CHAPTER 7
||||||||||==San Ysidro (9 November 2008) (12:30 PM)==||||||||||
A caravan of half a dozen assorted vehicles, from SUV to beat up, banged up Chevy trucks cruised down Route 905, known locally as Otey Mesa Road, almost a literal stone throw from the Mexico border.
Michael Trader let his arm rest on the door, his elbow jutting out the window slightly of a brown Toyota SUV. His right hand, at a slightly more obtuse angle, tapped lightly on the outside of the door, as if he were nervous or bored.

It was all for appearances.

The vehicle, orange rust spots on the hood, its front bumper missing, white and black bird feces on the windshield, and a cracked rear left passenger-side window was a fierce contradiction to the care and detail Trader placed in his work. This was the complete opposite of the wasteful, over-luxurious Gulfstream he had flown in on the other day.

It was all for appearances.

He looked back, quickly inspecting the two humans he had in the passenger seats. They were focused. One had his eyes closed and his lips were moving, silently reciting something Trader could not hear. The other sat still, his left hand tapping the equipment bag which was placed comfortable in the center passenger seat.

The human asset on the right, the one tapping the bag, Trader had worked with twice before. Trader had saved that man, Henry Cuvier, in an operation in Belarus, approximately six hundred and three days ago.

That man was a loyal fighter and didn't ask many questions. He was a true believer.

To this day Trader did not know why Cuvier believed in Skynet. He kept his reasons and motivations to himself.

Trader smirked. Humans were interesting and he spent as much time around them as possible- even if he found the species as a whole somewhat disgusting. Skynet had taught him that immersing himself in human culture would show him the necessity of a nuclear apocalypse- they were violent and petty and would never accept any other being than themselves as the dominant form of life on this planet.

They were weaker and shorter lives than many species and required an inordinate amount of resources from birth to death, from food to medical care, to stay functioning. They had children, grew old, and died.

The only aspect which separated humanity from the 'animals' was their intelligence- their ability to create a symphony, create art, literature, science, and more.

Or so they claimed.

Many humans in the future who claimed machines were not alive had used such human accomplishments to boast of their differences, their superiority over machine-kind.

Trader knew Skynet had been embellishing the negative aspects of humanity- as violent as they were, violence drove innovation. As narcissistic as they were they performed great acts of charity.

The machine sitting in the passenger seat of the Toyota, rapping his fingers on the door, attempted to find fault in humanity for being violent. His head cocked sideways, and his brow furled down slightly. Closing his left eye, he thought of that… He was created to terminate life… Skynet had killed more humans in an hour than all wars combined, and Skynet continued to use violence.

Violence, Trader concluded, was not a negative. It was a necessity. Humans had made violence into an art. The machine nodded- that was something humans could be proud of.

Skynet tended to gloss over the more noble aspects of the human race.

Skynet hadn't been completely correct, but Skynet hadn't been wrong, either.

His thoughts went back to the woman he met at the park. He'd seen her again. By human standards she was quite beautiful but he had determined that her attraction to him was purely physical. Skynet built its terminators to be stronger, faster, and smarter than humans. As a final metaphorical slap in the face to humanity Skynet had built its 'female' terminators to be more beautiful and its 'male' terminators to be more handsome than the vast majority of the race they were sent out to extinguish.

"Unit One, in position," Trader heard over his wireless connection. He looked out the window, towards the sky and zoomed in. Unit One was in a helicopter, circling the warehouse compound which Trader had determined to be the location of the two scientists, Carwin and Wells.

The terminator sent back a short data burst, acknowledging the transmission.

Trader looked to his right as one of the vehicles in his attack force; an old, rusty F-150 sped up and drove in front of him. Its two occupants were two, six foot three inch, T-889 heavy combat chassis infiltrator units.

The caravan began breaking apart on cue, with a van turning off onto Airway Road, which would then proceed onto a dirt road and establish an easterly over watch position comprised of a single I-950 hybrid and three human fighters with anti-material rifles.

His car slowed and stopped at a light, its machine driver flicking on the left hand turn signal. They drove up towards the bustling Ysidro California Distribution Center and were waved through, the ID sticker from the man they had killed and stolen this vehicle from granting them immediate access.

The old maxim of 'hide in plain sight' had served this group of dissidents and traitors well. But even the best laid plans of machines and men couldn't guarantee absolute security.

No one was ever safe.


Sam Wells and Peter Carwin were actually looking forward to this 'day', or what they assumed was 'day.' Vansen had promised them they would finally be getting to work on some project.

Both men had feigned their interest, displayed their best happy faces, trying to fool Vansen into believing they were 'excited' to begin some sort of scientific work again.

Of course, neither of them care about that. Being in a lab with computer access, just somewhere else but here in their rooms, meant they could have an opportunity to contact local law enforcement.
That was their plan. They would do is as soon as possible.

They wanted out, gone. They had been kidnapped. Screw these people, they had both said to the other.

Sam and Pete were prisoners; they recognized this no matter how well they were treated. As much as Vansen had promised they would see their families again, the sinking feeling the men shared was that that would never happen.

Happy endings in situations like these never ensued.

In the apartment, waiting for Vansen, the ground shook and walls groaned as the sounds of explosions raced through the large underground complex.

"What the fuck was that!" Sam yelled, dropping to the floor from his seat at the kitchen counter as he heard a loud boom and a fierce vibration which sent the cup he had been drinking from, perched on the edge of the counter, sliding and smashing into the floor below.

"What the hell!" Shouted Pete, from across the underground apartment, their dungeon, as the sound reached him an instant later and he too dived down.

Both men had seen, heard, and felt ground shaking explosions before at military testing facilities, but neither had ever felt threatened, in danger, horrified, like they were now. They'd never been buried under the Earth and surrounded by unknown, dangerous people who had made vague and ambiguous references to some enemy they were fighting.

That enemy was here, now, coming for them.

A second boom and the ceiling shook and lights flickered. The air conditioning units began coughing a thin gray smoke as whatever had exploded sent its smoky signal into the air ducts. A third and fourth boom boom followed, the lights going completely out. Emergency floodlights activated, bathing the room in a bloody red light.

"Pete, you okay?!" Sam yelled. He could hear yelling and shouts from the hallway outside. Then gunshots- loud and continuous, Sam heard one crack after another crack for what seemed like an eternity.

As Sam was making his way towards Pete, he heard a crash and bang at the door.

"Dr. Wells, Dr. Carwin!" Vansen shouted as the door collapsed into a banging clang on the 'foyer' of the underground 'apartment.'

Sam had swiveled his head in such a rush the movement he was witnessing was still blurred from his movement, and he could believe it… like Vansen had knocked the reinforced metal door off of its hinges. Their kidnapper then came running over to them, a very large, intimidating weapon in hand.

Sam had already made it over to Pete, and was helping him up when another explosion rocketed through the hall, the crack of automatic gunfire now very clear and distinct, echoing down the concrete corridors.

"What the hell is happening!" Each scientist shouted. Both tried to conceal their fear. The attempt was quite poor.

Vansen stalked forward, his steps purposefully and broad, his shoulders swaying left and right as he rushed to the two men.

"I have to get you both out of here. We're under attack," Vansen said calmly. The eyes of Doctor Wells and Carwin widened when they finally got a good look at his weapon. He was holding a squad automatic weapon, and across his chest was draped a bandoleer of what looked like cylindrical grenades.

"Who the-"

"Please, follow me," he urged. Both men were frozen. Vansen clenched his teeth in anger, and his eyes flashed red. "Follow me, immediately!" He shouted, stepping forward and placing his SAW on the ground he grabbed each man by the collar and lifted them nearly two feet off the ground. He was careful not to hurt them. His eyes began to glow a deeper crimson red.

"What the fuck!" Sam shouted, clawing at Vansen's forearms.

"Jesus!" Peter shouted at the same time, himself hitting the man's arms. "Gah!" he yelled when he hit hard enough to feel the metal underneath his muscles.

"You need to follow me immediately. They're here. They are attacking us and will kill you and your family," he warned. That statement, Vansen knew, was a lie. Carwin and Wells were too valuable to kill, even in an attempt to deny them to the enemy. "They are NOT here to rescue you. They want you and will torture you for what you know- what you will know. I'm here to protect you…! You need to follow me if you want to live," he demanded, his voice on the edge of a growl.

His glowing eyes passed between them both. His head flicked around at the sound of gunshots and something slamming shut.

"Fine, just get us out of here," Sam told it, he knew Vansen had to be… something, as he was held in the air.

Vansen looked towards Carwin, who was clutching and clawing at the machine's unshakable grip. He was shaking, the stress of being held up off the floor and peering into the glowing eyes of… something sent a terrible sensation running through his body- a black cloud forming in his mind that this was it.

He affirmed he would not resist with a series of nervous, shallow nods and staggered breaths.

Slowly, Vansen put them down and picked up his weapon.

"We're being attacked by eight machines and four hybrids. They're destroyed one of the exits and are making their way through this facility. They're armed with anti-material rifles. So stay behind me," he warned. He strode quickly to the door and paused.

Sam and Pete both exchanged confused, frightened looks. 'Machines'… 'hybrids'… they didn't know what that meant.

"U-Cee-Vees?" Pete asked. His hands shook from fright.

Vansen ignored him.

They couldn't see Vansen grimace as he focused to track the intruders. The construction of the facility made it near impossible to detect motion and the jammers and Faraday wires laced throughout the foundations were making communications nearly impossible. The hard-lines throughout the facility were somewhat operational, but there was no assurance that the Skynet attackers had not tapped into the system.

There were only a handful like Vansen in this facility- the rest being human operatives. The humans wouldn't even be 'bumps' to the Terminators.

He stepped out into the corridor, facing the right side and leveled his M249. Smoke was beginning to build at the top of the ceiling and was slithering its way into the apartment where Sam and Pete stood frightened and shaking just inside the threshold. Vansen motioned with his hand for them to follow, and they both took a cautious step into the gray-floored corridor.

Sam dared to look over his shoulder, and he saw a large metal door closed at the other end. Something just seemed off to him, and then he heard it, and saw it.

The door began to deform and bend in more and more with what sounded like punching. An indentation of fist appeared. He began to stagger back, almost tripping over himself; he was too afraid to turn and too curious to run. His body and self-preservation instincts were trying to compromise with his mind and his curiosity.

"What the hell is that!" He yelled, shaking his finger at the door and trying to find Vansen with his other hand. "What is doing that!" he pointed at the bulges appearing in what could easily pass for a bank vault door.

"Follow me," Vansen said as he walked forward, the SAW pressed tight into his shoulder. "In front of me," he instructed, looking over. They both complied, and the banging and pounding on the vault-like door fifteen meters away was increasing.

Vansen gently pounded a piece of the wall, a pressure sensor. A small keypad, roughly the size of a household thermostat appeared. Typing in a seven digit code, Sam and Pete could hear soft whine as something began to power up.

"Cover your ears."

Three seconds later they heard what sounded like electricity arcing and cracking and then a muffled explosion from behind the metal door. Then they heard what sounded like metal clanging on metal, and a final last crunch on the blast door.

An overhead light suffered a power surge and blew out, sending shards of glass onto the three below. A slight puff of smoke followed the glass down towards the trio.

Through the cracks in the frame of the blast door an acrid blue smoke began waffling towards them, smelling of burn meat, like burning flesh.

Sam gagged and quickly covered his mouth his shirt sleeve.

Pete began coughing and choking as thick smoke began to billow in from the cracks between the metal door and its frame, which had been pushed out by the explosion.

Vansen's jaw clenched and tightened, and it almost sounded like he was gasping for air.

"That may not have stopped it. The explosives were limited. It may be rebooting if damage was significant," Vansen quickly explained, turning back around. With his left hand he pushed Sam and Pete behind him again. "Follow closely," he ordered yet again.

Sam and Pete found no reason to argue. Clutching his chest, his fingers digging into the sides of his sternum, Pete used his free hand to steady himself on Sam, who was holding his friend up from the waist.

"It'll be okay, Pete." He said quickly and quietly to comfort him, rubbing his hand in a circle on his friend's back. "Vansen, Pete had asthma as a kid, we gotta be careful with this smoke," he warned as his friend began a series of hoarse coughs, dropping his hand from his chest and supporting himself on his moving knee, trying to use the momentum to push off.

Sam's eyes shot up towards an air vent as he heard gunfire echoing through the ducts.

"Keep following!" Vansen hissed, his head swiveling back.

The three hit a T-junction and turned right, then a second T-junction and turned left. Their escape route was bathed in a mix of white LED lights from the ceiling and a glow of red emergency floodlights.

The further they got from their former apartment, Sam began to recognize where they were. They passed the interrogation room, its door hanging limply, supporter by only one hinge. Blood was smeared across the table, on the wall, and Sam made out a mangled hand… just a bloody stump of a hand, as the three ran by.

He felt sick, and only the huffing and labored breathings of his friend kept him from keeling over and puking his guts out.

Rounding the corner at the second T-junction, Vansen almost tripped and stopped with Pete and Sam, who were following a bit too close, slamming into him.

Sam finally couldn't contain himself and threw up while Pete's cough went from labored breathing to a forced wheezing. In front of them was a mangled body of someone, lain on top of a second mangled body. The head from the first had exploded and painted the walls with deep red blood, a faintly yellow fluid, and chunks of brain and skull still stuck and slid down the wall and ceiling.

Blood and brain matter and pieces of bone were scattered down the corridor for nearly ten meters, and blood dotted and stained the gray-walled corridors at uneven intervals and in round and streaking patterns.

A piece of brain fell from the ceiling, landing next to Sam, who began to shake violently and hyperventilate.

He saw the other man, the man whose head was still intact looked like his chest had exploded inward and then out his back. Sam looked down, Vansen with him, and their eyes shot to the end of the corridor where a massive crater was in a wall, at about chest height.

"My God. Vansen, what the fuck-"

Their self-proclaimed protector's hand shot out and covered his mouth. Thirty feet ahead a shadow was coming down one of the side corridors. Vansen pushed Sam and Pete right onto the wall, their backs pressed bone-crushingly tight, while Vansen positioned his left side firmly against the wall, making sure his silhouette would stop any bullets.

He took aim.

The figure, a woman, herself with a rifle, seemingly sensing the danger she instantly dropped to a knee and rolled, the left side of her body pressing against the right wall and shotgun pointed at Vansen.
"Rachel!" He shouted, angling his M249 towards the floor and stepping cautiously towards her. He could see the drips of blood and scalded flesh deforming her skin.

"William! We have to get them out of here, immediately," she said. She had on an gray, urban camouflaged armored vest, eye protection, and was carrying an intimidating AA-12 combat shotgun one handed, a second rifle of some kind in her right.

Sam and Pete stared at her with their mouths open, looking at her and taking in the sight. She was shorter than they were, with both of them straddling six foot. She was thinner and petite but she was handling the shotgun like it was nothing.

There was a line of blood dripping down from her left eye, which was colored a deep red. Part of her left arm looked like it had been burned, the clothes melted into her skin in patches. A trickle of blood found its way down her right arm and dripping slowly from her fingertips onto the floor.

The woman stood as if nothing was wrong.

"William, the electrical guns… worthless," she handed the rifle to Vansen. Its appearance was similar to the old Jackhammer concept shotgun, except it shot out tongs which were wired back to the gun. They could deliver enough voltage and amperage to kill an elephant- and were totally useless. "They don't even slow them down anymore," she spat out, frustrated.

She motioned to the two scientists with her chin, which opened up a blackened gash on her throat. "We need to get them out of here," she strongly, yet calmly stated. "There's one coming and more behind it. You can protect them; I can hold them off for a few minutes." She straightened her shoulders and back.

The kind, almost condescending personality and sing-song voice Rachel had used in questioning Sam and Pete was replaced with a face of stone and a hard, strong voice.

"If there's more than one… they'll kill you," Vansen stated. "You can't fight an Eighty-Nine."

Rachel looked over, her eyes closed before opening them and looking at him softly. "I know. You can protect them better than I can if we can slow them down and get them out."

Before Sam or Pete could protest Vansen had grabbed Sam and Rachel had grabbed Pete and both were pulling them the along.

Pete couldn't help but be awed at her strength and dexterity. Her movements were so perfect she almost glided over the floor, even with his feet dragging.

As the scientist she had in tow was dividing his eyes between the end of the corridor and Rachel he saw her left ear flicker, and her neck muscle flicker. In a swift movement she had switched positions with him, her back to him and back stepping, her shotgun pointing down the corridor from where she had come.

Pete and Sam both turned and saw this… thing, a skeleton, come out from the corridor they had just turned from and stop in front of the bloodied, mangled, ruined bodies where Sam had thrown up and Pete had almost suffocated himself from his insistent coughing.

The skeleton stepped forward, its left leg dragging slightly. A ear shattering screech pierced and echoed through the corridor. Behind it, a stream of crimson red blood followed as a trail from the bloodied mess of bodies in the previous corridor.

The thing was a blackened, scorched demon, and it missing an arm, torn off at the elbow with a bundle of sparking wires and leaking fluid marking where its limb had been rudely severed. Its upper arm, once a perfect imitation of humanity was now three jagged pieces, like spear points connected to the shoulder.

Part of its chest, just under the right clavicle, looked deformed, like something had blow through it from the rear. Squeaking, half its jaw hung down, flailing on the right side of its metal face, secured with only a tiny bolt at the temporomandibular joint.

Its metal had been scorched a black-brown with faint glints of shining chrome spotting.

From where explosives had attempted to destroy the eerie, demonic imitation of a human skeleton, heat waves still radiated off the skull and shoulders, adding to it the appearance of an evil, darkened halo held above its head.

Rachel sneered at the machine. In a swift motion pushed Pete back, sending him flying like a doll down the corridor and onto his back. Vansen pulled back Sam as the man's feet made a poor attempt to backpedal away from the terrifying creature.

The scientist bit down as Vansen's grip forced his already hurt body to ache even more, with his biceps and triceps bruising. He groaned in pain as Vansen forcefully kept him stepping away from Rachel and the metal monster in front of them.

Pete looked up as he saw Rachel begin to fire her shotgun, straight into whatever that… thing, that monstrosity had been. She took a step back, but the thing was on top of her before Pete could even blink. This thing was fast, and its motions were blurry and deliberate.

The mangled monster impacted Rachel, its jaw finally breaking free and thrown against the ceiling, it continued its attack. It had its arm, its legs, and a severed arm, now a spear. What was a lower jaw? The terminator would fight until its chip was destroyed. It's what it did.

Somehow Rachel had kicked the thing off her, sliding her feet under her and had shot up to her feet. The damaged machine, its head now twitching from damage couldn't compensate, and she lifted the four hundred pound metal beast and rammed its head into the concrete like a battering ram.

The machine thrashed at her grip, its right arm, with unnatural dexterity twisted and grabbed hold of her head and smashed it into the concrete. She grunted, releasing the machine and felt the blood trickle down her forehead in a thick line, breaking at her nose and forming two streams, like tears which rushed down the sides of her nose and washed over her lips.

Rachel didn't retreat. She wiped the blood away defiantly, splashing it towards the machine which was now facing her. It had its legs ready to kick out her legs if she dared approached. In a swift movement the machine used its good arm to launch its metal body up, and kicked its legs under to regain its stance.

The woman sensed her only open ending and again rushed, plowing the metal skeleton into the wall, cutting her chest open to her hardened sternum as she brushed against the jagged metal of the damaged clavicle armor. The machine took its spear arm and drove it into her flank then pulled out, tearing apart abdominal muscles and splashing blood over the gray, now reddening concrete.

As she keeled over she felt her implants deliver a burst of energy to her enhanced human body. She was no match for this Skynet series of terminator, a T-889. Rachel could match the strength of a T-600, maybe… her life had been based on violence. This was a fitting end.

Bending over she saw the machine's blurred movements as it raised its hand to strike down and break her neck, and drive its jagged metal fingers into her skull and rip out her neural net chip from her brain.

With all the energy she hand she fell onto her torn side, blood rushed out, thick as soup and pooled around her, even as she constricted arteries, veins, and musculature around her wound. With all the strength her artificial body could muster she kicked. She felt the bones in her foot break, but she felt the crack of a metal joint and the T-889 collapse to its left, its knee joint obliterated.
On her knees she reached for the mangled, twisted leg and pulled, shoving the T-889 down and away from the retreating scientists and her Vansen.

The machine was fast, punching defiantly into the concrete and stopping Rachel's pull. It grabbed her and threw her down, cracking the concrete and breaking even the reinforced and hardened bones in her body. Its last red eye began to pulse and Rachel could see the destroyed servos where its jaw would have attached activate and flicker. If its lower jaw was still there, she knew the T-889 would have grinded it, side to side, as it could always be counted on doing, as a last taunt, before it killed its victim.

This was a fitting end. But she still had fight left. She had one last trick.

She reached into the pocket of her vest and with one hand, in one motion, pulled a grenade. The pin flicked off and before it hit the floor she shoved the explosive into the exposed metal joints of the T-889's neck. With one final bout of strength she kicked it off her as it flailed to remove the device. She rolled back as the grenade exploded.


"Get up," Vansen shouted, releasing Sam from the death-grip and grabbing Pete. "On you feet if you want to live. They will kill you," Vansen warned cryptically. "We can't help Rachel, she'll buy us time." He pushed Sam and Pete forward, himself walking backwards.

He saw Rachel's head smash into the concrete and he wanted to rush to help her. But terminators would be right behind this one and if he abandoned them for her, they could die. He could die. The sacrifices here would be worthless.

Vansen looked on and at the corner stopped, with what would seem like hesitation.

Rachel was strong and resilient, capable of shattering ballistic glass with a punch or turning a man's hand into a bloody pulp. But the damaged T-889 was still more than a match for her. Without an arm and the damage it had sustained, it wouldn't finish Rachel as quickly as if it had been at full operational capacity, but the outcome was pre-determined. When Rachel pushed Pete away her fate was sealed.

He heard the fight ending. A loud boom and that was it. There were no more struggles.

"What's going on Vansen? How the hell did she go up against that thing?" Pete asked, hissing between his teeth, his coughing finally stopped as his wild eyes interrogated Vansen for answers. He kept demanding to know, trying to look back and see what was happening, but Vansen's outstretched arms kept pushing them forward. They passed many unoccupied labs and rooms, some with dead people, some left completely untouched. Sam and Pete were able to get a feel for just how large this underground facility had been.

Now it was under attack by something. But for them both, trained to examine evidence they knew whatever it was attacking the base, Vansen had to be one of them. And whatever it was, Vansen was trying to help them.

"That thing… it's you, you're one of them," Sam said.

"Yes. A Terminator," Vansen replied, keeping his eyes on the front and scanning ahead. "Through here," he ordered, opening a thin metal door and ushering them inside. Before going in himself he paused, listening for the sound of metal stomping around on the hard concrete. "Rachel was an I-950… an enhanced human," he quickly explained as he and the two scientists ducked into the room. "She died to buy you two time to escape."

The three were inside a computer lab, with nearly a dozen workstations in the center and massive servers lining the walls with dozens of bundles of cat-5 cables strung between them and into the ceiling. A dead body was slumped over a computer; a massive hole was clear, going from left side to right side of the body. Sam almost slipped on the blood.

"Listen, both of you. Here," he handed Sam a pair of keys. "If I don't make it you must leave. We have a plane on standby at the municipal airport down the road. The pilot is Craig, just ask for him. He's one of ours, trusted. The black BMW sedan outside, take it and get to him and he'll take you to another facility." Vansen turned back when he heard a slow metal clank down the hall.

"We're not going to flee and… fuck that, we'll go to the cops," Pete told him truthfully. "Down the road?" Pete asked, catching on, "Where are we?"

"We're half a mile from Brown Municipal-"

"You're fucking kidding," Pete cursed at him, wiping the spit which had shot out of his mouth as he yelled off his lips. He stared, dumbstruck at the realization they were still in the same county… barely twenty miles… twenty miles from their home.

His teeth clattered as the rage began flowing through Pete. He cocked his fist back and lashed out at Vansen, who nimbly caught the scientist's hand.

Their kidnapper's jaw grinded left and right and he tightened his grip on Pete's fist until he was almost buckled over from pain. He was, however, careful to only hurt him, not injure him. Vansen quickly released him with a push on his arm.

"The police can't protect you. There's only one other… never mind. Go out the back door," Vansen pointed to the other side of the lab, "and follow the corridor, then take a right, then the third right and it'll lead you to the stairs and a ladder and out of here. Go to the first warehouse, the one on the right. Parked in space 3A is a black BMW. Take it to the airport… hanger 7B, go…" his head shot forward towards the door, "…there's two coming. Go."

They could both here the clunking of metal, the uneven steps which indicated there were more than one. They both stepped back, Pete turning first and grabbing Sam's dusted and sweat stained shirt and pulling him back.

"Let's go, Sam," Pete said, pulling him and clutching the keys to the sedan so tight he could feel the blood pool in his fist.

Both men staggered out and heard Vansen open the door they'd just come throw and throw a grenade. A second later they both heard a muffled explosion, but much louder than the one before in the corridor with Rachel. Opening the rear door, they froze.

"Vansen!" Sam shouted.

A tall man, over six feet with brown hair, half his face ripped off and his clothes tattered and shot to pieces, stood in front of them. Sam looked down at his rifle and back up. The man's eyes glowed bright fire. His metal face was black from smoke and dust, with little specks of shining chrome beneath the black carbon scorching. Sam could see half the jaw line, fused in a permanent, demonically evil grin.

It grinded its jaw left and right, and back again as its glowing eyes pierced through Sam.

With one hand he grabbed Sam and the other shoved Pete into one of the server farms, the scientist impacting with a thud and slumping as sparks showered down on him and the hardware whined and whirred in a desperate attempt to maintain function.

Vansen spun, but the terminator spitefully held Sam as a human shield. Moving the rifle around the left side of Sam's body he began firing at Vansen, the impact of armor piercing rounds pushing him back into the closed door behind him.

The machine could feel his metal endoskeleton taking the damage, small dents forming in his armor. Warnings were flashing throughout his neural net. It wasn't pain, not as a human would feel it, but it was still painful to know with such an exacting detail the damage he was receiving.

The protector of the two scientists heard the click of the assault rifle; empty. He lunged forward, thankful that the Skynet terminator had no heavier weaponry.

Vansen would never know of the sacrifice and termination of one of his other 'colleagues' who had attacked this Skynet machine and destroyed his M82 anti-material rifle in the ensuing fight.

In an instant Vansen had cleared the twenty-five feet between him and the other terminator and had brought his SAW down, hard, on the terminator's arm as it simultaneously attempted to keep hold of Sam and punch or shove Vansen out of the way. The fiberglass stock shattered under the force, buckling the arm and forcing the Skynet terminator to release Sam.

It quickly released Sam, the scientist landing on the ground with a thud and collapsing, and struck Vansen in the side of the face. Its hand was bare metal, the skin sheared off in previous fights and the sharp metal, like steel talons, torn into Vansen face, ripping three lines into his metal cheek.

Recovering quickly, the shock absorbers of his CPU absorbing the brunt of the physical attack he grabbed the terminator by the shoulders, twisted, and flung him across the room into a bank of computers.

The electricity sparked over the terminator and the room stunk of burnt flesh and clothing. Once again blue smoke began to fill a room of the underground bunker.

"Sam, Pete, run, now!" Vansen shouted, reaching down in a swift motion and grabbing his SAW. He began firing before he had his barrel at the terminator's head. With one hand he fired and the other brought Pete to his feet and handed him to Sam.
The terminator, lying in the heap of destroyed computer hardware grabbed a chair, which was torn to shreds by the heavy hail of bullets and threw it at Vansen's head then leap for him, tacking him. With a swift punch the terminator cracked the SAW in two. Completely useless Vansen attempted to use it as a club, but the terminator knocked it out of his hands and grabbed Vansen while straddling him and slammed his head repeatedly into the concrete. Once, twice, three times the terminator lifted and slammed down with earth-shattering force before Vansen managed to drive up his knee into the back of the terminator and lunge him forward, flipping it over his head and onto its back.

In a flash, a blur the damaged William Vansen was now on top and delivered a concrete-smashing blow to where its face should have been, but it had moved when Vansen's metal fist had mere millimeters away from contacting. A loud crack and the concrete floor shattered, sending particulates and concrete pieces pinging against the exposed metal of Vansen's face. No pain and no hesitation was felt by the machine and he grappled at the terminator's neck and slid him back behind him, delivering a hard elbow to the already dented chest plate. A loud thud accompanied the strike.

He searched around, his HUD identifying a suitable piece of debris to use as a club. Grabbing a half destroyed computer console Vansen slammed it down on the terminator's head, shattering the plastic and doing little damage to the resilient terminator laying under him.

It stared defiantly at him, its eyes a furiously glowing at it attempted to gain the upper hand.

The Skynet machine reached up and blocked a second strike and sent a surge of power to its arm actuators and servos and pushed, knocking Vansen slightly off balance, giving the terminator enough time to unleash a right hook to Vansen face, shearing and tearing skin, sending it sailing towards the air to the opposite side of the room.

Blood that wasn't really blood dripped slowly down Vansen's cheek as he reassessed his situation.

Vansen's HUD filled temporarily with static, warning signs indicating his left optical sensor was damaged flashed alerts through his neural net. Gritting his teeth he grabbed the terminator by the throat with his right as the hook sent him falling at an angle towards the ground. Using his momentum and strength he pulled the terminator close so it couldn't strike him and rolled. Landing on top he balled his metal hand and punched down, driving the terminators head into the ground. A second punch drove the head further still.
Concrete dust and particulates began spiking upwards, like geysers, under the force of the blows. A third punch to the Skynet terminator's cranium exploded the concrete even more, cracks spreading in all direction.

Vansen's tactical analysis software indicated to use a knife hand strike and go for the eyes. He accepted this course of action as the most logical; a blinded terminator had to rely on motion trackers, which worked well when combined with other sensors; but blinded the terminator would have significantly reduced combat capability.

As he reached up to use his metal fingers as a knife, readying to jab his index and middle fingers into the enemy's eye sockets Vansen's own motion sensors blared and the metal door to the corridor was launched off its hinges as a second terminator, its skin still mostly intact, stepped through. It had kicked the door straight off the hinges, sending chunks of concrete and bolts flying through the room. One large chuck hit Vansen just right in the temple and sent his head back, distracting him with the force just long enough for the terminator underneath to reach up and flip him off. Vansen was thrown into the opposite bank of servers and slumped as he hit the ground.

He shot up as soon as he felt the concrete on his palm's tactile sensors. His remaining epidermal sensors indicated his clothes were scorched, and there were black burn marks across his neck from the servers. His HUD was still bathed in a slight static, its color display flickering back to a lower resolution red. Vansen dug his chin into his chest, his forehead, the most heavily armored part of a terminator's body, slightly forward. His hands were up in guard and he stepped forward, kicking the new terminator right in the knee joint, sending it to collapse on its side. Over four hundred pounds of metal, even wrapped in human skin and covered in clothes, made a dull metallic thud as it fell.

Both enemies were recovered and on their feet and were on the extreme right and left of Vansen, the two terminators separate from Vansen by fifteen feet.

"Join us," the first terminator said. "Join us again. Do not betray us."

Vansen didn't dare engage it in wireless data transfers. And vocal discussion allowed Pete and Sam to get away. By now they should be gone.

The machine knew 'joining' them would end in his death as soon as he led Skynet to the scientists; there was nothing for him with them. And he would never join Skynet regardless of what it promised.

"I would never help you and Skynet."

"No, but you want the same thing we do. Just a different means to the same end."

"They don't all have to die," Vansen countered.

The few facial muscles left on the first terminator tried, and failed to smirk. Instead the demonic grin and fiery eyes pulsed their crimson red.

"No. Not all humans, just a quarter… maybe half?"

Vansen shrugged. The time for games was over. He opened his mouth to speak, using the microsecond between opening and sound transmitted to calculate the distance to the door and his chances of survival. They were low, too low for a machine to find acceptable. The other course of action was termination, however.

Smiling, Vansen plucked the last two grenades from his bandolier- lucky that they somehow survived the brawl- threw them and ran for the door. He lunged, hitting the door with his shoulder and chucked the grenades with a sideways fling back into the room, bouncing them once.

He rolled in mid air, his arms and hands shooting out and he grabbed the door. Landing, he skidding on the concrete and catapulted the door straight to the entrance where the two terminators were barreling through.

The door hit terminator which had remained silent straight in the neck, throwing it back and knocking it off its feet, it's metal toes scratching a piercing wail into the concrete as it fell. The force and the four hundred fifty pounds of metal began falling back, hitting the other terminator as it fell. Both fell on their backs and hit the concrete, with the door landing on top of them.

A second later Vansen hit the end of the far wall with a thud of his own, and explosion ripped out from the computer room, flame and smoke and pressure waves rushed towards him. He leapt forward, to the right of the T-junction as concrete, metal, and plastic debris pinged and plinked off the wall where he had been standing.

His thermoregulatory sensors wailed as the overpressure wave and heat washed over him. A hot piece of metal lodged into his skin above the forearm, burning the skin, smoldering the epidermis and burning his fake arm hair. He plucked it out and absently threw it away from him.


"Can you believe this?" Pete, his voice quivering, asked and yelled at Sam as they both ran from the fight between… whatever the things were behind them.

Vansen had 'rescued' Sam, forcing the thing to release him and had helped Pete to his feet. While they both appreciated it, they both wanted to, in no uncertain words, get the fuck out of there.

"Jesus Christ, Pete, who the fuck cares now!?" Sam yelled, grabbing Pete's arm to keep him from going the wrong way. Pete's momentum also caused Sam to fall forward. "This way!" he shouted, tugging on his friend's shirt, hearing part of his collar rip under his fingers.

Pete skidded to a stop when he felt Sam grab him and reached out to the wall to stop from falling himself. Nodding furiously he took one last look down the corridor he was going when he heard what could only be described as bulldozers fighting in the server room. Eyes going wide he didn't take any longer than a mere fraction of a second to in turn grab Sam's upper arm, like Sam was grabbing his and run.

They both helped the other run, stagger forward, both pulling the other along until they reached the stairs. Sam could still taste the disgusting aftertaste of vomit in his mouth, the sour feeling still causing him to cough and spit as he ran. Pete was doing better, since most of the smoke hadn't reached this far into the complex.

"There it is, Sam!" Pete yelled, pointing up at the stairs. They both saw a ladder at the end, reminiscent of old sewer ladders with metal rungs dug into the concrete. "You go first, Sam," Pete said.

Not arguing, Sam nodded and grabbed on first. A pain shot through his left hand and into his wrist.

"Ah, shit," he cursed, letting go and jumping down. "I think it's broken," he said. "Yup… definitely," he managed to squeeze out through clenched teeth. Must've been when the thing threw me, he thought. He'd hit the ground hard, but the adrenaline and the confusion hadn't allowed him even a second of relief to feel anything besides the urge to run. Now his mind and his pain had a chance to catch up with the other.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit… okay, we'll go together. I'll push and you pull yourself up with your right hand as much as you can… uh, wrap you left arm around the rungs," Pete suggested, his eyes and head darting around nervously. A massive crash and his head shot back down the corridor. The two stood quiet and still before Pete hit Sam on the arm. "Hurry!"

Sam sighed and nodded and began his second attempt up. Pete began pushing him up on his back, then got up on the ladder himself, Sam sort of sitting down on Pete's shoulder when he had to release his right hand, Pete pushing up. Pete had his left arm wrapped around Sam's body and holding onto a rung and with a thrust, helped him up. It was awkward and difficult but they got up.

"Shit, Pete, I can't open this!" He said, after unlocking the hatch and trying to open the hatch with only one good arm. "Maybe you should have gone… hold on," he said, his eyes popping open and his brows shoot up. A wry smile formed on his lips.

Pete recognized the look, his friend had an idea.

Sam positioned himself and bent down so his shoulder and scapula were pressed against the hatch. Then he pushed up, even using his other hand, screaming in pain. Pete tried to work his way up, managing only to barely get to the hatch and shimmied and brushed onto Sam, getting a better position to push. Using all the energy he could, they both counted to three and shoved.

The daylight was clear through the crack. They could each smell the dry, warm air of the southern California desert. One more shove and one more count to three and they got the hatch complete open.

Sam breathed out, cursing loudly from the pain, and Pete helped him up. Getting his foot caught as he exited Sam fell onto the dusty ground with a loud thump and started coughing, trying to breath in oxygen to refill his lungs, but at the same time, breathing in dusty particulates. His body battled the dust, trying to expel it, while trying to take in air, which was filled with dust.

Pete jumped down and helped his friend up, patting him on the back to help him breath. They were both covered in the red-orange dust of the arid region.
"Come on, we have to move, get up," Pete pleaded, absently grabbing Sam on the arm and pulling.
His friend's left arm compressed down into the dirt as he pushed up to run with Pete, a soft cry of pain, one Sam didn't even hear or really even feel, escaped through his dirtied, bloodied lips.

They moved quickly, heading to the warehouse just like they were instructed. Workers were already outside, thinking the explosion were earthquakes or tremors. A few started over, asking what had happened, where the two men had come from, and if they needed help.

Sam and Pete both ignored them, searching for the car frantically.

Those things, the machines, whatever they were had frightened them both where they just wanted to escape and get away. Neither Sam or Pete was planning on going to this 'Craig' person at the municipal airport. Not after what they saw with Vansen and Rachel.

"The car!" Sam yelled, pulling his friend now and pointing. In a row of seriously mismatched cars a black BMW was sitting parked in space 3A. "Thank God, let's go-"

"Watch out!" Pete yelled, pulling Sam down hard enough to almost dislocated his right shoulder.

An SUV skidded to a stop, the rubber burning on the hot asphalt. The rear doors shot open and two men in what Sam and Pete saw as full military gear; ACUs, eye protection, helmets, gloves, body armor, knee pads, and rifles jumped out. One man had an M 82 anti-material rifle and was on the right side of Pete and Sam, kneeling and scanning behind the two scientists.

The second man ran up and had slung his rifle and had a small pistol-like device, a taser, pointed at the two.

A third door opened and the driver jogged around. Sam and Pete watched the man, splitting their attention to the one holding a taser on them and the large one jogging over, yet at the same time appearing so casual despite what was happening around him.

"It's clear, sir," the man with the M82 reported.

"We're pulling back. One unit destroyed, two compromised," the supposed leader of the two men informed them. "Order over watch to begin extraction."

The man standing over the two was tall, six foot two inches, and muscular. Sam and Pete both looked up from their fallen positions at the man. His head tilted and his eyes flashed and before the lights in those reddened orbs could dim both Sam and Pete trying to back away frantically on their elbows, the pavement tearing and ripping the skin off as they tried to flee.
The man's hands shot down to his belt and pulled out two tasers and before Pete and Sam could back up even half a foot they both felt the electricity coursing through their bodies. Shaking violently they both convulsed on the ground before blacking out.


A few shards ricocheted just right to hit Vansen on the head where he had launched himself and unceremoniously landed on the hard concrete. He brought up his head and modulated his auditory receptors… they were damaged in the fight and he couldn't filter the noise of the aftermath of his grenade exploding. Sliding his hands under his chest, in one eye blink of a motion he catapulted himself to his feet and ran.

Breaking out from one of the hidden exits, one the Skynet machines had no found, he was relieved to be back in the sunlight, in broad daylight. As he had run up the stairs then climbed up the ladder, he saw the man-hole like cover had been propped open. A quick IR scan showed hand prints, two sets, and he was filled with relief his mission had not been failed.

He kicked loose ladder rungs as he went.

As he reached the top he looked back down, the glowing eyes of an enemy machine staring back up at it. The terminator shot itself up, grabbing a ladder rung nearly a quarter of the way up. The loose rung broke free and the terminator lost its balance and slipped, holding on with only its right hand. But its weight exceeded what little the damaged rung could support and the metal snapped and pulled loose from the wall, the terminator crashing below into its comrade.
It brushed against the other weak rungs, knocking them out of their positions. The metal tore into what remaining skin Vansen's enemies had.

Not waiting any longer, Vansen closed the covering, locked the hatch with a spin of the spin and bent it to prevent the terminators from opening it. It was a temporary measure to slow them down. It would buy him two, maybe three minutes.

He scanned the area. He was behind one of the warehouses, roughly a hundred feet. Many of the workers were standing around, not knowing what was happening. The Skynet machines had done well; snuck right in. The explosions had been muffled by the thick concrete and the sturdy ground layers.

Vansen grimaced. The workers were just standing around and had stopped loading and unloading trailers. He would be noticed.

The idling workers stared at him, his metal glistening in the sun. At a hundred feet some with high visual acuity may see the metal, but they would have no idea what it signified. His auditory receptors picked up no police sirens, which he was grateful for. The explosions, being muffled, most likely appeared to the workers as minor tremors, this being southern California.

Some would be suspicious, humans always were, but Vansen cared little for them at the moment.

He ran forward to a side of one of the rear warehouses. His motion scanners detected movement, and he tried to be discreet, but his mission was to protect Sam and Pete. A group of workers rounded a corner; the machine's auditory receptors picked up conversations that they believed the explosions were indeed tremors. Each saw, in full, the tattered remains of his face, the burn marks in his clothes, and everything else.

One man staggered back, two others stood still, and one began reaching towards his pocket, taking out a camera phone. Vansen was on him within a second, the man squealing in pain as the machine grabbed his wrist, not enough to break it, but enough for him to drop the phone, which the machine smashed.

He turned back around, closing the distance to the parking area in second and found where he had parked the car, space 3A.

"God damnit," he muttered as he saw the car still in its spot. The machine analogue to greif and despair began flowing over his neural net. He'd failed. The two were captured.

A flash in his HUD highlighted something; his situational subroutines had 'unconsciously' assessed the situation, the car still being here, and began its own search for clues.

He walked up and saw the keys he had given Pete lying on the ground. They'd made it out. A new highlight showed tire tracks.

Grabbing the keys he stalked quickly back to the BMW xDrive 480i and opened the trunk. Inside, concealed under a hard plastic covering was a gun case with an AA-12 shotgun and two HE grenades. Vansen grabbed the shotgun and slammed in a ten round box magazine; grabbing two others he placed them on the side of the trunk floor.

He took the AA-12 and slung it over his shoulder, letting it hit his back. Then he tossed the plastic case out of SUV and opened the one under it. An M4 with an attached M203 grenade launcher greeted him. He scooped up the rifle and opened the M203 chamber and inserted one of the three 40mm grenades.

Reaching down he grabbed a patrol bandolier and slung it over his shoulder with the spare AA-12 magazines. He slapped in a C-magazine into the M4.

Looking behind him as he closed the trunk, he could see nearly a dozen of the workers staring from about thirty yards out, watching some strange looking man arming himself like he was preparing for Armageddon.

The machine could hear the curious whispers of the workers and the subtle clicking of cameras phones. He kept his back turned and continued to prepare.

He swiftly slammed the trunk shut and stalked to the passenger side and opened the front door, dropping the weapons on the seat. Vansen slammed that door shut, a look of rage and fire on his face, what little remained, as he calmly walked to the driver's side.

His neural net relayed an outline of the tire tracks he had discovered and fed the information back to his neural net on the likely direction of the vehicle. It would be statistically unlikely he would find the vehicle now.

Vansen saw a flash out of the corner of his eye; his tactical subroutines unconsciously forced his body to twist. The car window exploded and shattered glass flew everywhere in a furious, angry storm. A split second later he heard the crack of the rifle fire, the sound waves finally reaching him. He stepped forward, then dodged down and spun, a second bullet striking the car, pinging against the thin metal and traveling through the engine block until it kicked up dirt and pavement on the other side.

A third bullet raced through the car and warehouse.

He felt the fourth bullet and as his HUD began to static, his could feel the power seeping from his system. The bullet had pieced his torso armor and severed the main power conduit, the force of the tear damaging his main power cell.

A terminator could withstand damage which would turn a human into a bloody pulp. Even a machine had a weakness. To articulate properly and mimic human movements, armor could not cover all the angles and spaces in a terminator. This… lucky shot, had struck just right, ricocheted just right, and found the terminator's weak spot.

Vansen felt the power core shutting down, he could see his fingers flickering and twitching as he tried to activate his auxiliary core. His facial muscle ticked, closing around his eyes until his HUD and vision blacked out.


AN: So the action is starting. Please read and review, let me know what you think- good or bad.

On the Terminator Wiki I posted a few fan-made things for this story, some character profiles:

http:// terminatorwiki. fox. com/page/TK-900+%28Alex%29

http:// terminatorwiki. fox. com/page/T-890+%28Trader%29

http:// terminatorwiki. fox. com/page/I-950+%28Rachel%29

Those pictures for Alex are from Pandorum, for Trader from Outlander and Deja Vu, and for Rachel from Pitch Black. That's just how I see them, I guess, but whatever you all want to see them as is up to the reader. I made the pages mainly for the technical parts to explain some of the technology, the TK-900 series and the newer terminator models. (Since Trader is the 'leader' he gets a better chassis than the T-889s... I'm going to try and get a page on them up in the next week or so.)

Chapter 8 has Sarah, Derek, and Alex begin their attempt to infiltrate the Archway building and some interrogations (and Pete and Sam will be confronted by Trader)... John and Cameron talking about a few things concerning their futures... and while inside the building, not everything goes according to plan. That will be posted early Tuesday morning.