No Trespassing
Chapter Eleven: Everyone Hates Cameron
Cameron had realized long ago that she had preferences when it came to social interaction. A short exchange with a stranger regarding current weather conditions ranked low on her scale (irrelevant, trite, unintelligent,) while any conversation with John rested significantly higher (relevant, engaging, higher chance of manipulation.)
An infiltration unit is meant to have a certain neutrality in regards to human interaction. Preferences impair unit effectiveness. It makes them more like the people they are attempting to exterminate. It was part of the reason why most units are read-only. Cameron had no such inhibitions. Ever. She'd long since grown to... dislike certain things and certain people. The clerk at the local SuperMart. She was a person Cameron did not like. She spoke too much of her dearest prized labradoodle, a genetic freak of human interference in the breeding habits of canines. She had an odd eye twitch that made Cameron suspicious, like she would randomly lash out with a butcher knife at any given moment.
Perhaps it was merely because Cameron disliked shopping and gathering useless materials where she could be doing what she'd been assigned to do. What she wanted to do. Most units tolerate useless tasks if it advances their mission. Or they don't, and they simply cannot do anything to improve their circumstances. Either way, they had no choice.
Cameron had a choice. Soon she would say no. Soon, someone else would talk to the strippers and she would talk with John and find out everything she really wanted to know.
That choice was coming up fast.
"Hey honey," Dominique said. She stood roughly seven meters from Larry, a Morris Enterprise technician on his lunch hour. He worked long nights. Their proximity suggested Larry had already slipped a twenty dollar bill into her bra and she had completed her assignment.
Cameron stood in front of her, unmoving.
"I think you lied to me before," she said.
Dominique smiled sweetly and attempted to move past. Cameron interdicted and adjusted her position.
"What are you doing?" the stripper asked. Still calm. In control, but slipping. Or so she thought.
Cameron could snap her neck like a twig at any moment. Dominique's illusion of normalcy, of control in her life, was finished as long as Cameron stood nearby.
"Where does Joey Cook live?"
The stripper cocked her head and slouched slightly, pouty. "I already told you, bitch, I don't know. Don't make me call Alexander."
"Your eye keeps twitching."
Dominique immediately rubbed her eye, leaving a red mark when she moved her hand back down. "So?"
"It's a tell." Cameron took a cursory glance around to confirm no one was paying attention. Thus satisfied, she rounded back on the stripper. "You're lying."
"No I'm not!" She looked very pathetic, like a child's toy, dressed in lingerie for men and boys to gawk at her. She had no agency. The only meaningful choice she'd ever made in her life was to become an object for voyeurs.
People like her did not survive Judgment Day. They stayed in their houses and strip clubs and burned like pieces of dry leaves.
"Does he visit you much?"
"I. Don't. Know. Joe."
She was also remarkably stupid.
"He's part of a gang, you know." Cameron narrowed her eyes just slightly. "A lot of people are after him."
"We get nice people here," Dominique said.
"Don't be dumb."
"Bitch."
Cameron's lip quirked. "I think you want to protect him. I think you're afraid."
Dominique looked away, trying to move past again. Cameron moved to the left.
"He's not a gang... person." She sucked in a breath. "It's my break, please move."
"What are you afraid of?"
"Nothing."
"You know him." Cameron grabbed her arm. Not rough, not painful. Just held onto it. Cameron rolled her head slightly, her hair sweeping to the side.
The stripper nodded silently, unable to look her in the eye.
"Alright," the Terminator whispered. "So we can talk to each other, then?"
"Lemme go."
"Sit down, or I will grab you again."
She let go. Dominique sat down on one of the plush red seats. Cameron stood over her, staring down. "Good. I'll be done with you soon. I want to meet Joey, to discuss business."
This was what she preferred.
"He's a nice guy. We get nice people here."
Cameron stared at her.
The stripper shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"
"Who does he frequent?"
"You're really scary, you know that?"
"Answer the question."
Dominique laughed nervously. "We just talk, y'know? Yeah, he doesn't come here for us."
"What do you talk about?"
"Himself. We're friends. He's nice."
"Nice people usually have something to hide."
Silence.
Cameron really wished they were alone. That would make things much, much easier. Merely speaking with someone enables them to dictate the course of the "conversation." A dark warehouse, bright lights, bound hands and legs, and some handy tools went a long way towards removing that delusion from their minds.
"Are you gonna hurt him?"
"No." A lie.
"Why do you wanna talk to him?"
"Business." Another lie. "You're avoiding my questions."
She sighed. "He lives in an apartment downtown. I've been there once."
Cameron smiled brightly. "Thank you. Where, exactly?"
"Are you sure you're just-"
"Yes, I'm sure."
Dominique told her where, exactly. Cameron committed it to her databank. They could finally leave this place and get back to the mission. And after that, John would go back to his girlfriend and continue to slip away from everyone, Cameron would continue to glitch and Mike would... go wherever he would go.
Life as usual. Somehow, she... preferred being out here, focused, away from the dramatics. It felt more real, familiar. She wondered if she could... hm.
"Thank you for explaining."
The stripper beat a hasty retreat. Cameron watched her leave and turned slightly to watch John as he drank at the bar. She should really tell him not to do that. It was against the law.
------
"Hey."
"Uh, hi."
The guy stood half over a steaming pot of... something, Mike wasn't entirely sure. He kept looking into it every few seconds like he wanted to make sure it wouldn't disappear on him. Between those times he glanced worriedly at Mike.
He looked around eighteen in his face, which was fair and really smooth looking. Sometimes people seem made from marble, all hard surfaces and angles, but this guy wasn't one of them. He hadn't known a hard angle in his life except, maybe, while on the job. Mike would have called him at least a bit younger if he didn't seem to exude the sort of feeling you get from people on the cusp of adulthood. That face also had a pair of soft blue eyes and some parted blond hair that looked like it got cared for obsessively. It just hung down, no fuss or mess, all neat and silky. Made him almost want to pass his hands through it just to see what it felt like.
Mike would have killed to look like him. He was the sort of generic kid you'd see behind the counter of a store or a restaurant and you'd wonder how he didn't get into modeling. Then you'd make your purchase and forget all about him.
Mike folded his hands together, trying to look timid. The other kid just hunched over his whatever-it-was, looking tired.
"I'm Aaron," he said.
"Hey. Jamie." He didn't offer to shake. One thing that stood out was his voice. It sounded deeper than his features let on, Mike expected something a lot more... sweet sounding? He really didn't know.
The awkwardness settled in, as Mike knew it would. They both made themselves busy looking at irrelevant things, like Mike looked down at his stolen shoes, and Jamie concerned himself with his pot of whatever. He avoided looking at Mike, perhaps hoping he'd just disappear suddenly.
Mike wouldn't have minded that himself. Sometimes he wished he didn't have to be like this. Sometimes, he wished he'd grown up during a time like John did, a time where he could learn how to act like a real human being and not the fake one he felt like.
This was his beat, though. It was his thing. Because more than his desire to be "normal," he wanted to be useful. That counted for more.
"So..." Mike bit his tongue and launched into it. "I-"
Jamie interrupted; "Are you lost?"
"No."
"Oh." He stared at the wall and let the whisk he was holding fall to the side.
"I'm, uh..."
Jamie turned and looked at him. Analyzed him, really. Mike smiled sheepishly and rubbed at his hair, feigning coyness. He wondered when, exactly, he should ask the guy about Joey, or if he should just do it right now and save himself the trouble.
And at the same time...
"Who told you?"
"Bartender."
"He's an idiot."
No shit. Mike gulped and nodded. "You okay?"
"Heh, yeah. I'm okay. You wanna go somewhere else?"
"Uh, yeah, can we?"
The other kid looked away from him now and tapped his hands rhythmically against the side of the stove. He looked really miserable, and Mike half expected him to just say "no."
Maybe he shouldn't look at him as a human. Just as an objective, right? Someone who has information you want. That's all, right?
Jamie looked at his watch for a moment, then nodded, biting his lip. "Come on."
----
Around his second drink he realized it had to be true. It had to be.
Yeah, he was kind of an easy sell with the beer, but what the fuck. Sometimes you feel all happy and shit when you're buzzed, John didn't know, maybe he was a bad drunk or whatever, but he just felt wretched, everything hurt. Maybe he was obsessing too much over the carrots and apples thing, but suddenly everything he and Riley had ever done seemed wrong and illegitimate now, like it was all fake, weird, like... Okay.
Mexico? She heard his name. Real name. Didn't even batt a fucking eyelash. And Cromartie, she just... accepted it, didn't even talk about it afterwards. Okay, and before that she saw the fucker, the metal fucker just went into his house, she saw him right there, and then later in Mexico. Oh god...
Here's a robot to protect you!
He had... he had to... cry? No. Stop. Wait. What he needed was more alcohol.
She knew... she knew everything. She knew who he was. Oh god, he still... did he love her? She lied to him. How could he go on like that?
He wanted to smack her in the goddamn face, tell her to leave him alone and never see him again. Why? Why? How did she...
Okay. You're jumping to conclusions. Hey! You're drunk! You're stupid right now. Carrots and apples, well, sure, it's a common phrase.
And now I'm justifying. He took another long gulp and whimpered to himself, slumping over the counter. The one girl who ever liked him was a liar. She probably didn't even really love him. Wrong. Bad. Lied to. Mom told him he wasn't fucking safe with anybody, not even his "girlfriend," god, he hated her, she was always so right she was so much smarter than he was, what good a leader would he be if he could get tricked and lied to this easily?
But no! You're... just... drunk...
There had to be an explanation. Half the people he knew were time-travelers from the future, so when he saw the signs he naturally jumped to conclusions. The reality was much more mundane, right? There was an explanation. Had to be.
Whenever they talked... they... joked around. They... talked about nothing. Cause John couldn't tell anyone anything about himself, and Riley was...
She had nothing to tell.
Hohhh god.
"Hey," he said. "Hey." His throat felt dry.
The bartender glared at him. "What now?"
Fucked up, so fucked up. Mike loved him, Cameron adored him, Riley loved him, but she lied to him, so what the fuck did that prove?
"Nothing," John said.
"Then why did you call to me?" The man rounded on him, annoyed.
"Lemme' alone," he muttered.
"Feh." Off he went, snooty bastard.
This music gave him a headache. Seemed constrictive, kept pounding in his head like a mallet. Wanted to be outside. He wanted to go out and find that fucking Terminator and blow it to hell. Most importantly, he wanted to forget this ever happened, so more alcohol... yep...
John raised his hand to call the barkeep again when someone touched the back of his neck and sat down next to him. He barely reacted to this, staring ahead and lowering his hand bitterly. Cameron.
"You want to talk about it?" she said. He could never get over the fact that she kept changing her voice around him. She used inflection, gestures, she showed emotion on her face, she transformed near him, became human.
He opened his mouth to start spouting random bullshit about Riley, how much he wanted to hurt her, yell at her, punish her for lying to him. But he realized, no, he's drunk. Very drunk already. He refused to fuck up again and instead shrugged. "I, uh... just..."
"Your blood alcohol rating is 0.059."
John giggled. "Y-hah, no shit." He looked at her lopsidedly and thought she looked fucking stunning. Y'know, sometimes he just didn't like how she looked cause she was all emotionless and shit, but other times he didn't give a crap. She was beautiful to him. "D'ya like, y'know, get a whole read out, or somethin'? Just a list of numbers and stuff tellin' you how I'm doing?"
She smiled. "Something like that. I don't always need it to know how you're feeling, though."
He grinned lazily. "Yeah?"
"Yes. Where's Michael?"
"Ah, he went to go fuck some guy." He snorted and started laughing his ass off. Cameron raised an eyebrow. Hell, she looked almost concerned. God, what the hell did the machines get off by making a such a damn fine cyborg, eh? "Heheh, no, no, no, I'm kidding, he, uh, there's some dude in the back. Y'know this Joey guy?"
"Yes. I found out where he lives."
"Y-yeah, so it turns out he's a fag, just like Mike, right? So this guy in the back, he's a cook, and he's like a whore, except for gay guys? Y'know?"
Cameron nodded patiently.
"Y-yheh, so Mike went back there... like, Joey apparently was a customer, right? Heh, y'know, a customer? Eheh, so uh... I dunno, he's gonna talk to the guy and see if... uh... wait, did you say something?"
"I know where Joey Cook lives."
John blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I know-"
He raised a hand to his head, suddenly feeling stupid. "Oh, fuck. Should we get him?"
Cameron shrugged. "I don't see why it's necessary. We should talk, John."
That sounded like an excellent idea. Hell, Mike could take his fucking time, even screw the pretty boy if he wanted to. He deserved a fuck, right? Heh. Right. Yeah, John was thinking he wanted another beer, actually.
"Sure!" And he raised his hand again.
-----------
Somewhere down West Olympic, on either side of Mount Vesuvius, four black vans emblazoned with S.W.A.T. emblems cordoned off the area. Police tape was erected, loudspeakers set up on either side. Traffic through the area stopped within minutes. Alexander the bouncer was currently smoking a joint at the time and was too high to notice. He lazily settled himself against the side of the building and tried to make it look as if he was watching out for punk-ass kids.
Men in cartoon masks quickly filed out of the vans. Every fourth masked man wore a large generator pack on his back with an attached tube-and-socket, ending in a sparking prod. The rest of them were armed with all manner of submachine guns and pistols. There were about twenty in all. A man went on the loudspeaker every so often to keep incoming cars diverted from the area.
A man in a George Washington mask shouted orders to them, prompting the assemblage to quickly file out down the street, towards the club like a demented, marauding circus show.
------------
Mike shivered as he stepped into the freezer along with Jamie. Cold, packaged boxes lined the sides of the room, each of them brown and labeled neatly with the word Meats. It wasn't freezing, more like... a tomb, or an underground basement. That felt familiar, yeah. Just very cold and very dry, really. The humming of air conditioners filled the chamber, generating a constant buzz that got to be somewhat comforting after a while. Although Mike usually liked peace and quiet, it wasn't really that sort of situation. Silence adds weight to an already awkward situation, and this shit was nothing if not fucking awkward.
And plus...
He raised an eyebrow as Jamie went over to the left and clicked on a temperature gauge. Who'd want to bump nasties in a place like this?
The older kid looked back at him, frowning all bitter sweetly. "You don't have to tell me. A freezer, yeah."
"I've seen worse," Mike replied, looking around for a second and sitting down on a box. It was good and solid.
"I'll bet." Jamie came over and stood a little near him, sort of fidgeting every which way. He really wanted to get this over with, probably. "So, uh-"
"You seem to really hate this," Mike said, checking the labeling of an adjacent meat box. Smither's Fine Cuts Ltd since annnd it trailed off.
Jamie grinned sardonically. "Yeah, I'm a real tragedy, aren't I? Los Angeles faggot getting treated like a toy, y'know, really, save me the pity. You've heard it happen to people and it's happened to me, we're all human and we gotta make money somehow."
Money. Everything was about money in this world. Well, the same held true for post-JD, but really that was mostly barter and shit. People didn't really care about income, or making a steady salary. Just surviving another day. In a lot of ways, Mike really, honestly preferred that world in some ways to this one. There was a lot of judgment and stupidity permeating this existence that got swept away after the nuclear fire burned the world to a crisp.
Hell. Money probably made Skynet happen in the first place. Money could go fuck itself.
"I was just saying..." Mike said. "I didn't want-"
"I'd actually prefer it if we kept the 'saying' shit to a minimum, mkay?" He sighed. "Remember to talk to Kevin -- uh, bartender, I mean -- cause, y'know, he actually pays me."
Mike resumed on like he hadn't been interrupted. "I didn't want to offend, I was gonna say." He smiled lamely. "That's, that's all."
Jamie stared at him for a couple of seconds, his eyes going a bit wide as though he hadn't ever heard anything like this. Or maybe with as much sincerity (because Mike DID pity him. No matter what, it was unavoidable to feel pity,) at least. He sagged, smiled for the first time since they'd met, and gently rubbed a hand on Mike's cheek. Crazily intimate for the situation (ironic, that,) and it made the younger kid smile.
"You're fine," he said softly. "I don't offend easily."
Mike nodded silently, looking away suddenly. Not out of disinterest this time, more... yeah. "How much you make for this?"
"That's an odd question. Thinking of joining me?" He grinned out of the corner of Mike's eye.
"No." He turned back.
"Yeah... well, I don't blame you." The understatement packed into that statement was probably fucking overflowing. It could be worse. It could be totally against his own will, after all.
See, that was one thing "the past" had a lot of. Free will. Mostly in the future you have your orders and you follow them. Or you have your demands, or you die. Aaron was a bookish type of kid, he did a lot of reading and he knew a lot of people who'd been on the outside, before he and Mike joined Tech-Com. In some holes, in some of the "new" societies they'd take the sterilized people, the people who couldn't have babies, and they'd use them anyway. Make them slaves. Concubines, Aaron called them. It was a retarded, stupid system that Connor had to forcibly put down before they could join him.
A holdout from "the past," really. People fuck each other over with their own personal hang ups and refuse to get on with the world.
So yeah, at least Jamie had a choice in the matter. Maybe it wasn't the best choice, but...
You're rationalizing him. You're seeing him as a human, Mike.
And he is. So?
Remember your mission.
Right.
He folded his upper lip over his lower and glanced a bit at Jamie, who stared right back at him, smiling sadly. It occurred to Mike that he wouldn't necessarily mind doing this with him. The guy wasn't half bad, which was probably a requirement of his job, and, y'know, he sort of... wanted something. Anything, really. Cameron had been way too unsettling in her approach (which still revolved on constant loop through Mike's mind. Whether he should tell John, what the fuck she'd actually wanted, etc, etc, etc, around and around,) and John was... well, yeah. That didn't really have a chance of happening. Ever.
Still.
"Hey," Mike said.
"Hey. Listen, I know this is awkward and all. Is this your first time doing this sort of thing?" A pause. "Because, y'know, you're nice enough that I wouldn't mind talking you through it."
Mike smirked. "Nah, I know what I'm doing."
The older kid sagged a little again, relieved. "Okay, so..."
Bite your lip, Mike. Ask him. "Hey, Jamie?"
"I don't wanna rush things, but I've got some shit cooking back there, so..."
"Yeah, um, do you know a guy named Joey?"
Jamie blinked. A flash of instant, split-second recognition in his eyes betrayed his next few words. "Uhh... not really." He smiled. "Names don't really get tossed around a lot, heh, y'know?"
"Yeah... you're pretty nice, I don't see why."
"Heheh, thanks. You're sweet, Aaron. How old are you?"
Damnit. "Sixteen."
"Hey, just two years older. That's not so bad."
"Yeah, uh, you're sure don't know Joe? Joey Cook?"
"No Joe. Hey, when we're done, you wanna maybe meet at twelve o'clock, y'know, if you're free?" He smiled.
Mike shook his head. "No. Definitely not free."
"Oh, that sucks... Maybe your number, then?"
"Maybe. Hey, yeah, let's go, eh?" Mike absently adjusted his pants, feeling the Beretta 9mm.
"Oh, yeah, almost forgot."
They both laughed.
-------
"Running away? Pfffft, where to?"
"I don't think you're very happy here," Cameron said, passing John his fourth drink. She did it without comment, without complaint, without bitching. Y'know, lotta girls they're like (or maybe John thought they were like, he didn't know) you know you gotta stop but Cameron, nah, she just kept it coming. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this fucking great. Just really happy, what the fuck was she talking about with you can't be happy with this, but she was wrong, she wasn't so smart, he was fine, yeah, yeah.
Wow he was drunk. It was pretty funny.
"Naaah," John slurred. "I mean, I don't even have'ta go to school, and y'can't say that about most guys, right? Eh?"
"Education is conducive to a happier life."
"'nother quote. See, that's your problem, Cam, you just spout quotes at people, like y'got no fuckin' way of sayin' somethin' yourself, eh? Nah, Riley, she's a fuckin' liar and all, but she's at least honest." He thought about that last sentence and giggled. "I'm so drunk. Hold on, that made no sense."
"I still got the meaning," Cameron said.
John sipped. He offered her the cup. She refused, smiling sweetly at him.
"Eh, besides, I don't need school for what I'm doin', right? Y'know, if I'm gonna do this thing, best do it with two feet in, right?"
"Yes, with both feet. But that's very lonely, isn't it?"
"You said so," said John. "I may as well make the most of my life before it ends, right? I hope I get drunk a lot in the future."
"You do. Sometimes."
"Heheh. How do you know?"
"I'm usually there."
John gulped and looked at her. God, she was beautiful. He could easily see past the whole, y'know, the whole hyper-alloy combat chassis and homicidal tendencies and just, y'know, there's Cameron Phillips, his confidant, his girl, his... eh...
His...
Cameron spoke up again. "Why is Riley a liar?"
"Oh, heh. Oh, nothin'." He wasn't drunk enough to lay down a bomb like that. Cameron would break her goddamned neck if she knew. Besides... y'know... maybe if he was sober he'd condemn her and all, but he wasn't. He realized, perhaps stupidly, that he could fix this. He could make it work. He could get more out of her, he could... love her.
Because he still really, honestly did like her. She was still a person, they'd... figure this out.
John coughed. "She jus' y'know, told a little white lie, nothin' big."
"I don't like her."
"Yeah, big news flash." He giggled again. "We all know you're jealous."
Cameron paused. "Jealous."
He nodded enthusiastically, stupidly. "Yeaaah, fuckin' jealous, Cameron. You gave me the big ol' stink eye yesterday when I came home with my neck lookin' like that-" he gestured to where Riley had given him a hickey "-you know you're jealous. You want me to friggen' stay with you all the goddamn time, want me to be in love with you, Cam."
"I was trying to kill you, John. I didn't mean that when I said it."
He looked at her. "I think you did. We've kissed twice, and you wanted me to fucking bang you behind a church."
She quirked an eyebrow, looking distantly amused. Yeah. This was real fucking funny.
Well. It sort of was. Heh.
"It doesn't matter what I think, John," said Cameron. "You're the only one who matters. It's only your decisions. I'm here to protect you, nothing more. I think we'd all be happier if you simply forgot about her."
"I'm not gonna love a fuckin' accessorized assassin."
"Yes. That would be unnatural. It's considered unnatural to be in love with that which is not real."
"No shit!"
"I'm a very close proximity to what is real. My skin feels real, my lips feel real, and I am perfectly able to simulate human emotion. I'm very close."
"But not real," John said.
"Yes. Not real."
John leaned over and kissed her on the lips. It was quick and almost brutal, really. "Fuck you, manipulating bitch."
"You're a very complicated human being," Cameron said, practically ignoring what had happened, like she'd expected it. "Certainly not the norm."
"Fuck this noise," he muttered. "Can we talk about somethin' else?"
"Am I bringing down your happy thoughts?"
He thought about that for a moment. Currently, he wanted to sneak out into the back with her and order her to blow him. Was that a happy thought? Wasn't sure.
"Are we winning?" John asked abruptly.
She knew what he was talking about. "That depends."
"On what?" He finished his glass and thought he might be getting addicted.
"On whether you've made anyone mad or not."
He was about to ask what the fuck that meant when the lights to the club shut off. The music died instantly with a loud, warped boom, and women and men started yelping and crying out in terror all at once. John ignored it. He kept fumbling with his glass even as Cameron abruptly grabbed him and started to drag.
------------
Mike started down on his pants, staring up at Jamie as he did it. This was gonna be great. He was totally gonna bring out his gun when the guy least expected it. Sure, it sucked for him, and Mike sort of liked the guy, but he had orders from John. It was gonna be surprising as hell and he'd be way too off guard to not tell Mike everything he knew.
Jamie was, well... He clearly liked Mike and he made this more of an intimate thing than it had business being. He'd been all slow, all meaningful looks, all smiling and shit, tickling, random feeling. He liked it. Mike supposed he liked it too. Sort of annoying, but Mike supposed he had that right. He had the right to enjoy it. Anyway, he stood a bit over Mike, already dispensed of his shirt and watching the other kid.
He brought down his jeans slightly to reveal the pistol just as the lights abruptly died.
Oh, fucking son of a bitch.
"What the hell?" Jamie muttered in the darkness. He laughed. "Heh, that's great. At the moment of truth and bam."
Mike ignored him, ripping the Beretta out and pointing it roughly where Jamie was standing. Fuck this shit. "Jamie."
"Yeah..."
"I don't wanna alarm you, but I'm pointing a gun at you."
Jamie laughed. "Hell yes you are. Can I, y'know, touch it?"
Mike blinked. Oh, son of a bitch. "No, Jamie, an actual gun. A Beretta SF nine millimeter pistol."
"W-wait, what?"
"An actual gun. Back up a bit."
"Wait, hold on, what the fuck do you mean?" Was that someone yelling back in the club?
"Can you please shut the hell up and do as I say?"
A loudspeaker buzzed somewhere in the club. "EVERYONE INSIDE ON THE GROUND, CELLPHONES OFF! TURN THEM OFF! IF WE SEE A FUCKING LIGHT YOU'RE DEAD!"
-------------
Cameron toggled on her thermal scanners to compensate for the darkness and grabbed John by the collar. He relented easily; alcohol is a very potent depressant.
"Wha..." he muttered as she threw him over the side of the bar, sending a cascade of beer and drinking glasses tumbling over onto the ground. She quickly unholstered her pistol and climbed up after him as a small army's worth of commandos filtered into the strip club. The reactions of the occupants was easy enough to predict, and so Cameron wasted no time paying attention. She laid a hand on John's head and pushed him further into cover, peering out in silence. Escape. Think of something.
"EVERYONE FREEZE, ON THE GROUND!" one of the men yelled. He fired his submachine gun into the ceiling.
-------------
Mike strangled a terrified groan in his throat and looked toward the door. What the fuck?! There came a quick pop pop pop as a machine gun fired somewhere.
"Onmygod-" Jamie's voice sounded hollow and terrified.
"Back the fuck up!"
He backed up. "A-Aaron?"
"Jamie, shut up."
"You can't have a gun, I saw you, you didn't-"
Mike waited a few seconds.
Someone fired a few warning shots in the strip club again. As they did, Mike aimed towards the far wall and fired. The barrel flared up and bucked in his hands, illuminating the room for a split second in its brilliance.
"AHH!"
The spent round clattered to the floor. "I'm not fucking around, Jamie."
"Don'tfuckingkillme-"
"WE'RE LOOKING FOR A BRUNETTE GIRL WITH BROWN EYES AND A LEATHER JACKET. SHE'S BETWEEN SIXTEEN TO TWENTY, AND YOU'RE ALL STAYING THE FUCK PUT UNTIL WE FIND HER."
Oh god. Oh Jesus Christ. Fuck Joey Cook, they were... Okay, calm down. Calm. Do your job, they'll work it out. Oh, god, they're looking for her?
Everyone fucking hates Cameron.
Mike used his free hand to pull up and button his jeans. He talked quickly. "Just answer my questions and I'll leave you in here. You'll be fine."
Someone yelled in the club. A woman kept shrieking like bloody goddamned murder, just wouldn't shut up.
"D-d-dude, I- Why?!"
"Look, Jamie, I really don't have time, I honestly don't, I-I like you, you're okay, y'know? But I really gotta go in a minute and I need you to just answer, okay?"
------------
John blinked slowly. Very slowly. What was... loud... someone was...
Cameron kept a hand over his mouth. She felt warm, very real. She was right. Close enough, y'know? Very close. Someone kept making a racket.
Someone was looking for her.
-----------
The commandos' faces were deformed and misshapen, almost comedically so. Cameron puzzled over this for a few seconds as they flew through the club, brutally and efficiently terminating resistance as it flared up. Most people surrendered, as they'd demanded. A large amount of the men were grabbing people and checking them, and then forcing them to the side.
Two of them walked swiftly towards the bar, guns aimed and at the ready. They were searching for her. Someone had betrayed them; someone knew what she was. Possibly Derek. No one else had a proper motive for wanting her destroyed.
It didn't matter. Her safety ranked secondary to John's, and he was in danger, and very, very inebriated. She'd been dumb to get him drunk just so he'd choose his words less carefully and, indeed, that had proven effective.
But ultimately that was useless now. The two commandos kept advancing, and Cameron realized they were wearing cartoon masks. How very odd.
And how very familiar. She aimed her pistol single-handedly at them and waited a second before firing.
-----------
Pop pop pop!
Following that came answering machine gun fire. And then the whole fucking club just seemed to explode into gun fire. Mike groaned.
-----------
John yelled as a sudden, very unexpected, and very terrifying fusillade of bullets flew over his head. The entire bar behind them exploded into tiny shards of glass, beer and wine flowed freely and splashed down onto his cowering form, the entire place blew up into chaos. People screamed like damned souls being condemned to hell, they were so scared, and Cameron just stood there as indomitable as ever, and what the fuck was going on?
-----------
She twitched the pistol over to the side and fired again, downing the third commando who'd come over to assist. Three men with three bullets in their heads laid flat on the floor. Cameron's body jerked back and swayed under a constant barrage of gunfire.
She cocked her head, aiming towards the back and firing again, squeezing the trigger until the clip ran dry.
The gunfire stopped for a few seconds; they were either reloading, taking cover, most probably both. Her scanners initiated a cursory scan on her chassis integrity and found it to be well within acceptable boundaries.
She almost smiled a bit.
John whimpered drunkenly as she grabbed him again and led them both through the kitchen doors.
-----------
"Oh go-o-o-d," Jamie whimpered.
Mike kept on task. Barely. John was... Oh, Jesus... "You know Joey Cook!"
"Yeah, yeah!"
"Okay, what do you know about him!"
"He's, uh-" the gunfire abruptly stopped, only to resume a few seconds later. A door in the back of the kitchen slammed open and they heard running footsteps.
"Shhh!"
Jamie shut up. The footsteps, whoever was making them, seemed to be in a huge hurry, and they passed in no time. Mike winced as one of the people out there suddenly crumpled to the ground with a yelp. The other someone helped him (him, probably) up.
------------
He couldn't keep up. He felt dazed, confused, couldn't see anything or feel anything. Everything felt dull, like his foot had fallen asleep, only now it was his whole entire body. Movement didn't come easily. All lethargic.
He grunted as he fell from Cameron's grasp and fell straight to the floor. He felt dumb. So stupid. Where was... what was going on...
Something... dangerous... his gun? Where was that? He should help her.
"Cameron..." he whispered, feeling blindly for her touch. He nearly cried when he found it, he felt so fucking helpless. Cameron patiently helped him back up and she sent them running again.
-----------
"Be quiet," Mike said lowly, "Tell me."
"Okay," Jamie whispered. "Um, Joey's, uh, y'know, he's gay, -- obviously-- and uh, he's brown haired, sort of red, I guess and uh... blue eyes, yeah. He usually wears, y'know, gangster shit, he's a gang member, y'know."
"I know."
"Okay, okay, uh... Oh. Oh, you're in a gang, right? You're like, rivals, or something? He's gay. Total flamer, I should know, you can totally get him for that. They'll crucify him-"
"Where's he live?"
"I dunno!"
The footsteps resumed. The doors opened to the kitchen again and gunfire erupted within seconds, like massive explosions going off in a chain reaction.
"There she is!"
Mike's eyes widened.
"Don't move!"
Silence for a few seconds. "Washington, we got em'-"
------
The two commandos stood side by side, holding machine guns with attached flashlights. One wore a faux gangster mask, complete with a brown fedora and a leering grin. The other, some sort of cat from Loony Toons.
Cameron stopped dead, cocking her head and considering the situation.
"Don't move!" one of them yelled. Cameron didn't move. She could only wonder why these men had chosen such unimposing gear for their job. That kept bothering her.
John staggered slightly to the side. One of the commandos followed him with his head, but not aiming his gun. The other masked man nodded his head down, talking on a radio set. "Washington, we got em', get a zapper in here-"
Cameron aimed her pistol and shot him in the head. The other commando managed to swear before Cameron shot him as well. They both fell to the ground, dead, and Cameron was already helping John along again.
-----
A Beretta SF shot off twice, and no one said anything else. Footsteps running.
Oh, god, they're out there.
Mike turned abruptly, forgetting Jamie as he pulled hard on the the freezer door. Locked. Locked? Oh Jesus Christ.
He panicked.
"John! John, Cameron! I'm in here, lemme out!"
He pounded hard on the door, sending flares of pain up his hand and arm.
"HELLO?!"
Jamie was silent.
"HEY! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE! JOHN!"
----------
Cameron stopped for a brief moment, listening. She spared a glance at the nearby freezer, frowning as Mike pounded behind it again.
She looked back at the kitchen doors. The rest of the commandos were no doubt in hot pursuit by now.
No time. She grabbed John again, gently, and kept going. A few seconds later, they were out the back door, in the growing twilight of Los Angeles once more.
---------
Oh god. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.
He heard nothing. All Mike heard were voices yelling in the club. He heard nothing in the kitchen. Not a goddamn word or sound. The air conditioners had stopped running in here. Dark as fuck, fuck fuck fuck-
Mike compulsively racked the Beretta and fired a shot into the ceiling. Jamie yelled.
"You locked us in here," he said slowly.
"I-I-I didn't want anyone interrupting, we... Aaron. Dude. We can't let anyone in here. I dunno what the fuck, but y'know, those guys, I mean, we can't go out there-"
"Jamie, I'm gonna fucking shoot you in the face if you don't give me the goddamned key or open this FUCKING DOOR LET ME OUT!!"
Where were they going?! They couldn't leave him. They wouldn't do that. He was on the team. Their team. They wouldn't abandon him, John wouldn't abandon him, not in a million goddamn years. Never. No. No. Oh Jesus Christ.
"Please..."
"Jamie!"
"Okay!"
He ran over and fumbled in his jeans, still wearing nothing from the waist up. Good god, Mike wanted to screw him. It was the only rational thought running in his head, the only thing that made any goddamn sense.
"JOHN!" Mike yelled again.
Jamie yelped.
"Open it." After a beat. "Joey Cook?"
"I was at their hideout once. He wanted to fucking make me join, so he could fuck me all he goddamn wanted without anyone knowing. They didn't let me." He got the keys out. "They're in the warehouse district, y'know where that is?"
"Yeah." He'd been there. Once. He got shot in the chest by some fucked up bitch who looked like Cameron.
He stuck the keys into the door, Mike could hear them turning. "Y-yeah, so, y'know, you'll find em' there. Big place called Kellco Shipping, no one-"
"Open it."
"Yeah..."
Mike abruptly felt around for Jamie's face, pulled him over, and kissed him blindly. Jamie felt around for the back of Mike's head and held his hand there, running it through his hair, and after a few seconds Mike pushed away.
"Oh man," Jamie muttered. "You're fucked up, y'know that?"
"Stay in here. Don't leave until the cops show up."
"Who are you?" They were looking at each other; Mike could see his eyes shining, only that.
"It's okay. Let me out."
"Fine... uh, be careful, kid."
Mike laughed.
The door slid open reluctantly. A pair of flashlights filtered into the room, blinding the both of them unexpectedly. This was the enemy; Mike aimed the gun as best as he could against the light.
"Freeze!" a gruff voice yelled. Slightly above the shining lights he could see two grim, almost ghoulish visages of cartoon masks, their features amplified and made hellish by the lack of light.
Mike didn't respond and pulled the trigger. Fuck his promise. Fuck. It. This was life or death.
One of the lights jerked upwards and shined against the ceiling as the holder toppled and died. Mike ducked and quickly readjusted his aim at the other flashlight holder. A submachine gun flared up almost right in Mike's face, but he was too low for any bullets to hit. The sound was incredible, ear shattering. He jerked the pistol up a bit and bit his lip as he fired again, twice. The machinegun flipped out of the man's fingers, still firing for a split second before it died along with its owner, clattering to the floor.
Or maybe he wasn't so dead afterall. One of the guys started to gurgle incoherently.
Mike stared for a few seconds before moving again, his heart beating way faster than it was supposed to. His breath came shallowly, much too weak. He'd need another puff soon...
He silently reached for one of the flashlights and aimed it around the kitchen. A pair of corpses were off to the back, near another gunmetal gray door. That's where he was going, then. He gulped and sent a final glance back at Jamie-
Mike's shoulders slumped as the flashlight fell over the older kid's corpse, his chest riddled with bullets. Jamie was half-laying down over a box of meats, like he was sleeping, except... Blood everywhere. His eyes stared at something very far away, maybe not of this world.
Mike stared at the body for a few seconds before turning away again, shuddering and reaching for his inhaler. He needed it. He couldn't walk, couldn't breathe now.
--------
John's stomach roiled in his lower body, bumping up rudely against his intestines and generally making a humongous ass of itself as he tried to keep himself from throwing up. The running, the shooting, he couldn't take it, not with the beer inside him. He needed-
"Cam, wait," he gasped.
"Soon," she said simply. They were about twenty yards from the mouth of the street.
"N-no, Cameron, I'm... I'm gonna be sick..."
She glared back at him. John barely noticed as he made good on his words, doubling over and sending his breakfast out onto the cement. Cameron let go and slowly lowered herself down next to him, running a hand through his hair.
He vomited again, retching and coughing pathetically. What...
"What happened?" he said quietly. "I dunno... I dunno what happened."
"We need to go, John."
"Where's Mike..."
"We can't go back for him. I'm sorry."
"W-what? No, Cam, we-"
Cameron blinked suddenly and aimed her pistol upwards at someone. Neither of them had heard his approach, and he made them pay for that. The man jerked some sort of electrical device against Cameron's head and she briefly shook as though apoplectic and collapsed against the pavement without a sound.
"Don't move-" said a low voice.
John kicked the man's legs out. He didn't really aim the blow, so it was a lucky shot, really. The man grunted and fell back a few steps, almost losing his balance. John flew up to his feet and got a good look at the assailant before he moved forward. The man wore a heavy looking sweatshirt and had a mask of some sort. He seemed pretty lean and rangy, and that showed in his reaction time as he flailed the prod in John's direction. John only barely managed to avoid it as he weaved to the side, nearly tripping over his own feet.
The plus side of drunkenness is that you don't know when you're being stupidly reckless, and this served John rather admirably as he grabbed the man's forearm and twisted the electric prod back against the man's chest, digging into his sweatshirt. John headbutted the guy to keep him off balance and quickly searched his hand over the prod for the trigger. He found it easily and depressed it twice, sending a rather unpleasant voltage of electricity into the masked man's body.
His whole body shook like a fucking tree in a stiff wind, his teeth chattering against each other, his head jerking back and forth. A low, high-pitched whistling erupted from his lips and he collapsed bonelessly to the ground, unconscious or dead. John barely noticed. Maybe he'd remember killing someone when he woke up from his hangover, but right now he didn't give a shit, he honestly didn't, he just... Oh, Cameron!
He ran over to her and, stupidly, tapped a hand on her throat. There was nothing, of course. There was always nothing. Why the hell did he do that? He had to stop himself from actually shaking her. He like... what the living fuck did that asshole zap her with?
He heard yelling inside the club and forced himself out of his panic, grabbing her foot and starting to drag her down the alley, inch by inch. They had to get distance. It wasn't even him they were after, it was her. Who the fuck betrayed them? Sarah was the obvious choice, it was just like her to arrange something underhanded like that. But she had no contacts in this year, no assets like in 1999, there was no way...
God, she was heavy. How many seconds left? Were there seconds left? Was she permanently fried? Did that electricity travel up to her chip and blow it to pieces, just melt it right there?
John suddenly misjudged where his feet were in relation to Cameron's arms and suddenly tripped, falling back flat on his ass. He flailed there for a second like a goddamned turtle, drunk and disoriented like hell. Any second now, they were gonna come gangbusting down the alley with more guns and...
He heard a noise ahead of him. What-
Looking up, he found Cameron's head perked to the side, glancing curiously at him.
"Oh god," he whispered.
She pushed up silently, her clothes matted and dirty with rain water and refuse. She extended her hand down to him and helped him stand alongside her, looking back down the alley.
"Did you kill him?" she asked tonelessly.
"I-I dunno. Are you okay?"
"Systems running fine." She turned and stared at the far-off body. "He's still showing lifesigns. We should interrogate him."
"W-where's Mike?"
"No time," she said. She looked back at him, narrowing her eyes. "Stay here."
And she started off towards the guy. John leaned against the cement wall and stared at nothing, trying to listen for more... thugs, mercenaries, whatever they were. Gunfire echoed again. Why wasn't he hearing sirens?
He wanted to go back and get Michael. He was still fucking in there, maybe even dead. They couldn't just leave him... but John still had his cellphone number. And these guys were after Cameron, not anyone else. They'd let him go. It'd be alright. Hell, Mike could even tell them more about these assholes, whoever they were. Because whoever they were, life had just gotten a fuck-ton more complicated.
Cameron walked back a few moments later, the merc de-masked and dispensed of his electric prod. She nodded at him, indicating they should keep moving.
She didn't offer to help him along this time, perhaps sensing the combat high had basically forced him into sobriety.
"Cameron..." he tried. He still-
"We have to go."
No arguing. Great Leader, ladies and gentlemen.
-----------
Mike slowly walked towards the back door, pacing himself. He had to pace himself. He'd forgotten how to breathe, how to think. He got a guy killed. He'd broken his promise. John and Cameron were long gone. Jesus, he wanted to fucking die right about now.
He was breathing so hard that he didn't notice when three or four commandos ran up behind him and yelled for him to freeze. They all yelled it. Mike blinked rapidly and put his hands up, unable to form a rational thought. Why would they leave him?
One of the men grabbed Mike's Beretta. Another one grabbed him by the shoulders and whirled him around, and Mike found himself staring at the half-obscured face of some old looking guy with a powdered wig.
The masked man titled his head slowly, as though in wonder. He wore a slick black suit with no visible markings, and his stance seemed to be that of a guy who was important.
He was.
"I'll be damned," the man muttered.
"What-" Mike said.
The man turned to his comrades. "Knock him out and bring him to one of the vans. Radio the guys and tell them we lost the cyborg." He looked at Mike again. "Well... hello again, Corporal."
Someone slammed Mike on the back of the head before he had a chance to respond.