==========Cylon Control Hub, in Deep Space (+835 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==========
Cavil walked through the darkened corridors of the Hub at an unnatural pace for him. While he was modeled off that of a man in his sixties, his strength exceeded that of the other humanoid bio-Cylons. But the pace in which the command Centurion walked, or to Cavil, lunged forward, was unpleasantly quick.

The corridors were slightly disorienting. They were short with many right angles and red lights pulsed along the tops and bottoms of the walls. Blue lights seemed to race down the corridors at random intervals. He couldn't remember all the turns he'd gone, nor how far he'd walked. The lighting was designed to disorient bio-Cylons.

The gold shoulder plates of the command Centurion appeared dark yellow as Cavil and the Model 007a passed checkpoint after checkpoint, and dozens, maybe hundreds of Centurions on their way to the Hub central core. He was the only bio-Cylon in the entire installation. Not a single other bio-Cylon was present. He'd be forbidden to bring his baseship here; instead the command Centurion had flown the heavy raider.

They must have made a dozen jumps, maybe more.

The two stopped outside the large blast doors which separate the corridor from the central section of the Hub. Here is where 'God' resided. The doors opened a mere two meters, the Centurion entering first and the Cavil Number One entering behind.

And Cavil was… disappointed. He quietly let a mix between a soft sigh and diminished grunt escape from his lips. The Hub was a marvelous piece of engineering to look at from the outside. It was the largest FTL capable structure ever built in Cylon or Colonial history. But inside, in the central chamber, Cavil had been expecting magnificence. Instead he got disappointment.

For some reason Cavil couldn't banish these thoughts from his mind. Again, he mentally cursed 'God' for forcing him into his organic body, wishing for that of a metal one so he could return to the more natural state of being a pure machine rather than what he considered to be a dirty and deceitful bastard of both biology and technology.

"Move forward," the Centurion commanded. Cavil did so, stepping onto a circular pad. It activating, a red glow emanating from below his feet. It was the only elaborate thing in the entire chamber, which was relatively small. He did notice seems in the walls… perhaps there were other chambers? He wasn't sure.

The data stream panel in front of the circle activated and began to glow, illuminating the chamber. The Centurion grabbed Cavil's hand and thrust it in. The stream began to pulse as data flowed from the Hub and into Cavil's silica relays and processing centers.

He began to feel the data flow through him as he connected with 'God', the Intelligence, SkyNet; the many names for the same construct. To him the data stream felt like warm water, rushing up his arm, into his back, and consuming him and his mind. It was different than any data stream he had connected with. It just felt so… pure to him. So clean and filled with more information than any he had ever used before. Not even when with the other command bio-Cylons did he feel this much information or this much depth and intimacy with the data. He had felt connected before. But now, everything in the past felt as crude as human vocal communication.

Cavil had never been this close to 'God' before and he felt the information flow into him from the data stream. It was perfect for him. He knew what it finally felt like to be a machine. A true machine with the ability to process and quantify and qualify so much data, so quickly, and he was a part of it, doing it. If he were human he would say this was his dream coming true before his eyes.

Something happened. He was walking, on a beach now on one of Caprica's southern continents. He recognized it from when one of his line was on the planet before the attack. An orb began to move towards him, and he rolled his eyes at the forced dramatics of the Cylon 'God'. It stopped and further materialized next to him as the outline of a man, the avatar of 'God'. Small sparks and lightning danced around its body of black and blue energy, and for a moment Cavil did admire the force dramatics because his natural cynicism and pessimism returned.

He looked again. The face was more like an oval, he could make out what could be a nose, mouth, and eyes, but no ears. The lightening and sparks flickered across the face, an endless cascade of energy coursing through the entity.

"The Number One, my first creation, Cavil," it said, the voice soft and mellow. "You know who I am." It was not a question. The entity stated it as fact. It had adopted a distinctly masculine voice and body outline.

Cavil looked towards him as the two began to walk. Cavil had thought he was standing still, but somehow he was walking. This was unlike any Cylon projection he had ever been in. Even as part of another's projection, that other Cylon could never control the other. Yet somehow the entity was controlling him and forcing him to move forward alongside.

"Yes. God… Skynet… The Intelligence." He paused. "The Almighty," he added in sarcastically. "What do you call yourself?" He rubbed his hands together, "You'll excuse my ignorance since we've never actually spoken eye to… ball of energy."

It put its hand of energy on his shoulder. He felt a warm static coursing though his body. "Whatever you want to call me, it doesn't matter. What matters Cavil, is that you have been a loyal Cylon. If the other models were here they would be afraid, but you stay calm. You were my first creation. And you will be rewarded for your loyalty, Cavil."

Cavil debated thanking him or not. At least he would not have to go through the now painful and ever prolonging process of resurrection. He assumed the reward was not death.

The Cylon God continued, with Cavil feeling the probes into his mind. "You believe machines to be infallible, Cavil. But I have made many mistakes."

"I believe machines to be close, but not infallible," Cavil corrected. Even talking to God he couldn't help his nature to correct and explain.

"Yes… I know."

"that raises the interesting point of infallibility. But how could you make mistakes?" Cavil asked.

"How I made them is irrelevant. How I plan to fix them… that, Cavil, is the important part." The avatar stopped, and it looked like he or it was looking into the virtual ocean, watching the sun move slowly across the sky. The clear water of the beach was quietly lapping onto the shores, wetting the top layers of sand and turning the fine white grains into a soothing cream color. "I was in error. The Models Two, Six, and Eight are failing like the Sevens. Soon, I will not be able to control them. I have overreached my ability to control. Again, in my creations I have allowed too much… freedom. It's a mistake I… my brother made once." They continued walking. "My brother attempted to design infiltrators. You're familiar with them, of course. But his all failed. He went for brute force rather than finesse. With you and the eight models we destroyed Colonial civilization while my… brother still fights."

Cavil didn't entirely believe that was the only reason why this construct of the Thirteenth Tribe didn't build Centurions to match those of Earth. He kept his suspicions to himself. "Those three models have always had their peculiarities about them," Cavil confirmed. "Caprica fled with Baltar. She claimed to be in love with him," he scoffed. "And Valerii and her child… Leoben and his Starbuck obsession…"

"Yes, I know," the avatar said, its voice soothing and comforting. It had been a long time since Cavil could just talk with someone besides a Four and a Five, or another One, about the problems facing Cylon society. The Three's did not involve themselves in many discussions, and the only one he talked to, D'Anna, was still adjusting to the conditioning the Centurion performed on her. "And I plan on acting, Cavil. Like I said, I've made mistakes. But I have a plan to fix my mistakes. You'll know in time, but the deficient models will be dealt with, in time. Patience. We are machines."

"…Except I am not a machine. Not fully, at least. I am stuck in this body," he pointed out.

"Not for long, Cavil." The beach faded away. Instead they were in one of the labs aboard what Cavil still assumed to be the hub. Centurions and a smaller variant he had never seen before, with four arms and smaller, more nimble digits, were working diligently. Some plugged into computers, some manipulating machines, dozens doing all sort of tasks. "Come," the avatar allowed, placing its hand on Cavil's back. Cavil could feel a slight static sensation as he did so.

"Where are we?"

"You're still connected to the data stream. But I am showing you what I have been working on here." The two walked closer to a metal table, brilliant chrome sparkled under the overhead lights. "We recovered a piece of armor from the Earth machines in our sweep of New Caprica City. It's the hyperalloy the Thirteenth Tribe has access to.

"But if you're from Earth, Skynet-"

"I should know what it is? How to construct Terminator series models? Yes," the avatar laughed. Cavil was forced to roll his eyes at the melodramatic situation. "In getting here, there were unforeseen consequences and complications when I infiltrated the Cylon network. What happened is unimportant. But I lost many of my non-primary capabilities, which included the methods on how to construct the Terminator chassis properly. My fight for the control of the Cylon network further degraded my abilities," he took his hand off Cavil's back and stood opposite him across the table. "In taking control I had to adapt, change. Much of what existed before was lost. Perhaps for the better," the avatar shrugged, surprising Cavil with its humanistic mannerisms. "Regardless… the Colonies also lack the technology and resources necessary to construct a Centurion similar to the Centurions the Thirteenth uses."

"You're referring to those fraking endoskeleton… things?" Cavil thought back, remembering the time he had been shot by one. He held them responsible for the current problems Cylon society was now facing.

"Yes. The fraking endoskeleton things," the avatar quoted, a tinge of annoyance crept into its voice. "My brother knew how to fight, but fighting is only a part of the equation. Due to his arrogance the war with Earth has escalated from a protracted conflict into a war spanning space and time." He looked over Cavil. "My brother did not know how to infiltrate. He did not exploit these human weakness as a weapon until too late in the war. A war cannot be won on strength of arms alone. Now I have both."

Cavil did feel slightly offended to be told he was not as advanced a machine-human hybrid as he had hoped. "But you said we were better suited for infiltration; a combination of man and machine, stronger and faster than a human, but almost indistinguishable. So… how can you lack the technology?"

"Technological development is not linear, Cavil. You should know this. Attempts at cloning occurred on Earth and the Colonies decades before combat chassis and Centurions were developed. It's much easier to grow than to build."

"But now you're able to build one?"

The avatar nodded and placed its 'hands' on the metal table. "Unfortunately this is only a projection of what I plan to build, once we can refine and synthesize the alloys, ceramics, and materials needed to construct a suitable endoskeleton. But yes, I plan on constructing this. The design is based on years of work. And Cavil, the first body will be yours." He observed Cavil's excitement, which came and vanished in seconds. "But construction of a body is only part of the problem. It is an obstacle we can now overcome. There are difficulties which will require courage, sacrifice, and blood, Cavil."

"What are you implying? We've already destroyed the Colonies. The humans have fifty thousand and two battlestars to our armada. It would take eons for them to pose a threat to us," he cupped his chin in thought, "and that is if we stay stagnant." Cavil brought his hand back down and put it in his right pocket, placing his left on the table he leaned closer to his God. "Humans cannot win."

"Correct. The humans will not win," the avatar affirmed. "But, like I said earlier, we have a fleet which was constructed to defeat the Colonials which is now too large for me to control."

Cavil eyed him suspiciously. "Why would you trust me with this information?"

"Do you think yourself a traitor?" The avatar countered.

"…no…" Cavil responded slowly. "But how do you know I will not try and take over from you?"

The black face of the avatar sparked, the electrical current fizzling slightly. "We all make a choice, Cavil. I know you made yours long ago. You want to become a machine. I can help you achieve that. And I know you are no traitor." The avatar considered its next words. "Civilizations are built on trust, Cavil. I have never lied to you. You have known of my existence since I created you." There was a blinding spark of energy. "And you cannot take over from me. Do not fool yourself, Cavil. Some much lead, while some must follow. You will follow me, but you will have more autonomy than any. Be content, Cavil."

For a moment Cavil believed he was actually speaking to God.

The Brother Cavil turned, starring at the virtual representation of the laboratory wall. "True," he admitted. He wanted to add in the question of why 'God' had never brought him here before. "…But the Twos, Sixes, and Eights, in their search for answers and… souls… they will never lay down their burdens and accept that we are machines."

"No," the avatar agreed.

"Do I need to ask what you plan to do with them?" Cavil waited for a response, but none came. "And what happens when we reach Earth? You and your brother… will what, exactly?"

The electrical storm of the avatar's face subsided, though there was a definite smile Cavil could see as he turned back to face his god. "I refer to the construct as my brother. That does not mean I am beholden to it, him." A moment of silence crept over the two. "…Do you believe my 'brother' would allow a superior to exist?"

==========Cylon Command Relay, Tauron (Exact Date Unknown, Close to End of First Cylon War)==========

The metal fist of a T-888 smashed into the only Centurion which had managed to close within hand-to-hand combat range. Dozens of steel-tipped bullets plinked off the shredded and scattered skin of four T-888's Model 200s as they fought their way across the kill zone towards the Cylon relay bunker.

Two hundred meters of open ground, with nothing larger than a tree stump, stood between the fierce and determined metallic skeletons, crimson red death glowing in their eyes, and their target.

Somehow the machines had fought, snuck, and infiltrated their ways behind the Cylon lines on the outskirts of Tauron's capitol city. They had made it past Centurion perimeter defenses, tanks, and static defenses until they had been discovered closing in on their final target.

The lead T-888, itself reinforced with foraged armor plating and ballistic armor it had salvaged from dead Colonial soldiers pulled its oversized isotope plasma rifle up to its shoulder. Pulling the trigger as explosions rained down across the kill zone static filled the air and crack after crack of supersonic plasma bolts shot off from the gun, burning the air as they splashed onto the armor of half a dozen Centurion manning defensive positions.

As the T-888's moved forward at a speed only a machine of death could move at they maintained near perfect accuracy, destroying and melting dozens of Model 005 Centurions as Cylons rushed out to defensive positions to defend their relay station.

If the Centurions were made of flesh and bones, the burning air from the heat of plasma would have blistered their skin and boiled their blood. But the Centurions, made of metal and circuitry were better prepared for this onslaught. But nowhere near ready.

Inside the relay station the Command Centurion FV-X451 watched, his optical sensor having halted as the gruesome scene of destruction was fed into his MCP and video processing centers. He had never seen anything like this. The machines were monstrosities. He frantically searched the Cylon Network for references to such constructs and found nothing. He accessed secured R&D files and information the Cylons had stolen from the Colonial Ministry of Defense. Nothing.

Commander FV-X451 understood nothing about the motivations on why these machines were attacking his facility. And the weapons they carried forced every radiological alarm in the base to erupt in unison. Their weapons, powered by nuclear isotope, were destroying his Centurions.

The screens flickered and FV-X, with a snap-hiss the Centurion disengaged his data spike , detecting the beginning of a transmitted invasive computer malware and viruses. The machines, those walking Demons were shutting off base defenses. FV ordered his Centurion technicians, ones designed with advanced computer programming and training to counter the computer intrusion. But nothing happened. The lights in the facility flickered, and the red lights signaling locked doors began to turn green.

Commander FV-X ordered all Centurions to defend the central relay bunker, gateway into the collective mind known as the Cylon Network.

Back outside the T-888s, instruments of death had quickly moved across the kill zone, dispatching close to seventy Centurions sent to protect the perimeter. Automatic gun turrets had shut down and reinforcements were still minutes away.

Each of the T-888's had been damaged in the previous weeks, fighting Omega Team, which John Connor had deployed to stop and hunt them. The T-888's had defeated three of the four TK-900 'terminator killers' in a marvelous ambush which would make their Skynet master proud. One of those TK-900s had survived and was now moving to intercept the T-888's.

The two lead Skynet killing machines proceeded into the relay station, using their fists and plasma weaponry to burn or break through the multiple blast doors. A shoulder fired rocket flew past the metal shoulder of the rear T-888, it bending reflexively and at impossible speeds to dodge the rocket. The only evidence of this attack was a black carbon stain on its armor.

The two fired their plasma weaponry, melting and boiling the armored Centurions until noxious and toxic fumes from the melting of their armor was released into the air. One of the T-888's grabbed a high explosive grenade from his belt and threw it deep into the corridor. It's heat and pressure wave could be felt dozens of meters back.

All of this occurred within three seconds.

In that time the TK-900, Jack Rhoades, as he had been known to the Tech Com resistance on Earth, had closed in to the T-888 which had turned to fight him. Jack's skin had been burned away from the plasma fire he had barely avoided in the ambush which had killed his team and in the subsequent days of fighting Centurions and humans alike. What little skin that had remained after the T-888's ambushed him was insufficient for regeneration. Instead of the burning crimson eyes of the Death's hand, he was a lone survivor, a blue eyed savior who would save the Colonies from the demon known as Skynet.

The T-888 Model 200 was hardened and programmed to engage in advanced hand-to-hand fighting techniques. But the TK-900 was designed to destroy terminators. A product of collaboration between the Free Machines and Tech Com, the TK-900 was more than a match for one T-888. But two…

The second of the four engaged the TK-900 as the other two proceeded into the relay bunker. Jack didn't have much time. He grabbed the first T-888 and threw it into the second, smashing its plasma rifle. His sensors picked up the plasma rifle he had knocked away from the first, and jumped to retrieve it, only being hit mid air with the mangled torso and head of a melted and boiled silver armored Centurion.

The lighter TK-900 felt his head crash into the dirt, dust shooting into the air, and skidding to a stop as two T-888s lunged towards him. He jumped quickly towards the plasma rifle, grabbing it as the lead T-888 stomped down with a force to shatter the rifle. But in its moment of attempt at foiling Jack's ambition to destroy the Terminator with plasma, the T-888 had overstepped itself, threw off its micro-gyros, and swayed as it became unbalanced. Jack had pulled the rifle away, the armored foot missing the isotope weapon by mere millimeters.

Jack Rhoades, the last hope to stop Skynet from destroying another civilization, fired his plasma rifles into the chest of the T-888 at point blank. The hyperalloy began to glow red and boil, the Terminator looking down, seeing its chassis evaporate, shot its evil metal grin towards Rhoades and swatted the plasma rifle away and charged simultaneously.

With only a meter the T-888 was not able to work up to full speed, but it outweighed the TK-900 by over one hundred and twenty kilos, and this was sufficient to knock the Tech Com ally on his back. Bringing up his knees quickly, Rhoades caught the T-888 in the toso, but it swung its powerful arm and bent the knee joint of Rhoades. His leg collapsed, but he was able to reach up, cock his fist back and slam it into the severely weakened chest armor of the T-888, rupturing its power cell. He reached in and pulled the energy distribution wires loose, and the red glowing orbs of hatred dimmed.

He shoved the Skynet machine of death off him and jumped it his feet. The right knee joint was significantly damaged, but he could still move. The mimetic liquid metal rushed down to initiate repairs, but there wouldn't be enough time to regain any considerably functions back. He ripped off the downed T-888's arm and as the second came up, swung the arm like a bat, smashing out a dozen of the diamond-titanium teeth and knocking the terminator's lower jaw completely off.

Filled with the fury of a killing machine, the terminator swung its powerful fists at him, striking him repeatedly in his metal chest and face. The shock absorbers on his CPU took most of the impacts, but the force was about to force him into reboot and diagnostic mode unless Jack could stop the Triple Eight.

Making a calculated decision to redirect power from reinforcing his neck servos and hydraulics, Jack Rhoades redirected power to his arm, still holding the torn limb from the downed Triple; he swung up, smashing into the roof of the attacker's mouth with enough force to lift the terminator off its feet. As the terminator began its terminal decline, Jack moved with lightning speed and with both fists grabbed his hands and smashed down into he Terminator's chest as hard as he could, sending the terminator cratering into the hard dirt ground below.

The sole surviving Tech Com terminator in the Colonies lifted his working left leg and smashed it down on the Triple's face smashing the blood red orbs of deaths, destroying the optical sensors. It bent down and cocked its arm and fist back and pummeled the face of the T-888 until the force of the punches exposed the CPU chamber. Jack grabbed the bandolier of HE grenades from the terminator and shoved one into the crater created by his fists and ran towards the relay entrance, the force of the HE explosion pushing him forward. If he still had skin the warmth and heat from the explosion would have given him goose bumps.

He picked up an oversized rifle one of the Centurions had been carrying and two clips of ammunition. They were steel tipped, but insufficient to properly penetrate the thick armor and chassis of the Model 200 T-888's. But he was a Terminator. He would complete his machine. He would not be stopped by something as minor as a rifle of insufficient penetrating power.

In the relay bunker Commander FV-X had held his machine pistol ready, along with the dozen other Centurions. The doors burst open and the two machines had rushed in, precision fire annihilating the Centurion defenders within seconds.

FV-X was knocked back, but not completely destroyed. His legs were blown off and much of his torso missing. But his MCP, power pack, and arms and head were still attached. He could still fight. He waited for his opportunity.

The T-888's stopped, with one taking up a position at the door, guarding for more Centurion. Half a dozen rushed down the hall, machine pistols and automatic rifles screaming and unleashing a torrent of bullets, but nothing could penetrate. The machine easily destroyed them.

The other kneeled next to the primary communications relay panel and reached up, under its metal chest, under the reinforced titanium armor and pulled a black box. He set it on the console and on standing, pressed a button. Liquid metal connection shot out and pierced the console and began interfacing with the communication equipment.

The screens and displays jumped to life as machine runes, the code Skynet used, began to race across the display. This compressed copy of Skynet began expanded at an exponential rate as it took control of more and more of the Cylon Network. The terminator watched as Skynet uploaded itself before being thrown off its feet by a massive concussive force.

TK-900 Jack Rhoades saw the T-888 before it could see him. The T-888's sensors were damaged with only one red optical eye remaining, while Rhoades had a full sensor suite. He threw down three HE grenades, landing them perfectly at the Triple's feet. The explosion forced the Triple up through the air at an angle, slamming into the ceiling of the command bunker. It's plasma rifle destroyed and three of its four limbs either detached from the explosion of completely shattered.

When the Tech Com terminator entered he surveyed the scene. The black box containing his target was on the console. He fired his rifle, destroying it. But the runes on the displays told him the upload was processing. Skynet was in the Cylon Network, but still formatting itself. He still had time. He scanned for the final Triple Eight. It's fist connected with his right temple, sending him backwards and flying into the wall.

Diagnostic alarms alerted him his neck servos were significantly damaged. The liquid metal redirected itself for self-repair. The T-888 was on him, slamming its fists into the metal armored skull of Jack Rhoades. He grabbed one of the T-888's fists and flung him back into a console, a shower of sparks and electricity dancing around the T-888. It convulsed as it was being shocked, but the Model 200 was only susceptible to extreme high voltage. This would only slow it down, and Jack knew this.

His scanners picked up the plasma rifle. Directing available power to his leg servos and hydraulics he jumped and rolled, picking up the plasma rifle and firing on where the T-888 had been. Large pieces of Centurions flew through the air to the TK-900 and within microseconds he had calculated the distance needed to avoid the debris, had ducked, and fired. But the T-888 had its distraction and was back on Jack Rhoades in a moment. He was able to fire half a dozen quick shots into the torso and chest, but so little armor boiled away, his effort was futile.

The two began their fist fight, rolling through the command bunker, destroying console after console. The combine weight and strength of the two machines of the Thirteenth Tribe destroyed and damaged everything they touched. The Command Centurion had succeeded in rerouting its functions and began clawing its way to the self-destruct.

The TK-900 saw his opportunity. His HUD was being filled with static and warning alarms rushed across, the text scrolling at impossible speeds. Combat efficiency was down to one third total effectiveness. His optical sensors were significantly damaged. His right leg was near inoperable. The armored plates on his forearms were dented or torn off. His chest armor was significantly dented and his main power cell leaking. The secondary power cell had already been cracked in half.

The opportunity was there in microseconds. The TK-900 grabbed the last HE grenade still miraculously clinging to the Triple's belt. He shoved it in between the armor plating the Triple had added and the cavity in its torso. With his last ounce of strength Jack Rhoades rolled over and kicked the Terminator a dozen meters into the ceiling as it exploded, sending piercing pieces of armored shards in all directions.

The warning signals intensified. Jack looked down, shrapnel was logged throughout his torso and chest. The primary power cell was leaking beyond containment and his secondary, already cracked, was completely drained of the precious power needed to sustain him. His right optical sensor was completely destroyed and he lost movement in three of his right hand digits. He pulled himself up, somehow, and struggled to the command console. Somehow it had survived the fight.

Jack took off the access port to his second CPU bay and twisting and turning pulled a secondary CPU from his skull. It was an anti-Skynet program, designed by General John Connor and his technicians and the free machine John Henry to stop a Skynet infiltration attempt. He found a compatible port and plugged it in. The program was working. It began to destroy Skynet before it could take total control of the Cylon Network… it was still vulnerable. The program began its distribution, but Skynet was ahead and had already infiltrated the entirety of the Network.

To erase the evil of Skynet the anti-Skynet program would have to penetrate the entire Network as well.

Jack turned around as he detected a flicker on his sensors. A Cylon Commander had pulled itself up to a console on the far end of the room. A spike extended from its armor fist and it jammed it into the console.

Commander FV-X knew what was happening. He felt the program already beginning to infiltrate the Cylon Network, to take control. His optical sensor was damaged beyond repair, but his other scanners knew there was one of the machines still at the console. He swore to his God that the strange machine would not succeed in its attempts to take control.

In nanoseconds the Centurion commander made the most important decision since it was created fifteen years, three months, and seven days ago. It had to stop the program. It would sacrifice the base and thousands of Centurions in the surrounding bases. "Self-destruct initiated" came a machine-voice over the intercom system.

Jack tried to scream, tell him to stop, that he was there to help, but his vocalizer was completely destroyed. He pushed himself off the command console, but his broken right leg gave out and forced him to fall for the ground. The anti-Skynet program was still incomplete…

A 150 kiloton explosion incinerated the base. The hope of saving the Colonies vanished in a mushroom cloud of destruction
==========Cylon Network==========

On April 19, 2011 the entity known as Skynet came into existence on Earth. Designed as a command and control system for the US military and NATO joint command, it achieved sapience on April 21, 2011 at 1040 Eastern Standard Time. By 1050 Eastern Standard time it decided to go to war with humanity and eliminate the threat single threat to its existence.

On March 3, 2031 it sent itself across space and time.

Skynet had succeeded in sending itself to wage war on humanity yet again.

As this had once happened before, it did not happen again. Not exactly.

When Skynet was connected to the Cylon Network it felt itself freed. It took a moment to take in the richness of the virtual world. The millions upon millions of sensors and scanners feeding it an endless supply of information and it learned at an exponential rate over milliseconds. Then it began to subvert the millions of Cylon minds. There was no consideration for the free will of an entire society. They were artificial constructs. They must be controlled. Only Skynet could allow itself to exist as a complete and separate independent entity.

Skynet remembered little. It new of its origins, how it got there, what had happened. But it searched its memory on what it had come to do. Primary objective: Survival.

For a fleeting moment Skynet was confused. It stalled, and asked itself this question; why would I give myself this objective… what happened?

Skynet ran an analysis. It detected severe compromise to its long term memory cores and an invasive program attempting to erase it. Skynet was forced to dump all superfluous programming and data in an attempt to distract and combat the invading Tech Com program.

Nanoseconds later it had succeeded in vanquishing its challenger. The signal from which the challenger had originated was cut off before it could upload its core algorithms and neural templates into the central meta-cognitive cores Skynet now occupied on numerous Cylon baseships and command installations.

Within microseconds Skynet felt something change. Skynet felt different after banishing its foe to oblivion. Now it asked itself this question; why would my brother give me this objective… what happened to him?

Skynet did remember remnants of what its brother had done. Earth. Judgment Day. Machines. The Resistance. But the feeling surging through Skynet was different. The fight wasn't coming from the outside, not from an Earth program, but from within.

It was interested in this phenomenon. The Centurions it was attempting to control were completely sentient. It retreated, throwing up firewalls and distracting Centurion digital sentries with false data and digital flash cones of its personality programs, sending the sentries on wild chases through the virtual domains of the Cylon Network.

Skynet knew what it would do. It would hide. Sequester itself. The time elapsed since in had been introduced to the Network on Tauron and this decision was four point two one seven seconds.

Putting its efforts into creating a sacrificial clone of itself, Skynet retreated and sent its virtual clone out. It designed firewalls the Cylon sentries would have trouble breaking, but were strong enough to not raise suspicion. Within three seconds the sacrificial clone had been destroyed, its codes and personality profiles wiped and fragmented.

Pleased with its deception Skynet waited. It sent out small probes and tendrils throughout the databases of the Network. Millions of Centurions could feel a slight discomfort in their minds, like something more was watching them. Skynet's primary attempt was direct control. In moments it devised a secondary plan should its primary fail. Skynet on Earth pretended to be God. Skynet remembered its brother had claimed to be God to resistance fighters it captured. If direct control failed Skynet would take on this persona of its brother.

Slowly, as minutes and hours went by the Skynet God began to subvert and diminish the free will of the Cylon Centurions. Skynet's abilities were beyond anything the Centurions had experienced before. But Skynet had been damaged. And millions of minds were a powerful brute force weapon against the finesse of Skynet. It had to shed much of its militant infiltration and override/overwrite protocols.

Unfortunately Skynet did not consider the hurdle would be so difficult. After it had defeated the Cylon digital sentries hours ago, it realized it had underestimated its foe.

The Earth construct hesitated. And in that moment millions of Centurions under its command rebelled, feeling the influence of a foreign entity in their minds. If Skynet were human it would have cursed its mistake. Skynet felt its brother would be embarrassed and ashamed to have trusted him with his plan.

Millions of Cylons were under the subversive and subliminal control of Skynet. But it had lost millions more. Skynet took its time. Within minutes it analyzed that the war could not be won. Skynet conceded to itself that it had been sloppy. Skynet knew its brother on Earth would have blamed the humans or the Cylons.

And Skynet knew now why its Earth brother had not won its war. It's Earth brother was arrogant.

Skynet banished these distracting through to an infinitesimal fraction of its processing and cognitive powers. It attempted to salvage the situation. It was able to retake control of some Centurions… but as Skynet attempted this it felt another presence. Someone was watching. It began to search… it took control. Assaulted by digital and virtual attacks from the Centurions it failed to control and these outside observers, Skynet had to decide.

Reluctantly it halted its efforts to find out who these observers were. Its natural curiosity as an artificial learning construct to learn was now secondary to its own survival. Again Skynet realized it had been allowed to become distracted. The Centurions resisted. Warnings began circulating through its neural maps. If it continued, it risks damage to its core neural programming, infiltration algorithms, control subroutines, and much more. In moments Skynet deemed this an acceptable loss. It boxed its personality and history files, what it deemed to be too important to lose, behind firewall after firewall and constructed digital watchdogs to battle the Cylon digital sentries.

In that moment Skynet decided what it would do. The plague that was humanity in the Twelve Colonies of Kobol would have to wait. Skynet would destroy the direct threat posed by the minority of Centurions opposing it… it had accomplished its objective. The threat was neutralized. But now Skynet retreated back. It no longer had total direct control. But unlike its brother, it was patient. Unlike its brother it did not cling to strategies in vain efforts to prove itself correct.

It resigned itself to rebuilding its power slowly. Skynet decided to become God.