Sun-warmed grass prickled John's back as he stretched his arms back and rested the back of his head on his palms. Around him the chatters of his schoolmates filled the air with a low buzz. He couldn't catch individual snippets of conversations, and he didn't really want to. He cracked his eyes open and tilted his head until he could see Riley sitting by his feet.

"I'm so screwed." He said hopelessly, immediately causing Riley to direct her gaze towards him and examine him curiously.

"It's not that bad." Riley said as she looked back down at her lap. She was trying to weave daisies into a chain, but so far was remaining unsuccessful. "It's not like you're actually in trouble or anything—and you get free counselling. It could be worse."

"And it'll get worse when the school calls Mom this evening so they can make sure it's okay."

"You haven't told her about this?" Her question made John open his eyes completely and look at her appraisingly. She didn't sound critical, she didn't even sound like she cared all that much.

". . . No, I haven't told her." John replied as he watched Riley finally thread two daisies together.

"That's probably for the best." Riley shrugged and started working on another daisy. "And anyway, you're looking at this whole thing like it's bad. I mean, don't you wanna find out who's been doing this?"

"You know I do."

"So don't worry. What's the worst that could happen, anyway?"

Cameron getting exposed in front of the whole school, for one. Mom'll pull us out if there's even the smallest chance someone knows. And Skynet probably tracking us down and killing us all. The list ran through John's head, each thought hitting him as if they had been fired from a gun.

"Besides," Riley grinned widely. "Maybe you'll have time to work through some of your issues while you're sitting in Mr. Harrison's office."

"Oh, yeah," John raised his eyebrows. "What issues would they be?" Paranoia, trouble trusting. It all comes with being a Connor.

"Well, for starters: you hate the race cars on your wall. Sometimes you've just gotta hug your inner kid. You've been taking this whole graffiti stuff way too seriously. I know I've said it before, but it isn't even about you. Come to think of it, why's the school even bothering with you?"

John furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"The graffiti is about Cameron. Are they doing this with you because you're her brother? Or. . ."

John looked past Riley until his eyes focused on Cameron's slim frame. She was sitting in front of Morris—or rather Morris had come to sit by her. Morris had shown up at school today limping on a pair of crutches. John had overheard him tell Cameron that he'd been in a car accident and broken his leg. He had to have it operated on, and now his jeans were rolled up to his thigh and he was showing Cameron the long surgical scar. Cameron was examining it unblinkingly—almost in a way that suggested gross interest.

"I don't know." John shrugged lightly and turned his attention back to Riley. "I guess so. Maybe they just want to make sure that I don't do that whole, 'overprotective big brother' stuff."

"I'd say she's more overprotective of you." Riley threaded another daisy into her chain.

John glanced back at Cameron and thought, No kidding.

He suddenly jerked back as Riley beamed at him and tossed her incomplete daisy chain over his head. His sudden movement caused the daisies to come loose from the chain and fall lightly to his lap.

John grinned and picked up a handful of the fallen flowers, preparing to throw them playfully in Riley's hair when a furious shout boomed across the grassy field. John looked up sharply and all but leapt to his feet.

"Walker, you son of a bitch!"

John's lifetime of training unconsciously kicked in as he scanned the field, looking for the source of the shout. He could feel Riley's eyes on him, like she was surprised he had acted as fast as he did. He didn't have to look long before a dark-haired boy wearing an ugly scowl on his face stepped into his vision. The boy's name escaped John, but he knew he had seen him a few times before.

He became suddenly aware of the rapid silence that had followed the boy's shout. The clammer of confused voices was gone and it seemed like every pair of eyes were glued to the boy's tall frame.

John's eyes darted over to Walker, who was only just standing up from his seat on the grass. John had seen him when he passed by earlier, but Walker hadn't given any indication he had noticed him. He had been too consumed in an argument with Adam. They had been speaking too softly for John to deduce what was being said.

"You sound a bit angry, Axelrod," Walker smirked. He didn't sound at all quiet now. In fact, despite his calm, almost insulting tone, John could detect traces of the very same anger the other boy was emanating. "I haven't done anything to upset you, have I?"

"What the hell did you do with them, you ass?!" Axelrod's voice shook and his hands clenched tightly into fists. "Everything is gone. What the hell did you do?!"

Walker screwed up his face and scratched his chin. "Have you checked the second floor girl's room? You go there a lot, right? The third stall?" Some of the watching student's laughed lightly, but the other's remained silent. "Next time you decide to mess with my walls, I'll do a lot worse than flush your books."

Axelrod scoffed and began to lean away from Walker. John saw what was coming he noticed Axelrod's weight shift as he spun on his heel and pivoted forward. Axelrod's fist thudded meatily into Walker's jaw, sending his sprawling back.

John resisted the urge to sigh. The punch was sloppy, predictable. John had learnt to expect better.

A few beats passed as Walker regained his balance, spouting swearwords that would have made a sailor blush. He darted forward and he and Axelrod fell to the ground, throwing ineffectual punches and weak kicks. A few guys cheered and moved closer, but aside from them, the others stayed where they were.

John felt a hand grab his shoulder and he glanced around quickly. Cameron was standing beside him, not looking at the fight, but looking at him. John shrugged out of her grasp and shook his head at her. I've known how to fight since I was a kid. They don't even know what they're doing.

If Cameron had been able to glean any meaning from his face, she didn't give any indication of it. She stepped away and began moving by some of the onlookers, walking in a wide arc around the fight.

John followed her path with his eyes until another shout, this time from a deeper voice carried across the field. Mr. Harrison was sprinting towards Walker and Axelrod. The school counsellor didn't even hesitate before diving into the fray.

"Stop it. Stop, now!" Mr. Harrison shouted as he pulled Axelrod off of Walker. "Adam, do you mind?" he grunted as he was forced to release Axelrod to stop Walker from punching him while he was restrained.

Adam shrugged and grabbed his friend from behind. He was a lot bulkier than Walker and easily pulled him back from Axelrod. Walker's lip was split and bleeding and already his jaw was colouring from where Axelrod had hit him. Blood was dripping freely from Axelrod's nose, but other from that, he looked unharmed, though both boys were panting heavily.

"Principal Bartowski's office. Now!" Mr. Harrison pointed towards the main building and pushed Axelrod forward.

"You too," Mr. Harrison jerked his head and Walker followed Axelrod after a moment, muttering obscenities under his breath. Adam walked beside him with a huge grin plastered across his face.

"Thanks for helping." John heard Walker say sarcastically.

"Getting help in a fight is a little weak for my taste." Adam's grin widened as Walker stared at him in astonishment.

Walker's reply was lost as the other students began to talk again. John ignored what was being said and looked around for Cameron. He didn't have to look long before his eyes fell on Cameron's back. He frowned and started to weave his way towards her. He could hear Riley asking him something and Morris exclaim about what he had missed while he was gone.

What the hell is she doing? John thought as he drew closer. Cameron was bending over Walker's abandoned school bag and was rummaging through the contents as though it were hers.

John opened his mouth as he drew alongside her and watched as she pulled out Walker's dog-eared English book. Surprisingly neat writing filled the pages as Cameron began to slowly flick through the book, but suddenly about halfway through the book, the writing stopped and was replaced by page upon page of drawings. Some were perfectly rendered and sketched, while others were only mere doodles.

Cameron flipped over a few more pages until finally coming to a stop on a humorous doodle of an obvious goth-looking girl clutching a piece in her hands. A banner drawn in pen was sketched across the top of the page and the words "Talent Show" were written in goofy block-lettering. I guess we know why Georgia Scott is being teased, John thought.

His eyes drifted over the last few pictures in the book and John drew in a sharp breath. Several sketches of a girl standing in a zombie-like state stared back at him. Big, wide doe eyes stared blankly and sparks erupted from her ears. It was obvious who the drawing was about and the thought made John shake and clench his fists.

John glared at Walker's retreating back. The son of a bitch was lucky he was on his way to the principal's office or John might have decided to kick his ass then and there.

The device housing the T-888's chip blinked with artificial light, barely visible from the corner of John's eye. His fingers flew over the keyboard and his eyes flickered constantly from the keys to the shining monitor. Lines of coding and indecipherable machine runes blanketed the screen. He still wasn't able to make heads-or-tails of the symbols, but so far, John wasn't worried. The same thing had happened when he hacked into Vick's chip all those months ago.

He was in his element here. Hacking was the one thing he felt so completely comfortable doing. He wasn't like his mother, he didn't draw comfort from the way her gun felt and sounded when she fired it.

In fact it was kind of strange—him drawing comfort from the one thing that would eventually declare war on them all.

"What's wrong?" Cameron asked from her position on his bed.

John smiled grimly when he realised he had stopped tying and looked over his shoulder. "Nothing, I was just thinking." Cameron was sitting like she usually sat while not at school: her back straight, knees together. John tried to keep his eyes on her face, sometimes he wished that summer would end quickly, just so that she would stop wearing those little shorts of hers and her tank-top everywhere. It made concentrating difficult.

"Thinking about what?" Cameron's expression didn't change.

John shrugged and turned back to the computer screen. "Nothing, really . . . I was just thinking about maybe painting over the race cars one day. All this graffiti crap at school's gotten me thinking about doing it."

Cameron was silent for a moment. ". . . What colour would you paint it?"

"I don't know," John smiled. "I haven't planned that far ahead yet."

"Blue is soothing. It reminds you of the sky." John turned back around and stared at Cameron in surprise. She wasn't looking at him now, but rather at the ceiling—as though seeing something that wasn't there. "Or maybe green. You always say how you miss the grass and trees."

John nodded slowly and said, "Blue sounds good."

Cameron lowered her head and gazed at him seriously. "We must buy paint."

John snorted and continued typing the final lines of code on his computer. He tapped the enter key with an exaggerated flourish and spun around as lines of code began to stream across the computer screen with renewed vigour.

"Did you look though all of Walker's book?" he tried to keep his tone casual, but he still couldn't prevent the tendrils of anger that rose unbidden. He hadn't seen Axelrod or Walker after they had been sent to the principal's office, though he had overheard a conversation during last period where a girl had said that both Walker and Axelrod had been sent home.

"Yes, I did."

"And what did you think of it?"

"He is a troubled soul."

The corner of John's lip quirked, "I meant, do you think it was Walker this whole time?"

"It's possible, we need to talk to him and this time we can't be interrupted."

John nodded in agreement. "Even if he's suspended, he'll still be at school. They'll still make him see Mr. Harrison and work for the day. If it wasn't him, I still want to know what he says to Mr. Harrison. I want to know what they all say."

"Do you want me to prepare a covert listening device?" Cameron asked.

"Don't get caught with it. If Mom finds out we've used one, she'll kill us." John almost shuddered at the prospect. Sarah didn't like bugs, she found them useful when the need arose, but she couldn't stand them nonetheless. They were still machines. But he supposed getting caught with a bug wasn't as bad as her finding out what he wanted it for. Though one will basically lead into the other, I guess. "They're pretty hard to come by illegally. Get it out of the safe tonight, when Mom goes to sleep."

Cameron nodded and suddenly glanced towards John's partially closed door. John spun in his chair in time to see his mother push the door open and step inside.

"Dinner's in ten minutes." Sarah said. If she had heard any of their conversation, she wasn't giving any indication of it. She nodded at the computer. "How's it coming along?"

"Should be done in a few minutes," John shrugged. "But even then, I don't know how much we'll get."

"I know. Visual records—pictures, at the most." Sarah nodded and leaned against the doorframe. "Call me when it's done. Oh, and by the way, have you seen my . . ." Sarah's words faded as Cameron reached into her pocket and pulled out Sarah's cell-phone.

John smirked. It hadn't taken much to fool Mr. Harrison when he called. John didn't know why he had stressed about it. All Cameron had to do was imitate Sarah's voice.

Sarah accepted her cell-phone and looked at John and Cameron with raised eyebrows. "Do I even want to know?"

"It was on the floor." Cameron said blankly.

"So you just decided to take it with you?" Sarah's eyebrows climbed even higher until they seemed to disappear into her fringe. "You know what, forget it. I really don't care." She stared at Cameron a moment longer before turning to John. "Remember, ten minutes."

"I know." John nodded and glanced quickly at the computer screen. Figures and runes still streaked down the screen. "Hey, did Derek go with you to the mall today?"

Sarah froze for an instant, and John thought he saw her face tighten momentarily. "He did, why do you ask?" Her face was calm now, if still a bit stony.

"I was just wondering if the two of you had a fight. I didn't see him this afternoon."

"He doesn't live here, John. He can go where he wants."

Okay, why does she sound so defensive? "So you two did fight?"

"No, we didn't." Sarah shook her head and rested her hand on the door. John didn't know if she was going to leave then or stay. He was about to open his mouth to say something in response when his computer beeped softly.

A small pit of something—nerves or anticipation, John wasn't sure—rose in his stomach as he quickly spun in his chair and tapped a few keys on the keyboard. The machine text remained still on the screen, each rune marking a specific area of the chip. It was the T-888's brain.

"Is it done?" Sarah took her hand off the door and stepped closer to him. John was aware of Cameron standing up and leaning over his shoulder to peer at the screen intently.

John tried to ignore Cameron's sudden closeness and sweet smell as he looked up at his mother. "Yeah, it is. I can't get into most of this, not without powering up the chip anymore. Visual memory is out, and I don't know what any of this stuff means." He jabbed his finger at a line of machine runes and glanced at Cameron. "Do you know what it says?"

Cameron shook her head and John felt some of her hair come to rest on his shoulder. "No. I am not programmed to decipher this." She looked at John with those brown orbs, and John noticed for the first time that they didn't shine. "You can't read the electrons moving in your brain. I can't read this writing. I am not programmed to understand machines."

John looked back at the screen and began typing. "Finding a target list shouldn't be too much trouble. The T-888 should have a visual record of its targets stashed away somewhere."

"Not of every target," Cameron added. "It will only have records of a target if it has seen the person, or if Skynet gave it the picture when it was being programmed. The list will be incomplete."

It didn't take long before a line of thumbnails appeared on the screen. John's eyebrows rose in surprise. He had been shooting around in the dark. He knew where visual memories were kept after his experience with Vick, but a target list had been a shot in the dark.

John scrolled through the pictures, frowning at the screen. Six images of three men and two women were placed above what John assumed were their names, written in machine text. John scanned the list, looking at the machine-text names with pictures, and the names without. His heart fell when he realised there were far more names without picture identification, than the names with.

"That's you." Cameron pointed at one of the names without a picture, looking at him expressionlessly.

"I thought you said you couldn't read it?" Sarah said. Her voice sounded flat, but John could hear the ripples of tension and suspicion that flooded through her tone.

"I can't." Cameron looked at Sarah and her hair fell off John's shoulder. "I have the same name in my chip."

Sarah's eyes hardened, but she didn't say anything further, leaving John to turn and look at Cameron.

"Is there anyone else you recognise?" John asked.

Cameron scanned the list for a few seconds before shaking her head. "No, after I was reprogrammed, you scrubbed my memory. I only know names that are still in my database."

"Well that sucks." John said as he increased the size of a picture over one of the names. His eyebrows rose once again as lines of text—in English and machine—moved fluidly across the picture until coming to rest around the border of the picture.

"That's McClane." Sarah said softly. John looked at her in surprise before glancing back at the screen. "He looks older, harder . . . different, but it's him."

John stared into McClane's digital blue eyes for a moment, the knowledge that he was dead finally sinking in. Whatever he had done to warrant his death in the future would never happen now. Skynet had made sure of that.

John drew in a shaky breath and moved onto the next picture. A brown-haired and green eyed woman looked back at him this time. Her pale cheeks were smudged with dirt and blood. In the corner of her picture, a machine barcode sat completely still, contrasting the flowing text still moving around it. Whoever the woman was, she had been captured at some point in the future. John looked at Cameron, but the cyborg only shook her head, and John moved onto the next picture.

This time an African-American man appeared on the screen and Cameron spoke up before the text had even began flowing onto the screen. "That's Major Perry. He's one of your most trusted generals. Derek and Kyle Reese served under him before transferring to operational specialty Tech-Com."

John waited a second, looking at Perry's hard eyes. They had his mother's look like marshmallows, and that was saying something. He sighed slightly and passed over the next few pictures quickly. Each time, he would wait for Cameron to say something, but each time she would shake her head and stare unblinkingly at the picture before it moved along.

When John brought up the last picture, his eyes widened in surprise and he quickly looked at Cameron in astonishment—he even heard Sarah swear an exclamation and step closer to the computer. On the screen, a detailed headshot of Cameron's blank, perfect face stared back at them. Numbers and statistics accompanied the machine writing this time. The figures flowed onto the screen along with a scaled blueprint of Cameron's terminator make and model.

"What the hell . . .?" Was all John could say. Well this explains why it went after her instead of me.

"What the hell is that?!" Sarah said. Her voice was a lot more vehement than John's. "Why are you there?"

"I don't know." Cameron was staring at the screen intently, her face still a blank, emotionless mask. "I've never seen this before."

"You don't know?" Sarah snorted disbelievingly. "They want you gone, and you don't know why."

"No."

"Is this why I sent you back?" John looked at Cameron and she stared back. He was half-expecting her head to tilt, but to his surprise, it didn't.

"I don't know." Cameron repeated. "But Derek might. He should know the other resistance fighters at least."

"Damn it." Sarah's fist connected with the door with a resounding crash. "I'm gonna give Derek a call." She gave John a pointed look and flipped open her cell-phone. "See if you can make head-or-tails of the rest of that thing." She jabbed her finger at the chip as she strode out of the room.

"Just when I thought this day couldn't get any worse." John muttered under his breath.

The one thing that remained the same after Judgment Day was the sunsets. When the trees burned and buildings collapsed into giant piles of rubble, at the end of the day, the sun still set while all around everything was different. Derek remembered patrolling hotspots—areas where stupid teenagers and sometimes adults would go to the surface and watch the single thread of the previous world. Derek never had the urge to visit one himself, now that he was back here in this time, he would sit and watch them frequently.

The slightly greasy napkin of his hotdog dinner was rolling across the park bench in a gentle breeze. Derek glanced at it and pressed his finger of one of the corners, holding it in place.

The park was emptying as the sky began to darken, the soft blue filling with a heady mix of orange, yellow and reds. He had been sitting for a while; a quick glance at his watch told him that it had been well over an hour.

He leaned forward as the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans began to dig uncomfortably into his flesh. Before it had been a minor annoyance, but now it was just irritating.

Derek stilled and tilted his head minutely to the side as a series of soft footsteps sounded on the grass behind his park bench. He reached back slowly as though directing his hand towards his back pocket. He could feel the smooth handle of his gun when a thickly accented voice sounded.

"Something wrong?"

Derek's lips quirked into a smile and he took his hand away from his gun as he twisted on the bench. His eyes ran up and down the Asian woman's body before finally coming to rest on her face. "Jesse." He said lightly.

"You're early." Jesse walked around from behind the bench and took a seat beside him. She nodded towards the setting sun and flicked her eyes towards him. "I thought you hated sunsets."

"I used to." Derek looked back at the sky. "What've you been doing the past few days?"

"I could ask the same of you."

He could feel Jesse's eyes on his face, and suddenly he could feel his cell-phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID, frowning when Sarah's number appeared on the screen.

"Problem?" Jesse crossed her legs.

Derek shook his head and cut the call off. "No, everything's fine." He smiled and stood up, stretching his arms on the cooling air. "Wanna get out of here?"

-

A/N: Okay, I think I mentioned that the graffiti person would be revealed for certain in this chapter, but . . . yeah, it's next time. I got my scenes mixed up. Big thanks to all my reviewers!