Terminator 4:
Apocalypse Child
'Judgment Day is inevitable…'
Disclaimer: © Universal Studios Productions: The following characters and situations are based on the Terminator Trilogy and are not under my jurisdiction. Any circumstances related to the movie are copy-written however a majority of the subsequent story is from my own imagination. Therefore, if there are similarities to factual or fictional events already in existence, it is merely coincidence.
Warnings: Mature subject matter (reader discretion is advised): coarse language. Also: POV and slight OOC
Author's Notes: Hiya! I know, I know: I said I was going to stick it out with the Beyblade Series but who can blame me when I've just witness the most interesting and historical action-thriller in the world? Terminator 2: Judgment Day has so far been my favorite of the three movies and thankfully I pulled myself through the third so I could come up with the development of this-here fanfic!
R&R!
ENJOY!
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Preface: Lost unFound
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July 1995
"What can you tell me about John Conner?"
I lifted my head, not meeting anyone's eyes. It was stuffy and cramped; I was beginning to feel claustrophobic and my clothes were sticking to the uncomfortable chrome seat. I bet these guys can't even count their own fucking toes, I thought wryly, glancing at my reflection in the long mirror opposite me.
"I told you," I began, one of the detectives leaning closer as if he thought I was going to finally answer their insistent questions, "I don't know who you're talking about."
Leaning back I ignored the looks of frustration I was being sent. I knew that they recognized I was lying but I wasn't going to start telling the truth; not until I was sure John wasn't going to be arrested.
My mom sat next to me, her manicured hands neatly placed on an orange spray-tanned knee. She didn't want to be here, it was written in fine hand across her face but she sat still silently, licking her teeth behind bright red lips.
The men were getting tired of my dishonesty. The man I assumed was in charge took a hefty swig of the liquor he had pulled from inside his dark suit jacket. His shirt stretched around his middle and his hair was thinning, withdrawing to the back of his head. He glared leeringly at me, hard grey eyes boring out from a sagged face.
He moved closer, the metal of his nametag glinting in the florescent light of the room. He smelt like cigarettes and booze.
"Look kid," He rasped, his voice laced with a thick Hispanic accent, "If you don't tell us what we need to know, then your friend is as good as dead."
"Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on!" I shot back violently. My mom didn't move or even look up when I spoke. She was always out of it. When I was born she was only sixteen and didn't want to waste her time looking after a baby; she was drawn to the sex, drugs and rock n' roll. Even when she had time she didn't want to spend it with me but soon my grandmother was getting tired of watching an energetic infant.
The detective snarled and pushed away from me, leaning with one hand against the wall.
"Fine," His friend sighed in defeat, dropping the report in front of me. I wasn't going to read it, waiting, instead, for the officer to explain what had happened with John. "John Conner whas kidnapped by an unknown perpetrator—"
My mind jumped immediately to the cop that had shown me John's picture at the Galleria. Could he have had something to do with it? I shook my head and focused on the officer's words. They mentioned something about his mother being involved and leaving the state.
That didn't make sense. Though John always avoided speaking about his mother he never evaded telling me when we did something that reminded him of her. It wasn't much to go on but I kind of assumed she loved him, even if she was kind of crazy.
"So, tell me what you know,"
I didn't say anything for a moment, trying to piece a reasonable response together.
"John and I met in fourth term," I started slowly, watching the scene in the mirror again, hoping to distract myself from what I was saying. I felt guilty giving John away but he was already in trouble. "Grade eight," I added.
The beefy detective took a seat in front of me, blocking my view of the reflections. He folded his hands on the table and stared, urging me to continue.
"I thought he seemed pretty cool so I got to know him," I shrugged. It wasn't like I was a big part of his private life, anyway. He kept to himself about a lot of things, especially why his mother was cooped up in a psycho-institute.
"Can you tell us about his mother?"
Ironic much?
"Nope," This time I was telling something on the brink of truth.
"Anything you know may help the investigation," The other officer prompted. He was younger and thinner, with a head of thick blond hair. He came across as more friendly and approachable than the booze-hound.
"I really don't know anything that could help,"
My mother decided to have her input, choosing now to swat me on the backside of my head and bear a set of bleach-white uneven teeth. She knew I wasn't giving them everything. That amazed me considering I didn't think she took much interest in my life to listen to what I had to say.
I sent her a withering look, turning back to face the nice looking guy.
"Fine," I grumbled and sunk into my chair. "He never liked to talk about her. She was fucked in the head, right, so he never mentioned much. When he did it was always about the stuff that he got from her or the boyfriends she had that taught him stuff that he could use on the street," This pleased the two policemen, happy with my drawn out reply but they wanted me to go on. "He was taught all sorts of shit like how to hack into computers and open locks or fix engines. He made a bike,"
I didn't know why I decided to remark on the bike but whatever, it was out there now. Again they gazed at me expectantly. I felt like a performing seal that couldn't deliver.
"That's it," I said, aggravated. I glimpsed sideways at my mom, just in case she was going to try and get me to say more a second time.
"What about the man who was seen with him?" He slipped a small pile of photographs towards me. They were glossy black and whites, capturing a largely built man wearing sunglasses and carrying a gun. He resembled GI Joe but in a more menacing, turbo sort of way. I prayed to God that John hadn't gotten mixed up with the wrong people and that it wasn't this guy that had him.
"You think it's him who's got Conner?" I breathed, unable to tear my eyes from the security tape captures. "Jesus,"
"So you don't know who that man is?"
I managed to shake my head. Mom leaned over and raised a pale eyebrow, slapping her gum between her teeth.
"Did John ever get into any sort of trouble?"
I had to let out a laugh at that remark. Of course he got into trouble. It was one of his favorite pastimes. He took pride in pissing off his foster parents. You'd think the feds would have a thick folder with his name on it by now. Maybe these two couldn't get their hands on it or maybe they were just asking me for the sake of hearing it.
"Yeah, all the time," I said. The booze-hound nodded, asking me 'what kind of trouble he got into'. "Not that kind, with guns and stuff I mean," I muttered, nodding to the pictures. "He always did stuff for himself. I stayed out of his way. It was always just little stuff like bank machines and cheating a videogame a quarter. Shit like that, you know?"
I bet they did. They got kids like us in here all the time.
"We don't have any further questions. Thank you for your time and if you have anything that you think may help us, just give us a call," The nice guy said, handing me and my mother identical business cards.
Mom stood, grabbing my upper arm and lugging me out of the room. As we left the police station she muttered something about kids being too much trouble and how I was making her life harder than she needed.
The real reason I got to know John was because he was in the same boat I was, emotional-baggage and all. We held more of a close acquaintanceship between us than a best-friendship. Parents not in the picture, mom always feeding you crap; not the usual things friends have in common.
Secretly I wished that Conner would show up tomorrow, banging on my first-floor bedroom window. John liked being thought of as a bad-boy with nothing to lose. I liked to think I could make friends like that.
When we both got away from the crowds, the parents, and the strangers, we were both insecure and needy, like kids in a candy store but without any money. That's why we'd just take it.
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End Preface
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Author's Notes: In case you haven't figured out whom the kid in this story is: it's the redhead that appeared in the beginning of Terminator 2: Judgment Day. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed and please drop me a line! I'd really appreciate it, thanks!
IMPORTANT REMINDER: For those who are having conflicting arguments about the original dates and ages of the aforementioned characters, I will be posting a Timeline at the end of the half-way chapter. Everything will be explained accurately in accordance to the original movies (i.e. The Terminator and Terminator 2: Judgment Day).