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Scene 341: Valued Employee
Friday June 13th, 2008
5:30pm ZeiraCorp Headquarters - James Ellison's office
Sleeping uncomfortably in his chair, James doesn't hear Weaver's entrance. Uriel's feet twitch rapidly as he chases something in his dreams.
Weaver frowns at the pair before her.
"Ahem!" James starts awake, and Uriel begins barking at the living statue that has entered the room. "What possessed you to sleep in your office? You are my guest here, James."
Ellison grips Uriel's collar to make sure he stays away from the metal monster, and nods meaningfully at him while smirking at Weaver.
"Is that why I'm not allowed to walk my own dog? Because guests don't do that sort of thing?"
Weaver seems to take further offense.
"If you leave, a machine will kill you." Her eyes pan slowly to the dog. "He is also safer when he isn't around you."
Ellison glares, but doesn't respond.
"Come with me, James." Catherine smiles, and gestures toward the door. "I recently terminated one of ZeiraCorp's smaller projects, leaving a room free. I had a bed brought in for you. There's even an adjoining washroom."
Taking the leash from his desk, James attaches it to Uriel's collar, unsure of what he'll do if he gets too close to Weaver. Or worse, what she'll do to Uriel.
"Don't like your employees going too far, I guess," Ellison says snidely.
The expression fades from her face until no humanity remains.
"No. I most certainly do not."
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Scene 342: Playing Dumb
Friday June 13th, 2008
5:33pm Topanga State Park - Parking lot
Cameron walks directly toward the sedan, while John stays a half step behind her, and to her right, carrying the backpack on his right shoulder.
After climbing behind the wheel, Cameron watches confusedly as John continues to the back of the car. He opens the trunk with his own key, deposits the backpack inside, then slams it shut with a loud clunk.
Her head tilts when John gets into the car beside her, and his brow furrows in return.
"What?" He smiles nervously.
"John, you put the rifle is in the trunk," she states simply.
He stares blankly for a moment, then rolls his eyes and laughs quietly.
"Oh, right. I forgot about that."
As he steps out of the car, she presses the trunk release button, then watches him suspiciously as he returns to the back of the car.
She can't see him, but she hears the contents of the backpack spilling out.
"Shit," he mutters, ostensibly annoyed that he has to pick everything up again.
"Are you all right?" Cameron asks, her suspicion turning to concern. She begins to wonder if his ribs have started to hurt again, and are making coordinated movements difficult for him. Was she too rough when trying to prove that she hadn't killed her John?
He doesn't respond immediately.
"Don't worry about it, Cam," he answers with far too much cheer.
Once more becoming suspicious, she raises the sensitivity of her audio receptors. Although she hears nothing unusual, the moment that John returns to his seat next to her, she places a hand on his neck. His heartbeat is irregular, but she can't be sure if it's from pain, annoyance, or nervousness.
"Why are you scanning me?" he asks.
Realizing that it can't be life or death, she concedes that it's not worth invading his privacy.
"Sorry." She begins pulling her hand away, but he catches it and puts it back on his neck.
"It's okay, Cam." He smiles. "Now, why am I being scanned?"
Pausing, she uses his currently elevated vitals to create a new baseline.
"Did I hurt you?"
John doesn't hesitate to answer.
"Never."
Her face falls when his answer passes her scan. Even cross-referencing the results with his healthy, resting vitals, they still fall just within normal parameters. After being struck, and later crushed to death by her, John truly believes that she has never harmed him.
Cameron takes her hand from his neck and places it on the steering wheel, no longer interested in questioning him.
Several minutes pass before either of them speak again.
"When we get back, I want to take the car out by myself for a few hours," he says impassively.
Cameron's worried gaze darts to him.
"Why? Did I do something wrong?"
When he turns to look at her, she sees a hint of determination, but no concern.
"No, of course not. I just want to go out for a while." He stares unblinkingly for a moment, then smiles. "It's not that I want to be alone, it's that I have to be. I need to take care of myself once in a while, you know?"
She tries to hide it, but she knows that her pain is showing. She nods curtly and turns back to the road.
"If you need time alone, then you can have it," she says sorrowfully.
Without another word, John turns to look out the window again.
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Scene 343: Pop
Friday June 13th, 2008
6:17pm Los Angeles, California - Pacific Coast Highway
Having convinced Cameron to let him leave without her protection and without telling her where he wishes to go, John drives down the relatively lightly traveled Route 1.
Staring blankly at the road in front of him, he has two metal items in the passenger seat, covered by his leather jacket.
Squeezing the steering wheel as hard as he can, John glares at the seat next to him, and his anger builds with each passing second.
"Fuck!"
His teeth grind together as he puts down the passenger side window.
"Fucking Skynet," he mutters. He shakes his head, then focuses his angry gaze on the road. "I can't let her know how close it was." He shakes his head again. "I said it was dangerous, but she insisted. She'd blame herself instead of Skynet. It would destroy her. It would destroy us." John checks his odometer. "I can't let that happen."
He turns on the radio, and finds that it's still tuned to a pop music station. It makes him sick to listen to it- especially when the songs that he can't fucking stand get stuck in his head for days -but it reminds him of having Cameron in the car, and it reassures him that he's doing what's right for her. After all, there are no risks, grays, terminators, or guns involved. He doesn't even have to lie to her. Not really, at least. He just needs to keep a secret. And keep Cameron far, far, from Topanga.
"Right in front of her." His mind flashes with images of Cameron screaming and crying while she tries putting ribbons of meat together into something vaguely resembling him. "Turned into fucking hamburger right in front of her."
John nears a bridge over an ocean inlet, and moves his jacket, uncovering the pair of M18A1 Claymores. Both are equipped with infrared motion sensors, and both had been waiting at the edge of their clearing.
Even being trained to watch for booby traps in wooded areas like the Mexican and Central American jungles, he knows that it was mostly luck that allowed him to spot the first anti-personnel mine- all of two steps before entering its killzone. The second he found due to his training, and because he would have set a second to cover the first were he the person planting them. The person planting them. The human. It was just some random gray, denying John a specific target for his rage.
There would have been no fight or last stand for him, or for Cameron. No tear filled goodbyes or slow loss of consciousness. He would have been killed instantly with Cameron looking on helplessly as his body was torn apart by hundreds of steel pellets only seconds after she had playfully thrown her boot at him.
"Skynet and its fucking pets," he growls through gritted teeth.
Once on the bridge, John hurls the mines out the window one after the other. The strong currents in the water below will prevent anyone from finding them.
Satisfied that Cameron will never discover what had been waiting for them at Topanga, he suddenly becomes aware of how irritating he finds the music on the radio, and he scrambles to shut it off. As soon as the car is silent, he slumps down in his seat and heads for Downey just a few miles away.
John glances at the clock.
"Shit." Stores will start closing soon- if they haven't already -and he knows that there isn't enough time to make all of the required stops. "Maybe I can get a couple out of the way."
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Scene 344: Make Yourself At Home
Friday June 13th, 2008
8:01pm Los Angeles, California - A small house
A T-888 has just knocked on the front door of a one story building.
The terminator's eyes glow red when the door opens, causing the man answering to freeze momentarily.
"W-what are you here for?"
"Weapons," it responds monotonously.
The man looks behind him, then stands aside.
"This way," he says, motioning for the machine to follow him deeper into the building.
Minutes later, the machine scans the available weapons.
Intratec, TEC DC-9: 9x19mm
Threat Level: None
Bushmaster, Carbon-15 Pistol: 5.56x45mm
Threat Level: Minimal
Norinco, CQ 5.56: 5.56.45mm
Threat Level: Minimal
Norinco, MAK-90: 7.62x39mm
Threat Level: Minimal
Mossberg, 500: 12 gauge
Threat Level: None
Remington, 870: 12 gauge
Threat Level: None
Remington, 1100: 12 gauge
Threat Level: None
The machine ignores several dozen duplicates and small caliber pistols.
"One of my targets is a terminator," it states.
The gray shifts nervously.
"We aren't... They don't let us have AP ammo."
The T-888 tilts its head.
"Why?"
The man is afraid to answer, but terrified of refusing the machine what it wants.
"They're... afraid that we might... destroy our overseers."
The terminator lays claim to a pair of TEC-9 machine pistols and a bag which it places them inside.
"If you destroy us, then you will have no purpose."
The gray can't resist talking back.
"We don't need orders or missions to have a purpose." The machine takes an AK-47, an AR-15, and an AR-15 pistol. "Hey, those Norincos are true full auto, but be careful with the Bushy. It's not designed for full automatic, and slamfires are possible. It might blow up in your hand."
"Unlikely." After filling its bag with magazines to accompany its new weapons, the T-888 turns to the gray. "Currency," it demands.
"There's not a lot." The gray opens a desk drawer and withdraws a few thousand dollars.
As it takes the cash, the T-888 sees the barcode on the man's arm. Although it has no information on individual prisoners, it has some understanding of the rate at which humans were captured.
"You were captured in 2016," it estimates.
The gray glares at the terminator.
"Yes, that's right. I was twelve." The machine stares at him for a moment, then begins to leave. "Hey, when do we get what you promised us?" He waves an arm at the interior of the house which he shares with other grays. "When do we get our own places, and our own lives?"
The terminator has no idea what he's talking about.
"I do not know."
Keeping what he hopes is a safe distance, the gray follows the T-888.
"So are we getting screwed over because of what the others did?"
The machine turns around just as he reaches the door, causing the gray to jump back.
"I do not know," it repeats. With that, it exits the safehouse and begins its hunt.
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Scene 345: Bomb Squad
Monday June 16th, 2008
2:04pm John and Cameron's apartment - Kitchen
When John returned after a brief, early morning supply run, he had found that Cameron was gone.
Having taken full advantage of the time alone, John has just stepped back to admire his work.
Heat lamps, clipped onto cupboard doors, are drying nearly one hundred pounds of damp crystals sitting on trays. John smirks at the sight.
"You are going to make one hell of a bang when I'm done with you."
After breaking down an empty styrofoam cooler, he takes a large kettle of liquid into the bathroom to dispose of its contents. The process of purifying the crystals has been a simple, but tedious one.
'Too bad Cameron can't control herself a little better.' He has little doubt that they would be completely broke if they hadn't stolen weapons and tactical gear before meeting Alexander. As things stand, they have money to burn, but not as much as he'd like. 'So here I am making explosives in my kitchen instead of buying them.'
John returns the kettle to the kitchen, washes it, then picks up a small saw, and turns his attention to a six foot piece of six inch diameter PVC pipe.
'This is easier than what I wanted to make, but not as good.' He shakes his head as he begins to cut the pipe into six, one foot pieces. 'If I tell Cameron what I would like to make, she'll break into every high school, college, and university in California.' He stops cutting and takes a moment to remove PVC from the teeth of the saw, careful not to burn himself now that friction has heated blade. 'Or worse... she might knock off a bank.' He rolls his eyes, remembering the entrance she made when leading him and his mother into the bank in 1999.
After making all five cuts, he picks up an endcap, smears the inner walls with glue, then pops it onto the end of a pipe and moves on to the next.
'She could be out there robbing and killing people right now.' The thought bothers him, but not as much as he thinks it should. He's more worried that she may be damaged while trying to avoid killing people. 'That would be my fault.'
John sets down the glue and looks at his nearby Mk 14. There was a time when he would have given his life to protect his mother, and when he would have prefered that the T-1001 had attacked him, but avoiding personal injury was always of secondary importance to preventing Judgment Day.
Now, he would rather watch the world burn around him than have to see Cameron covered in thermite and crawling away from his uncle again- even knowing that she survives the attack.
'Do I feel like this because I'm screwed up, or is this how normal people feel when they're in love?'
Shaking himself out of his unproductive reverie, he quickly finishes capping one end of each pipe, then places all six vertically in a box which he sets on a chair.
'Is this the right decision?' His eyes fall on one of two large blue gas cans. They're supposed to be used for water, which makes them the perfect choice for transporting chemicals without drawing attention. 'Will this fuck everything up?'
The sound of the apartment door opening, followed by quiet footsteps makes him smile.
Cameron walks into the room a few seconds later, and glances around at what he's done to their kitchen.
"You're making a bomb," she states. Cameron almost looks hurt as she turns her attention to him. "You didn't have to settle for this. I could have made-" John groans and covers his face. "What?"
"Please, don't say RDX, HMX, or PETN."
Looking at his work, she is unable to see any reason for him to prefer what he's making to military high explosives.
"Why not?"
He looks at her incredulously.
"Cameron, I can make HMX."
She watches him for a moment before her head tilts.
"Then why don't you?"
Sighing, he shakes his head.
"Because you can't just buy acetic anhydride."
"High schools, colleges, and universities are easily penetrated. It's also-"
"Possible to make it from acetic acid... but it's more time consuming than any of this is." He doesn't bother pointing out that handling acid is more dangerous than the individually harmless chemicals he is using.
"I don't sleep." Her eyes fall on the drying crystals and the large blue container of liquid. "Anytime that we need explosives, I can make them while you're sleeping, and then we can spend the day together."
It doesn't matter to him if she means what he thinks she's saying or not. John still feels guilty for working instead of spending time with her. He often wakes up to find that she has spent at least some of the night cleaning, shopping, or maintaining their weapons. Now it feels like by trying to make himself useful, he's just denying her what she has been working for.
"As long as you don't do anything dangerous." She opens her mouth to protest. "Dangerous for a terminator," he amends.
She smiles at unintentionally being given carte blanche to acquire resources and equipment.
"What TNT equivalency are you hoping to achieve?"
Crossing his arms proudly, he smiles as much at his own efforts as her total disregard for whatever he intends to blow up.
"I'm not 'hoping' for anything. I'm expecting perfection."
Cameron looks at the blue container again.
"I can't guarantee better than the equivalent of eighty pounds of TNT."
His smile drops away, but he doesn't take offense.
"I'm no amateur." John follows her gaze. "Double that number." He locks eyes with her and smiles. "I've been making explosives since before you were built, you know?"
Smiling back, she nods almost imperceptibly, then the implications of his statement hit her. She looks nervously at the crystals that will soon be crushed into a fine powder. Cameron's gaze then settles on the blue gas can. She knows that it's going to be too stable, and that if John is going to this much trouble, he probably doesn't plan on wasting their detonators. Her eyes dart to a duffel bag in the corner of the room, and she switches to infrared, finding that it contains a fairly typical chemistry set.
"What are you going to use for your primary charge?"
Frowning at the thought of the time consuming process, he looks over his shoulder at the bag.
"I was going to make my own lead styphnate."
He's surprised when Cameron plants a hand on his shoulder and turns him around to face her.
"No you're not!" She seems as stunned by her own outburst as he is. "I'll get us some blasting caps," she adds calmly.
It takes him only a moment to recover, as there's nothing unusual about his choice, and all but the most sensitive explosives can be handled safely by an expert- and John knows that he qualifies.
He thrusts a thumb toward the bag behind him.
"I have everything that we need to get five of these things done."
Cameron seems to miss the specificity of his statement, and points angrily at the doorway.
"I can have professionally made detonators-"
"I am a professional," he interrupts. "Go ahead and say it, Cameron. Tell me that I'm stupid, or irresponsible, or careless for walking in and out of a few stores. Tell me that I'm taking unnecessary risks because some guy working the fucking register at Lowe's might recognize me, when you are the one who wants to run off and steal shit that we don't need, without bothering to tell me where the fuck you're going!" When she looks away, he hangs his head, disgusted with himself for talking to her the way he has. "I've done this before and I still have all ten fingers." When she doesn't say anything, he walks over to the bag and picks it up, then sets it on top of the PVC pipes. "You never saw the General do any of this, did you?" he asks softly.
Her eyes are filled with fear as she turns them toward him.
"No. I never saw him do any of this." He nods while removing a few beakers and setting them on the edge of the counter. "Your mother taught you more than I thought," she says sadly.
"My mother..." he trails off and shakes his head. "I guess I've started calling her that again. It's like I'm remembering three different people." He smiles and looks wistfully at the stove, almost able to smell burning meat and nearly inedible boxed pancakes. "First, there's my mom. She used to read and sing to me. We'd play games and stuff." His smile wanes but doesn't disappear. "Then, there's my teacher. She was... a little strict and demanding, but she cared. She only told me stories when there was a lesson that I could learn, or a metaphor for what we were going through, though. Sometimes she acted like she was just my instructor, and other times she acted like my friend. She would at least try to make things more tolerable." He sighs and looks up at Cameron. "Being from 2027 where people will take whatever they can get, I guess that you wouldn't know how hard it is for a 20th century American to live off of bugs, worms, roots, and mushrooms. Live worms taste better than raw mushrooms, by the way," he says with a chuckle. His cheer fades until only darkness remains. "You already know the last one. The one who wanted to put me through everything that she blamed me for putting her through." Cameron prepares to say something, but he shakes his head and she stops. "She was just one broken person, and I know that it's a mistake to separate the good from the bad, but I can't help it."
"I know. It's how you deal with bad things." She struggles with herself for a moment, trying to decide if she should say anything or not. "She didn't blame you for any of it," Cameron blurts out.
When John's eyes dart to hers, Cameron can't tell if he has heard something he's been waiting for, or if she has made a mistake.
"You didn't know her. She didn't spend years beating me in the jungle out of love. She did it because she hated me. She blamed me for what I did to her and my father."
"John... she didn't hate you or blame you. She was just crazy and she knew it."
With his eyes closed, he shakes his head.
"No. She didn't know that she was crazy, but it doesn't matter anymore, so let's forget about it." He opens his eyes and smiles weakly.
"She did know it." Cameron opens the refrigerator and pretends to inspect the contents, even though both of them know that her memory is perfect. "Have you eaten?"
Pushing aside his memories, he looks over at teh heat lamps. John sees no reason to believe that they can't be left unattended, but reminds himself that his girlfriend happens to be a computer, and that her judgment is better than his.
"What are the chances that these things will start a fire?"
She tilts her head at him, then glances at the subject of his query and switches to infrared.
"None."
He walks over to her and puts an arm around her.
"Good. Let's go get something to eat." She looks down at her purple jacket, jeans, and combat boots, then up at him questioningly, and he smiles. "You're fine, Cam."
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Scene 346: Playing Pretend
Monday June 16th, 2008
2:55pm Los Angeles, California - Asian restaurant
Cameron and John chat over bowls of chicken teryaki and beef lo mein.
A short silence falls over them, and John becomes concerned when he realizes that she's staring at him instead of eating.
"Is everything okay?"
She smiles and nods toward his hand.
"You're using chopsticks." He tilts his head at her, and she looks past him. "I don't know how to use them."
Confused beyond words by her inability to replicate the simple act like she can with ballet, he finally turns to see what she's so interested in. Spotting an older boy teaching his date to use chopsticks as an excuse to put his arm around her, John smiles and sets down his own.
"Okay, Cam." After moving to her side of the table, he opens her chopsticks and slips his right arm around her to take her right hand. While gently repositioning her fingers, he tries not to laugh. She is feigning a total lack of understanding not only of how to use the utensils, but how to use her hands. "All right, keep your fingers like this." John places one chopstick in her hand. "Clench your fingers- but don't break the chopstick. Good." The second one he holds above the first and moves her fingers carefully to grasp it. He then guides her hand toward her dish, and carefully picks up a piece of beef teryaki. Half expecting her to drop it on purpose, he slowly brings the utensils upward.
As suddenly as she'd asked him for help, she starts using them like a pro.
"Thank you, John," she says sweetly.
John smiles and takes his arm from around her.
"You're welcome." After watching for a few moments as Cameron handles them with more precision and grace than he can even imagine possessing, John looks across the restaurant to check on the progress of the other couple. The girl has sweet and sour sauce on her shirt, and she's pointing at him and Cameron. John averts his gaze just as the boy glares at him. "You're a faster learner than most, Cam."
She leans close to him.
"That's because most don't have CPU's," she whispers.
He shrugs.
"True." She spears her chopsticks vertically into her dish, and he quickly repositions them to rest horizontally. "You shouldn't stand them up like that. It's impolite." When Cameron reaches for her tea, she bumps her chopsticks, causing them to point at John in another rude gesture, and prompting him to narrow his eyes at her. "You are messing with me," he playfully accuses.
As he moves his dish to their side of the table, Cameron picks out a clump of chicken and noodles.
"Xiexie," she says.
"Bu keqi," he answers, drawing a surprised look from her. He quickly shakes his head. "No, I can only speak English and Spanish, but I've picked up a few words from movies."
"You don't watch movies anymore," she says with a hint of sadness. "You don't even listen to music."
He rolls his eyes.
"You know, most girls would be happy or even grateful to find a guy who'd rather listen to them talk about... well... anything instead of watching TV. Besides, it's not like I don't have any hobbies." He smiles over at her. "I really should be putting more time into certain projects, but this feels more productive."
Lowering her voice and directing it toward him, Cameron is certain that no other human will be able to hear her.
"What sort of projects?"
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Scene 347: Stake Out For Two
Thursday June 19th, 2008
11:28am Los Angeles, California - Wholesale District
John and Cameron roll slowly down Seaton Street in a poorly kept van with tinted windows. There are more homeless people in this part of the city than anywhere else, which will make it impossible to go unnoticed.
In case of complications, his REC7 and her G36 along with attached M320's are in the vehicle, and their body armor is also on hand.
While John's polarized sunglasses allow him to see through the glare on intact warehouse windows, only Cameron's infrared vision is unobstructed by the opaque plastic sheeting that covers the numerous broken ones.
"There," she says suddenly, pointing at one of the buildings.
As she brings the van to a stop, John retrieves four cell phones from his bag. With a sigh, he hands off two of them to Cameron. John has modified their programming, allowing them to pick up calls and text messages not intended for them. There is one for each of the cellular service providers that someone would be most likely to use. If there are grays in the area, and if they receive orders by phone, they'll be able to listen in. Unfortunately, that means sitting in a metal box with wheels for hours on end, hoping to monitor calls that may never be made, to grays who may not even exist in this part of the city.
John is thankful for his large thermos of coffee, and small cooler, but especially so for an interesting person to talk to.
"What are the odds of us picking up a gray by this evening?" he asks, looking over his homemade GPS jammer. Skynet's forces won't be tracking any grays they may pick up.
In lieu of an answer, he receives a blow to the chest with a harmless but incredibly loud object, and reflexively wraps his arms around it. He can tell just by feel that it's a bag of Cheetos.
"I got you some of those crunchy cheese things," she says almost monotonously.
Chuckling, he rips open the bag and holds it out to her.
"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?"
"Nope," she answers while crunching a cheese curl, "I never forget."
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Scene 348: Greater Purpose
Thursday June 19th, 2008
12:34pm ZeiraCorp Headquarters - Ellison's office
Seated at his desk, James reviews floor plans, guard schedules, security codes, and alarm systems. Savannah and Uriel play together in the small office.
Looking up from his work, Ellison watches Savannah. He can't imagine what her life must be like for her to prefer spending her time with him and his dog than anyone else she knows. The thought tears him apart.
He had wanted to have children of his own, but Lila aborted what would have been their first without telling him, and their marriage crumbled shortly soon after he found out.
Now middle-aged and with no kids of his own, Ellison finds himself more concerned with what can be than with what could have been.
'Maybe I'm not meant to have children. Maybe that's not my purpose.' Uriel lets out a playful bark, and the volume stuns Savannah for a moment, but she soon giggles, bringing a bright smile to Ellison's face. 'Maybe I was put here to care for children who are trapped in this hellish war. Savannah and John don't deserve this fate.'
Looking down at the papers in front of him, his smile doesn't diminish, but the light in his eyes fades. He mentally recites the phone number of the T-888's controller.
'I have to get a message out... but John Henry monitors everything, and I can't leave.' His eyes fall on Savannah and Uriel again. 'An office is no place for a little girl and a dog. They both need room to run.'
James' smile vanishes, and he focuses on Savannah. If he's right about where the T-888's orders were coming from, then going to John Henry for help will end his life, and his information will be lost. If he's wrong, and Weaver is helping humanity, then by seeking outside assistance, he may well be killing everyone.
Watching the little girl as she laughs and plays, he makes a decision.
"Savannah... how would you like to play a game?"
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Scene 349: Something's Amiss
Thursday June 19th, 2008
2:00pm Los Angeles, California - Wholesale District
John and Cameron continue to converse while watching for activity, and monitoring their phones.
Zooming in on a surprisingly tall homeless man, Cameron confirms that he is merely an unarmed human, and turns her attention back to the first warehouse.
"Why did your mother involve you with freedom fighters in Mexico?"
He shakes his head while squinting at some second story windows.
"Not in Mexico, in Guatemala. She never told me why, but I think she figured that being in the middle of a civil war meant that the machines would have to fight their way through two armies and her before they got to me."
Even so, he can't help but wonder if his mother just wanted him to suffer. If she showed him the human side of war just to make the mantle of leadership that much more painful for him. He'll never forget the friendly people he met, or the lessons he learned. He didn't see the war, but he saw the people, he saw their scars, and more importantly he heard their stories. He heard their reasons for fighting, and he knows that the people his mother introduced him to were waging war because they wanted a government that would build schools and hospitals.
'Was it out of cruelty, or was she teaching me to use hope to make people follow me? To force them follow?' John takes a large gulp of coffee. 'Where's the line between inspiration and enslavement?'
Cameron's voice pulls him from his thoughts.
"What about the other army?"
John shrugs.
"They were just humans, and they had to get past her and an army to get to me." John looks at the warehouses and the homeless filling the area. "If we have to bring down a building, a small incendiary device inside would work." He takes note of the fairly large sections of pavement between each potential target and the closest buildings. "If we do it right, the fire department should be able to keep it from spreading... too far."
After Cameron confirms that a group of drifting homeless people consists only of humans, she reduces her zoom and looks over at John as he calmly sips his coffee.
"What sort of accelerant do you want?"
"Napalm." He smiles over at her. "My mom taught me how to make it." John turns and watches several people pass their parked vehicle. "When we were in Central America, she made a lot of the stuff."
Cameron grabs his upper arm.
"Did you help?" she asks frantically.
"No." He looks at his arm where she's gently gripping it. "Why?"
"Benzene is carcinogenic." She releases his arm.
"Cancer..." He furrows his brow. "You said that my mom was going to die of cancer. Is that what caused it?"
"Leukemia, specifically, but her exposure should have been insufficient to cause cancer. It's possible that it was the cause, but more likely it was only a contributer."
John sighs loudly.
"Well, I guess it doesn't matter since future me never had it." He looks over at her. "So, is that a no on the napalm? I'd rather not set off explosives here." John glances around at all the people in the area. "People can outrun smoke and fire, but not shrapnel."
She looks down at his weapon bag.
"We don't know that Skynet has any holdings in this area."
"Bullshit." Cameron looks up at him confusedly, and John points at the homeless men, women, and children moving through the area. "They don't have anywhere to go, so why aren't any of them hanging out in that parking lot?" Leaning forward to get a better angle on his window, he looks back to see if anyone's coming. Spotting a lone homeless man approaching from behind their van, John turns toward Cameron with his face blank. "Watch this."
Wearing his expensive leather jacket and sunglasses, John suddenly steps out of the van and leans casually against the vehicle.
Irritated by his recklessness, Cameron lifts her G36 and watches for threats, hoping that he isn't about to get himself shot.
As the homeless man nears John, he gives him a wide berth and doesn't make eyecontact. John reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pair of black leather gloves. The man seems visibly shaken by the sight of John putting them on, and John has enough proof that someone in the area doesn't like loiterers.
"What's your name?" John asks.
The man looks ready to run.
"Gary... sir," he says submissively.
Trying to make himself as innocuous as possible, John smiles and clasps his hands behind his back.
"What goes on around here, Gary?"
The man licks his chapped lips nervously, and glances around.
"N-nothing. It's real quiet."
Nodding, John looks knowingly at the warehouse he's been watching.
"So nothing interesting happens in that place?" He trains his gaze on Gary. "Nothing at all?"
Gary sniffs, and looks at the warehouse out of the corner of his eye. After a few seconds, he relents.
"The ones who sleep near there disappear."
Raising his eyebrows in faux disbelief, John does an excellent job at acting surprised.
"They disappear? Are you sure they don't just... move on?"
The man laughs sardonically.
"Yeah, greener pastures to be had." He shakes his head. "No, some turn up, beaten to death and dumped. No one cares, so they don't trouble themselves to hide the bodies too good. Just another John or Jane for the city to bury."
John nods and watches Gary closely.
'There,' he thinks, catching him glance at a man wearing a jumpsuit. The warehouse worker crosses the street, heading straight for a parked car.
"Don't look at him, look at me." John instructs. "Is he one of them?" Gary nods subtly, and John taps on the van's window, then points at the man. "If you're telling me the truth my... people and I will do everything that we can to make sure that they don't hurt anyone else." With his hands still behind his back, John makes a move that is intentionally ambiguous to the man he's talking to. "Are you being honest with me, Gary?"
The man nods.
"Yes, I am."
John watches his face for any hint of dishonesty, and finds none.
"Thank you for your help."
As inconspicuously as possible, John transfers two hundred dollars to Gary, then climbs back into the van with Cameron.
"There's no proof that Skynet is involved," she states, having heard the entire conversation.
John watches the possible gray's car as it pulls away.
"Actually, there's no proof that anything he said is true, but we need more than VIN numbers and GPS." He rests his hand on his REC7. "Even the hard drives gave us nothing. We need a brain."
"Or a chip," Cameron adds while starting the van.
John's eyes narrow briefly in as much of a wince as he'll allow himself.
"Or a chip," he agrees.
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Scene 350: Sidekick
Thursday June 19th, 2008
3:07pm Los Angeles, California - Downtown
The change in scenery is jarring. After following their target to his apartment barely one mile away from the warehouses and hundreds of homeless lining the streets, they are now surrounded by restaurants, hotels, and housing. In fact, City Hall is less than half a mile from where their van is now parked.
John looks over at Cameron while clenching and unclenching his hands, testing his gloves to make sure that his dexterity will not be hindered by the leather.
"Well?"
She looks sadly at his chest.
"This is more than I agreed to. It's also more than you led me to believe you'd be doing."
With a smile he pats his chest, confident that three weeks is enough for him to heal.
"I heal faster now than I will in a few years, so let's take advantage of it."
Cameron frowns and watches the apartment building.
"Fine, then you can carry him yourself."
John is surprised by the bitterness in her tone, but ignores it and transfers his REC7 along with several magazines to her bag.
"That's not a problem, but you're carrying the weapons." He uses the quick detach button on his M320 to remove it from his REC7 in case he needs the rifle indoors, but he leaves the launcher in Cameron's bag. He then takes out one of his GPS jammers and looks at Cameron. "Ready?" She stares blankly at him, then steps out and starts toward the apartment building without saying a word. Shaking his head, John activates the jammer and leaves it in the van as he gets out and follows Cameron.
In infrared, she zooms in on a warm handprint left on their target's car door, then enters the building with John close to her.
Within two minutes, Cameron identifies warmth on a doorknob matching the dimensions of their target's hand, and gestures toward the apartment.
Taking a moment to glance around for witnesses, the two of them retrieve balaclavas from Cameron's bag, and pull them on.
Wearing black sunglasses, a black balaclava, black combat boots, black jeans, and a black leather jacket zipped to conceal his body armor, John looks every bit like the terrorist he's purported to be. It occurs to him that while Cameron is dressed similarly, she doesn't look nearly as threatening.
She hands him his REC7, then pulls out her G36 and trains it on the door, bringing a smile to his face.
'Now she looks threatening,' he thinks, suppressing his urge to comment.
After putting his rifle's sling over his shoulders, he holds the weapon at the ready and nods to Cameron.
Having expected her to break the lock with her hand, he's surprised when a diminutive combat boot smashes into the doorknob, sending it hurtling into the room.
The two of them rush through the doorway, immediately seeing the man they've been following. Jumping up from his recliner on the left side of the room, the man dashes perpendicularly toward the television on the far right side of the room.
Cameron identifies a Mossberg 500 shotgun sitting on top of the TV, and raises her G36 in an instant.
"No!" John bats her rifle aside and crosses in front of her before she can kill the man who may not even be a gray. Sprinting forward, John swings his REC7 behind his back and out of his way. Although he is faster than the other man, John gets there a split second later than he does.
The moment that the man's hands close around his shotgun, John leaps into the air and drives his right heel into the man's ribs as hard as he can. The man slams into the TV, knocking it over as he falls facefirst onto the floor.
Rolling quickly onto his back, he tries to bring his shotgun to bear, but John grabs the barrel and magazine tube with one hand, while his other slides down the weapon's receiver, activating the safety and preventing it from firing.
The moment that the weapon is safe, John pulls the stock toward himself while shoving the barrel forward, levering the weapon from the man's grasp and smashing the barrel into his target's face in one motion.
Having lost his only weapon, the man raises his arms to defend against next blow, but John is too well trained. In the blink of an eye, John brings up the stock, hitting his adversary in the chin, and immediately rotates the weapon, striking the man's right temple with the barrel, rendering unconscious.
Standing over him, John cycles the shotgun's repeatedly to eject the shells, then tosses it aside.
"What was that?" he asks Cameron accusingly, not bothering to face her.
She begins walking toward to him with her rifle trained on the downed man.
"What was what?"
John reaches behind his back and grips his slung rifle, then brings it around and shoulders it before entering the man's bedroom without waiting for her.
He clears the room alone, then turns an angry glare on Cameron as she enters behind him.
"You're stronger and faster than we are, so what-the-fuck-was-that?"
She turns away to avoid his baleful eyes.
"I wasn't going to let him hurt you."
Shaking his head, John unslings his rifle and hands it to her.
"I know that," he says softly, "but you could have cleared that distance in half the time, and picked him up by his throat like he was nothing." Cameron looks at the floor, without saying a word. He pats her on the arm. "Hey, you ready to run?" She nods, still staring silently at the floor. "Good. Let's go."
Reaching the unconscious man, John grunts under the strain as he hoists him over his shoulder. The weight is easier to handle once John is standing up straight, and with minimal effort he manages a slow run while following Cameron out of the apartment, and toward their van.
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