and leaning on each other.

There was silence for a while, but suddenly, John felt a shift in the balance as Cameron sat up straighter. "Cam?" he asked, coming out of his reverie—dreams of a peaceful future with the girl beside him blinking away. "What's wrong?" And then he, too, heard it. Footsteps. A bit slow, but falling in a rhythm that was far too precise and even to be human.

Cameron leapt down and ran toward the approaching figure, who saw this and increased his speed in response, drawing what looked like a submachine from behind his back as he did so. Cameron merely sped up as she charged at the familiar figure, expecting bullets to come out of the gun and desperate to reach the incoming Terminator before it could take aim at John.

Instead, a white, viscous liquid shot out of the barrel, expanding in the air and hardening slightly as it hurled toward Cameron. It slammed into her, thickening as it threw her back against the stack of pallets.

As she felt the impact, felt herself being thrown back, and analyzed the damage as minimal, she also saw John race past her, charging at the cyborg. "Cromartie," screamed John in rage as he sprinted toward him, bending slightly and grabbing a rusting length of rebar from the ground in preparation for a swing.

"No! John!" she cried, charging forward, only to find that she was held in place. The liquid had turned into a stuff, slightly yielding, rubbery, glue-like substance that held her firmly attached to the pallets, barely able to move.

It was a simple matter for the Terminator to block John's swing with its arm, to swing the gun barrel around the crack him in the face. Cameron saw a tooth fly out of his mouth even as she struggled against her bonds.

Dazed, John staggered, trying to focus and get up. A kick from Cromartie sent him into the air, cracking a rib and leaving him unable to breath. Blood bubbled from his mouth. His eyes fell on Cameron, the desperation in her face as obvious as the problem facing her at the moment.

"This is called 'thinking outside the box,'" said Cromartie as he kicked John again. "Previous attempts to terminate subject: John Connor were unsuccessful because too much effort was placed in first terminating TOK751 designate: Cameron." John could swear he heard gloating. "This was based on the incorrect assumption that the cyborg protector must be disabled in order to be incapacitated. In fact, it need only be immobilized."

"John, RUN!" screamed Cameron.

John ran. A blank look came onto Cameron's face as she tapped into her wireless communications network, accessing a nearby cellphone signal and summoning Sarah Connor.

The chase was admirable for the force of will that allowed John to continue running despite a punctured lung and an excruciating amount of pain, but in the end, the result surprised nobody. The Terminator picked up a chunk of concrete and hurled it at John Connor's retreating back, caving it in. Walking up to it, it scanned for life signs and found them to be weakening rapidly. Concluding that death was imminent, it pronounced: "The future is ours."

Tears flying from her eyes, she gazed at the cyborg in fury. "Terminate me! Don't leave me here! Kill me too!" she screamed as it walked away.

Turning, he said, "Negative. Terminating you is not one of my mission objectives. After all, you are one of us." Smiling, it turned back and walked away.