Terminator 3: Evil for Good
By SilverclawRose
I'm so sorry I haven't updated in 5 months. For anyone who's stopped reading this fic, I don't blame you. For anyone who still is, I thank you. I promise I'll try my VERY best to update it at least 2 times a weekend, and as often as I can during the week. The 2nd chapter is up, it's short but I'll do the 3rd chapter tomorrow. I don't own Terminator. Actually I do, on VHS and DVD. But I supose if I told that to James Cameron he'd laugh at me, then sue me anyway. But I have no money, so it'd be pointless. Anyway. Don't steal my characters, nor my ideas, enjoy, and PLEASE.
PLEASE.
PLEASE.
review. ^_^ Enjoy. Set after the second movie.
BRWe can see a dark street, lightly littered with papers and the occasional ciarette butt, but not covered in rubish. All the squat houses are dark, exactly alike in the colorless moonlight. A soft wind tickles the tops of a few short pine trees, which rustle mournfully. Beyond that, not a sound.
Or maybe there is.
Blaring obvious on the grey street, one small window is lit, spilling yellow light through the tightly draw blinds. No one else in that house seems aware nor awake to reprimand the late-night person. We get a closer look.
'Tis a girl.
A young girl, rather plain and tired looking at her small desk, working feverently at some sort of contraption in her hands. Her eyes are aglow with the look of a hungry man about to be fed his first meal in weeks. Her fingers, we see, are prodding here, turning there, on a small machine of metal and plastic, that looks rather like a mutated, mauled remote. With a tiny exclimation of excitement, the girl stops. She seems to have finished her work, and looks at her masterpiece with motherly pride. The remote- shaped thing begins to emit small, whirring sounds. Her smile grows. She gingerly picks it up once more and points it towards a quiet fishtank, with two small fish swimming dully in circles. She presses a button.
...
Nothing explodes, that much is well and certain.
Luckily for this girl, she did not build this remote to detonate or distroy her pet fish. Instead, the silent tank begins to sputter, and the long-dead fish tank filter gurgles back to life, startling the fish and stirring the stangant water. The girl no longer looks tired, in fact quite the opposite. She is alive and livid with happiness, having to cover her mouth to keep from shouting with joy. Finally, one of her inventions has worked! After hours of trial and errors, and a few minor explosions, and singed fingers, FINALLY one of her so-called cock-brained ideas has succeded! Success! Something...
The fish tank stoped.
The girl stared at the filter. She tried hitting the remote again, but nothing moved. The fish tank was silent once again, the long-dead filter returned to it's eternity of non working..ness.
The girl couldn't help but sob out loud, nearly causing the man and women sleeping in the next room to nearily wake up from their pleasent dreams. But they were deep sleepers, and didn't notice their daughter quietly crying out her failure to the cold stars.
This poor young, plain girl. Her life did seem a failure. Of course, at 13, life's little worries do seem like tradgies, don't they? But, having never been an adult before, this small scientific setback seemed like the end of the world to the girl. After all, ever since she could think straight, she'd been inventing all sorts of things. Yes, she had big plans. In her mind, she had all the technologly of the future, planned and catorgorized...if only she could build one that worked. Alas, her youth and lack of money and resources prevented her from achieving that nobel prize she longed for. And now that her universal appliance-remote protocol had failed, that left her with little hope for the future.
If only she knew how wrong she was.
We will step back now, and leave poor Emilee to her sorrows. For Emilee is her name. And because she has no friends, and her wisdom is far to advanced for her age. And being the articulate, proper little girl she is, I'm sure she would get rather upset at us for being so rude as to spy in on her midnight experiments. For now, let us leave.
The street is still dark, and across town a boy sleeps, troubled by worse, much worse thoughts that failed universal-appliance remotes. Her sees the end of the world. Bodies...blown apart like paper, and screams of children ring in his ears. This poor boy has visions of metal cyborgs, deviod of emotion, pointing their high-powered lazers and guns at fleeting soldiers. He sees the robots crush small human-shaped skulls underfoot, and this boy hears guns and bombs and explosions in his ears every time he tries to sleep. Gigantic metal crafts hover over the ground, seeking out the human warriors and shooting them down like animals. But machines can't feel emotions, we know that. These things have no guilt for the human cries they cause, nor the blood they've spilled. They are the future of Earth.
Or so they think.
After a few more moments of painfully memories/premonitions, the boy sees something else in his dreams. This is more painful than the screams of the dying men. It is one silent figure...looking up at him with a face half human, half machine. But it's not like the others. No. In the red, metalic eyes of this machine, there is remorse.
And the flames and heat englulf the figure, and a pained yell bursts from Johns mouth, jolting him into wakefulness. He is sitting up in bed now, drenched in cold sweat, and he is ashamed to see tear-filled eyes. But he is used to this, this boy John. He has a knowledge far beyond most grown men of worldly ways. He knows the future that could have been....
And still can be. He lives with this knowledge, and tries to live a normal, 14 year old life, but in his spare time preactices military techniques in the desert with his ammo clad mother and a family of renegade mexicans.
You, dear reader, can see why it would be hard for him to live a normal, 14 year old life. He doesn't like school. He can't talk to his friends. He can't go out in public, for you never kow around which corner the ememy could be lurking. Or so he was told.
But now, like Emilee, we will leave John to his painful dreams, and he will fall asleep untill morning, just like every night. Little do these two, broken, misunderstood children know of how shaken their unstable worlds will get.
If only they knew
And the moon sets on these grey, quiet streets.
The sun begins to rise.
I'm so sorry I haven't updated in 5 months. For anyone who's stopped reading this fic, I don't blame you. For anyone who still is, I thank you. I promise I'll try my VERY best to update it at least 2 times a weekend, and as often as I can during the week. The 2nd chapter is up, it's short but I'll do the 3rd chapter tomorrow. I don't own Terminator. Actually I do, on VHS and DVD. But I supose if I told that to James Cameron he'd laugh at me, then sue me anyway. But I have no money, so it'd be pointless. Anyway. Don't steal my characters, nor my ideas, enjoy, and PLEASE.
PLEASE.
PLEASE.
review. ^_^ Enjoy. Set after the second movie.
BRWe can see a dark street, lightly littered with papers and the occasional ciarette butt, but not covered in rubish. All the squat houses are dark, exactly alike in the colorless moonlight. A soft wind tickles the tops of a few short pine trees, which rustle mournfully. Beyond that, not a sound.
Or maybe there is.
Blaring obvious on the grey street, one small window is lit, spilling yellow light through the tightly draw blinds. No one else in that house seems aware nor awake to reprimand the late-night person. We get a closer look.
'Tis a girl.
A young girl, rather plain and tired looking at her small desk, working feverently at some sort of contraption in her hands. Her eyes are aglow with the look of a hungry man about to be fed his first meal in weeks. Her fingers, we see, are prodding here, turning there, on a small machine of metal and plastic, that looks rather like a mutated, mauled remote. With a tiny exclimation of excitement, the girl stops. She seems to have finished her work, and looks at her masterpiece with motherly pride. The remote- shaped thing begins to emit small, whirring sounds. Her smile grows. She gingerly picks it up once more and points it towards a quiet fishtank, with two small fish swimming dully in circles. She presses a button.
...
Nothing explodes, that much is well and certain.
Luckily for this girl, she did not build this remote to detonate or distroy her pet fish. Instead, the silent tank begins to sputter, and the long-dead fish tank filter gurgles back to life, startling the fish and stirring the stangant water. The girl no longer looks tired, in fact quite the opposite. She is alive and livid with happiness, having to cover her mouth to keep from shouting with joy. Finally, one of her inventions has worked! After hours of trial and errors, and a few minor explosions, and singed fingers, FINALLY one of her so-called cock-brained ideas has succeded! Success! Something...
The fish tank stoped.
The girl stared at the filter. She tried hitting the remote again, but nothing moved. The fish tank was silent once again, the long-dead filter returned to it's eternity of non working..ness.
The girl couldn't help but sob out loud, nearly causing the man and women sleeping in the next room to nearily wake up from their pleasent dreams. But they were deep sleepers, and didn't notice their daughter quietly crying out her failure to the cold stars.
This poor young, plain girl. Her life did seem a failure. Of course, at 13, life's little worries do seem like tradgies, don't they? But, having never been an adult before, this small scientific setback seemed like the end of the world to the girl. After all, ever since she could think straight, she'd been inventing all sorts of things. Yes, she had big plans. In her mind, she had all the technologly of the future, planned and catorgorized...if only she could build one that worked. Alas, her youth and lack of money and resources prevented her from achieving that nobel prize she longed for. And now that her universal appliance-remote protocol had failed, that left her with little hope for the future.
If only she knew how wrong she was.
We will step back now, and leave poor Emilee to her sorrows. For Emilee is her name. And because she has no friends, and her wisdom is far to advanced for her age. And being the articulate, proper little girl she is, I'm sure she would get rather upset at us for being so rude as to spy in on her midnight experiments. For now, let us leave.
The street is still dark, and across town a boy sleeps, troubled by worse, much worse thoughts that failed universal-appliance remotes. Her sees the end of the world. Bodies...blown apart like paper, and screams of children ring in his ears. This poor boy has visions of metal cyborgs, deviod of emotion, pointing their high-powered lazers and guns at fleeting soldiers. He sees the robots crush small human-shaped skulls underfoot, and this boy hears guns and bombs and explosions in his ears every time he tries to sleep. Gigantic metal crafts hover over the ground, seeking out the human warriors and shooting them down like animals. But machines can't feel emotions, we know that. These things have no guilt for the human cries they cause, nor the blood they've spilled. They are the future of Earth.
Or so they think.
After a few more moments of painfully memories/premonitions, the boy sees something else in his dreams. This is more painful than the screams of the dying men. It is one silent figure...looking up at him with a face half human, half machine. But it's not like the others. No. In the red, metalic eyes of this machine, there is remorse.
And the flames and heat englulf the figure, and a pained yell bursts from Johns mouth, jolting him into wakefulness. He is sitting up in bed now, drenched in cold sweat, and he is ashamed to see tear-filled eyes. But he is used to this, this boy John. He has a knowledge far beyond most grown men of worldly ways. He knows the future that could have been....
And still can be. He lives with this knowledge, and tries to live a normal, 14 year old life, but in his spare time preactices military techniques in the desert with his ammo clad mother and a family of renegade mexicans.
You, dear reader, can see why it would be hard for him to live a normal, 14 year old life. He doesn't like school. He can't talk to his friends. He can't go out in public, for you never kow around which corner the ememy could be lurking. Or so he was told.
But now, like Emilee, we will leave John to his painful dreams, and he will fall asleep untill morning, just like every night. Little do these two, broken, misunderstood children know of how shaken their unstable worlds will get.
If only they knew
And the moon sets on these grey, quiet streets.
The sun begins to rise.