"No… No!"

"I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry…"

"No! No, it'll be okay. Stay with us. It'll be okay!"

"I have to go away."

"No! Don't do it. Please don't go…"

"I must go away, John."

"NO! No, wait. Wait! You don't have to do this!"

"Sorry…"

"No, don't do it! Don't go!"

"It has to end here."

"I order you not to go! I order you not to go! I order you not to go…"

2027 – THREE WEEKS AFTER THE JUMP

They said John Connor was humanity's last hope. They said he would forge the Resistance and lead humanity to ultimate victory. They said he was the last line of hope that stood between humanity and eternal darkness.

They said a lot of things.

Right now, John Connor was on his hands and knees puking his guts out near a make shift trash can outside a large smelly tent at four-thirty in the morning.

An interesting irony, to say the least.

John wiped some of the vomit on the sleeve of his one hundred percent handmade sweater and tried to contemplate the meaning of his latest night terror. One of the things that didn't change from his recent foray into the future were these very same nightmares. The visions of what had passed and of what was still to come. Even as he basked in the glory of the post-Judgment Day world surrounding him, some part of himself still tried to deny it. He wouldn't have it. He couldn't.

John staggered to his feet for a few seconds before his stomach interrupted him yet again and he found himself back on the ground once more. He would remain there for the next twenty or so odd minutes until his body was confident that there was absolutely nothing left in his stomach.

Behind him, the tent he was previously sleeping in an hour earlier came to life. The platoon of soldiers he was quartered with began their various wake up routines, alongside with some playful banter. John struggled to get the taste of the previous night's slop, another great standard of the Resistance, out of his mouth and tried to determine whether or not his stomach had anything left to give before he tried to stand up again.

"GET YOU SOME, CONNOR!" One of his squad members bellowed as several men began exiting the tent and walked toward the morning formation. A few of them laughed at the newest recruit and John himself stifled a small grin as he got on his feet again. He casually staggered toward the tent and began his morning hygiene. He took out his heavily worn toothbrush and began swishing the bog-flavored water from the canteen he kept near the side of his bunk around for a few seconds before spitting it out.

"Hey, kid. I saw you out there. You alright?" John turned to meet the reassuring hand of Kyle Reese on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll be okay." John responded promptly as he put his toothbrush down and turned his attention at the weapon he carefully strapped to the foot of his bunk, withing arm's reach should they come under attack during the night. He performed a quick functions check and looked back to Kyle.

"Listen, today's the big day. You've done well so far, but don't try to be a hero. If you're not feeling up to it…"

"I'm ready. Don't worry." Kyle gave John a discomforted look at the interruption, but it was quickly diffused with a reassuring smile from John. Kyle couldn't help but give a broad grin of his own. This kid reminded him of himself a lot of times and provided a great contrast to the many weathered men he had fought with over the years. The past few weeks were a good indicator to how willing this young man was willing to go, but today it was time to see if he could hold his own. Even as his team leader, Kyle knew he couldn't always be there for the once naked and scared kid he found on an odd day wearing his jacket – and the machines would have no qualm putting him down at the smallest mistake he made under pressure.

"See you outside in five minutes. We got a long day ahead of us." Kyle gave John a swift pat on the back before making his quick exit from the tent.

John pulled his assault pack from the rusted out locker he shared with three other privates and began checking and rechecking his equipment. Instinct took over. His years of training proved that preparation for battle was one of the deciding factors in who lived and who died. He reflected on the years of training his mother ingrained on his soul and the many great works on military tactics she had entrusted upon him. He remember the ton of books of Sun Tzu that she made him read time and again until he finally grasped it. Well, sort of, at least. The ancient philosopher of war may have had many key points in the realm of warfare, but his writing certainly didn't age well - especially to a teenager of the twenty-first century. Many times, Sarah Connor could find John asleep with one of his books propped open nearby. 'Better than a glass of warm milk, huh?" she would tease him on lighter days.

"He's got her chip. He's got her."

John couldn't deny that he was anxious. Three weeks he had waited. Three weeks since he had been left to his own devices by the liquid metal entity known as Catherine Weaver, similar to the T-1000 that tried to kill him and his mother so many years ago. The Reese boys had been very accommodating toward his integration into the Resistance fighter he is today, but there was still so much that was unknown to him. Granted, years of schooling in the Sarah Connor train of thought made his initial training as a Resistance fighter all the more bearable, but he was still a stranger in a strange land.

"You said it yourself, John. I'm just a machine."

And then there was the question of her. The so-called reason he came to this forsaken wasteland. The reason he abandoned his mother just like Catherine Weaver had abandoned him when they first arrived. Those thoughts plagued him time and again just as the recurring nightmares had his entire life.

"John…"

John's thoughts drifted back to New Mexico. When she first saved him from the likes of Chromartie and his many compatriots.

"John…"

He remembered her aiming her pistol at him when she went bad. On his sixteenth birthday. The same day he met his father for the very first time. The same day he killed a man just to save his own miserable life.

"John…"

He remembered that moment when his face was just inches away from hers in that motel room and not caring about anything else in the world.

"John." Allison Young stood at the entrance of the tent. "It's time to go."