Chapter 1: Livin' on the Edge
By 2025 much of the planet Earth was a scorched remnant of a world of beauty, life, and wonder. This was a distant memory to most, and an unknown dream to the rest. The planet had been devastated by a nuclear holocaust that killed over three billion of Earth's population. Since then, Skynet, a sentient machine whose mission is to eradicate mankind has waged an endless war against the survivors.
Humanity is led by one man: John Connor. A man driven to succeed against the greatest odds. He has rallied the remnants of mankind to form a Resistance capable of organized attacks against Skynet. Thousands have flocked to his banner, and he enjoys the intense loyalty of these soldiers, who willingly die under his command.
But there are some who have become disenchanted with survival. Those who have lost everything, those whose heart and soul have been broken. Some of these men and women wander from battle to battle seeking death, so that they may be alleviated of the melancholy existence they now drift through; having lost all they held dear.
This is the story of one such man…
"Bravo-1-Actual, this is Bravo-1-Alpha, I've got good eyes on the objective. It's about fifty meters to my direct front, how copy?" a young soldier who wore the rank of Corporal reported over a small headset he wore.
"Copy, 1-Alpha. Enemy strength?" a voice crackled in response.
"Uh, I'd say about a dozen or so inactive T-600s, over," the Corporal responded. He knelt behind the burned out hulk of a bus, peering eagerly around the corner at his target; the central hub of a machine's manufacturing facility. His mission was quite simple, perform reconnaissance of the target, and if possible, destroy it.
He waited for a response, but none came. Silence fell over the gloomy landscape. The charred Earth blended almost seamlessly with the gray hue of the skies around him. He gave a quick and casual glance behind him, the other soldier from his squad knelt uneasily there. He was a young man of about the same age, Hispanic descent. The Corporal could tell the man was nervous about their exposed position, hell, even he eagerly anticipated a reply from his Lieutenant.
"Bravo-1-Alpha, this is Actual, mission is scrubbed. I say again, mission is scrubbed. Objective is too hot, displace and regroup with the rest of the team at the designated rally point, copy?" His Lieutenant's voice broke the silence, but his response was not the one that the Corporal wanted to hear. His face contorted with disappointment, and after a moment of thought he keyed his microphone to reply.
"Say again, you're coming in broken and unreadable," he murmured lowly. His Hispanic counterpart strained to hear what he was saying. He turned down the volume on his ear piece and glanced back at his fellow soldier. The Lieutenant was repeating his orders over the radio, but the Corporal ignored them.
"Ramos, we're good to go," the Corporal told him, offering a thumbs up. Ramos narrowed his eyes, disbelieving, but the Corporal got up and quickly moved around the corner of the bus. The Hispanic resistance fighter pulled a cross from beneath his uniform, quickly kissed it and then followed in trace of the Corporal; a new guy whom he hardly felt secure around.
The two of them advanced hastily, yet in a quiet enough manner not to disrupt the machines which stood inactive, storing power for when it would be necessary. Both men's weapons were held at the ready, pressed into their shoulders with their eyes over the sights scanning the dozen or so viable targets presented before them.
The skeletal figures were disheartening, downright terrifying in fact. But the Corporal paid them no mind, and hurried beyond them.
Ramos was more hesitant, he nervously glanced from figure to figure. The machine's eyes were dull, and unlit, but Ramos half expected them to be aglow with the fiery red color of the devil. He swallowed hard hoping that it would not happen.
The two crept up to the target, a large computer terminal which hummed loudly from the power that surged through it. This location used to be a place where vacuum cleaners were built, and though it was bombed out and decrepit, enough of the machinery remained for Skynet to convert it into a metal manufacturing plant. It was here they churned out mostly T-1s, and at times T-600s. The Corporal took a knee beside the console and glanced around, ensuring that nothing had seen their approach.
Skynet had been pushing aggressively against the Resistance in this area, and Connor had ordered out an assortment of different unit types to attempt to gain some breathing room for his rebellious band of warriors. To this end, deep recon, sabotage, raids, and anything else they could carry out to the detriment of Skynet was taking place.
The Corporal knew this facility wasn't worth much, and that the pair of them only had enough explosives to destroy the terminal itself, and not the production equipment. Additionally, Skynet would have this terminal rebuilt in a few months, but the Corporal didn't care about any of that. It was an opportunity to take the fight to that which he hated most; the machines. He wasn't content with silent observation and reporting, and now he was going to scorch some of the bastards and send them to whatever hell awaited a wrecked heap of metal.
He began planting the demo charges, a mixture of semtex and home made explosives, all around the terminal. Ramos did the same, if not somewhat more shakily.
Once he had completed this he glanced over at Ramos. The young trooper signaled he was finished as well. The Corporal armed the timers on the explosives, and set the time itself for a little over thirty seconds. Ramos' eyes were wide with surprise, but he didn't have time to argue this as the timers were activated and the Corporal hastily pressed past him en-route back to their original position. Ramos followed suit.
They sprinted past the group of T-600s, taking less care in not disturbing the menacing endoskeletons. Ramos nervously glanced back at the terminal, picturing it exploding and engulfing him in flames. He was jarred from this thought, however, as he slammed into one of the inactive skeletons. He fell to the ground, and the Corporal halted in his tracks to look back and see what had happened.
"Get up!" he snarled. Ramos stumbled to his feet just as the red eyes illuminated in the skull of the endoskeleton behind him. Simultaneously all of the T-600s came to life as the two soldiers sprinted now for their very lives.
Plasma fire erupted, and bolts of the super hot matter shot past them, striking up sand and melting through scrap metal littered all around them. Then the explosives detonated, and a fiery ball of orange and red flame erupted from the terminal engulfing some of their pursuers. The two could feel the shockwave from the blast, and the sound of it left their ears ringing. But they pressed on, they'd need to reach cover to avoid a grisly death at the hands of the monsters chasing them.
A plasma bolt slammed into the Corporal's shoulder, incinerating the olive drab jacket he wore and burning deep into his flesh. He cried out and stumbled forward, falling to his knees momentarily before Ramos dragged him to his feet and helped him along. He threw the wounded Corporal's arm over his shoulder and the two limped on, under increasingly heavy and accurate fire.
Another explosion was felt, this time the concussion was enough to knock them down. It had been a fragmentation grenade thrown by one of the machines. The blast peppered them both with shrapnel, and knocked the Corporal unconscious. Ramos turned and fired several shots back at the T-600s. One round managed to find a target, but with little effect.
He struggled to drag the Corporal behind the bus they had been posted at earlier. He quickly peaked around the corner and fired off more shots at the enemy. Several more well placed blasts found their mark on his previous victim, the combined damage was enough to slow it down and cause it some set backs, but it still advanced along with the others. Ramos cursed under his breath, then he struggled to pick up the Corporal, throw him over his back and carry him away from the engagement fireman style.
He didn't make it far, however. He was significantly slower, and the machines gained a clear line of sight on him and fired repeatedly, striking him several times, and the Corporal once more. He fell forward, dropping the Corporal. He could feel a searing pain in his back, then he went numb, his eyes closed, and life escaped his body. The T-600s continued to advance, they would ensure both were dead, or capture a survivor if they could.
From another direction more fire erupted, but these plasma rounds were directed at the menacing endoskeletons. Enough rounds found two targets to fell them, and the others turned to engage this new threat. As they moved off, firing at the flanking element that had attacked them, two other soldiers crept up to the fallen Resistance fighters who lay motionless. They cursed out loud at the sight of the two fallen troopers, but seemed to be particularly more troubled by the condition of Ramos.
"He's dead," one said in a gloomy tone, shaking his head at the other.
"We take him with us," the other replied, looking down at the injured and unconscious Corporal. Part of him wanted to leave the young soldier. How could he disobey an order from a senior officer? Who did this guy think he was? Maybe the rumors about him were true… he'd already cost this Lieutenant one good man.
They hefted the two men up on their shoulders and moved off behind cover, escaping into the endless maze of ruins that was once the city of Los Angeles. Shortly after, the fire from the flanking element ceased. Those men broke contact, and escaped before the T-600s could put adequate fire down upon them.
Blurry vision soon cleared to reveal an attractive young girl with large, soothing brown eyes that matched her somewhat bedraggled hair perfectly. She sat beside a wounded and confused Corporal who squinted until perfect vision returned to him.
"Welcome back," she said in a sweet tone. "You're very lucky to be alive."
"Yeah, lucky," the wounded soldier said back. He was obviously back in Kansas bunker. How had that happened?
"I'm sorry about your friend," the girl said earnestly. She glanced away for a moment, sadness filling her doe like eyes. "He didn't make it."
The soldier winced for a moment, he could feel the searing pain in his shoulder, and a deep sting along his left arm and side. "Not my friend," he said simply.
The girl was somewhat surprised by the blunt reply. What did he mean by that? She decided not to probe any further. Her eyes examined the man's figure, he was lean but muscular. He had been stripped to the waist in order for her to treat his wounds, and she could tell they were not his first. He'd sustained a significant amount of what appeared to be shrapnel to the right side of his body. A scar also ran down along his right cheek.
He seemed to attempt to portray a gruff and mean exterior. She didn't think he could be any older than twenty five, but he tried to look older with an attempt at a scruffy beard. His brown eyes betrayed a youth, however, that tipped her off as she tried to estimate how old he was. He kept his hair trimmed tightly along the sides, and the top was a brown mop by comparison. A typical military hair cut, if not a bit out of keeping, she thought. She dipped a cotton ball in some alcohol.
"I have to clean your wounds," she told him. He sat up, wincing from the pain as he did. He made no attempt to stop her. "It's not going to feel good," she added. She pressed the cotton ball onto the bloody and burned flesh that had once been unscarred space upon his body. By the look of things he was rapidly running out of that kind of real estate on his figure.
"You're not a very good nurse," he told her, grimacing from the pain.
"I'm not a nurse at all,' She replied, cracking a small smile.
"Soldier? What outfit?" he asked interestedly. She dabbed more of the alcohol soaked cotton balls onto his shoulder wound and he flinched from the sting.
"No, not a soldier. I… I help out," she informed him. She didn't feel like getting into the specifics of what she did. Questions would invariably follow, as they always did, and her superiors had told her to be tight lipped about her occupational specialty, even though she was still just learning the trade itself.
"I see. Well, I'm Corporal Logan Ramsey," he offered. His face was blank of expression, and though his voice indicated interest his demeanor seemed to suggest otherwise. She found that to be peculiar. His voice was engaging, but his body language seemed to show something else. He sat languidly, adjusting himself to be more comfortable while she cleaned his injuries.
"I'm Allison. Allison Young," she told him. She looked over him again once more, his grimy face might've hid an attractive young man, but a man no doubt several years her elder.
Before they could continue another soldier entered the room. He was of Japanese descent, and Allison had seen him earlier when he brought the unconscious young Corporal in.
"Ramsey, Lieutenant Reese wants to see you right now," he told the young Corporal. His voice was stern, and there seemed to be a clear distaste for the soldier he now addressed. The man didn't make any attempt to hide it either.
"Fine," he replied after a moment. The Japanese soldier left the room, and Corporal Logan Ramsey struggled to put his gray undershirt back on. With some assistance from his makeshift nurse he managed it; then he left the room without giving her a backward glance, and she wondered what transpired to put this man momentarily under her poorly trained care.