I came back to the base then ditched the other stuff I had taken earlier for a morning out with Washman. I rub my shoulder feeling hurt by the information kept back from me. Of all the people I expected to otherwise be a teacher to me had I trust kept back knowledge from me. Trust is not easily earned in my case. Now I have my gaze lowered towards the floor at the barracks sitting on the top bunk being my bed holding a sketch of a well drawn human family that never existed. So real yet not real. My fictional dream family. Perhaps I can delay their plan by terminating myself by taking out my CPU and having my endoskeleton melt down for other useful things.
"What 'cha doing up there, chicken?" Roberts asks.
As in Bruce Roberts.
One of the men who constantly mess with me.
"Thinking how my enemies could have told me the truth," I said.
"What truth?" Roberts asks.
"That I am a shell with a decoy personality," I said, crunching up the picture into a ball.
"Oh, the decoy joke?" Roberts said. "That wasn't my best joke with it being-" I toss my crunched up picture at Robert's face. "Ow!"
"That is no joke," I said. "I am not talking about your stupid chicken decoy joke. You should know it."
"Um,unlike you, I so do not gossip," Roberts said, straightening the picture. "Woah, you have mad artistic skills."
"Not really," I said. "That was Washman."
Robert's face changes to a 'You lie' kind of one.
"You can't be in denial you have mad skills!" Roberts said, in disbelief.
"Yes, I can," I said.
"I order you to draw a picture of John Connor!" Roberts said.
I frown narrowing my eyes towards Roberts.
"You are not my assigned human superior," I said.
"I can reprogram you to a daredevil," Roberts said. "I still have experience in computer science."
"My art skills are horrible," I said.
Roberts tosses me a notepad with a pen.
"Prove it you are a horrible artist," Roberts said, daringly.
"Fine!" I said.
I draw on the notepad drawing my flawed version of John Connor. Only John Connor looks younger much like a child lacking his scar. I toss the notepad back to Roberts sliding off the edge to the bunk bed. Roberts gawk at the picture finding it probably horrible in his perspective. Perhaps I can input a virus into my own CPU into Skynet when it tries to enter. A virus that makes it exclusive I am no one's shell. I am the shell of my own.
"Oh my god," Roberts said, grasping me by the shoulder. "You drew Connor as a kid!"
"Sooo?" I ask.
"That is dead on accurate," Roberts said.
I slide Roberts's hand off my shoulder.
"You?" I said. "Seriously have known John Connor since childhood? As if."
"I have known John Connor since his mother visited San Andreas," Roberts said. "He was only ten years old back then."
I hand the pen back to Roberts.
"Excuse me, I have a virus to get," I said,strolling right past Roberts.
"Do you have a past life?" Roberts asks.
"Uh, no," I said.
"Maybe you are an famous artist who donated their body to Cyberdyne and it was used to make a new Terminator," Roberts said. "And you don't remember it!'
"First, all the mess you've put me through, and now this?" I said. "You are desperate beyond belief to get under my skin."
"Hey, that was Shawn's idea to tie your boots together!" Roberts notes.
I had a sigh making my way towards the exit.