Chapter 2

~o~

At this point, after having gone to sleep for at least a few hours, John Connor could not deny one fact.

The sun had not moved at all.

At first, he thought it was his imagination, but unless he had slept for twenty-four hours, the sun should not be in the same exact position that it was before. That brought a few possibilities to mind, some more outlandish than others.

Could the world be covered in a large series of interlocking solar panel satellites, feasting on the sunshine to generate electricity while displaying a false, static sky?

Or could it be even simpler and the days had gotten longer somehow?

The lack of changes to the lighting condition should have confused his internal clock and left his body in a state of confusion like being underground for a long time, but it didn't feel like that at all. He could still tell how much time had passed on a broad scale simply by relying on his body's instincts when it should have been far more muddled. Though, there was one method that could tell time regardless.

The ravenous growling of his stomach.

His "morning" consisted of waking up sore from sleeping on concrete in an empty dark room in the back of an equally empty shop. It had taken some fumbling around to find the door, especially since there was no light which stemmed from the fact that he had closed and locked the door to hinder unexpected visitors. Luckily, nothing had come knocking in the night—or rather, the time he was asleep since night apparently didn't exist here. Or it was heavily delayed. Either way, it hadn't been a priority, especially since it wasn't something he could influence. Hunger, on the other hand, was something that was very much necessary to attend to and was making itself known quite persistently, as if everything that was held back yesterday was coming out today.

Thankfully, he didn't actually have to go far; the waterfall in the mall actually contained fishes that were being carried by the current. The spear that the robot had was moderately weighty, making it heavier than what a wooden spear would be, but considering that it was made completely of metal, it was definitely more durable. After checking it for rust and finding none, he used it for spearfishing. It took more than a few tries, enough that he thought about just using one of the swords to saw off the spearhead and put it on a branch instead, but eventually, he managed to stab a few fishes before they could fall into the depths of the basement. Cleaning and gutting them was honestly a more time-consuming task.

There were trees already growing in the mall so taking a bunch of branches was a simple enough affair. There was enough steel from the machine husks to use to start a spark. He didn't know if the wood would catch fire, but the branches lit up well enough to make a campfire. With the fact that it was an enclosed area—even with the holes—there wasn't any wind to influence the flames so it was consistent enough to make it a simple enough affair to put the fishes on sticks and cook them over the fire. After that, it was just a matter of waiting and patience before the fishes were grilled enough.

As he bit into the first fish, he thought about everything that he had seen so far. Putting aside the extended daylight, there were so many strange things, but there were just as many familiar ones that it was hard to tell. The fact that something like a shopping mall could exist here gave an indication of human civilization, but the oddities of the mall itself placed that evidence under suspicion. The elks and boars were obviously animals that he knew of, though the boars were much bigger than any he had ever seen, though it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. The machines, on the other hand, were blatant indications. Of what? That…was something he wasn't sure about.

Where was he? Or rather…

"When am I…?" John asked himself in a low mutter in between bites. At least, the fish tasted good, though it could use some seasoning. Not that he really had the leeway to complain.

In all honesty, he should have been more cautious with eating since it could be poisonous. Usually, the test was to rub it against his skin or give it a lick and then wait for some time to see if there was any reaction. However, the fishes looked so similar to mackerel that he just…pretty much assumed they were mackerel. However, he had always thought mackerel was a saltwater fish; he had never seen a freshwater variant, and he was pretty sure this was fresh water because otherwise, he would be dead from drinking so much saltwater. Still, the fishes looked okay, and the coloration wasn't any different so he had somewhat let down his guard, especially since most freshwater fishes were usually safe to eat.

He would just have to see if he pukes up his stomach after an hour or so.

The thing about wilderness survival was that things were always the hardest at the start when there were too many unknowns. If he stayed here for a week, he could probably make out a decent living, even though there would always be some semblance of risk. However, there was something odd going on so he needed to know more.

"Okay, information first. Then supplies." He had two fingers out as if he was counting. These were the things that he needed to do before leaving this place.

This shopping mall was a good location for a base since it was a good shelter from the elements and had defensible positions as well as food and water. However, once he crossed that deathtrap of a bridge, he wasn't coming back. That bridge was man-made so whoever erected it was on the side. Still, just who wanted to get to this shopping mall this badly? It certainly couldn't have been easy to set up a bridge like this in the first place, and the fact that it was wooden instead of concrete told him that modern machinery hadn't been involved in the construction. The dangers inherent in the task were akin to making a bridge from one mountain peak to another. Who could be so determined to risk that?

It was just one mystery after another, and it was tiring to think of when there was not much logic or sense to it.

Finishing off his breakfast, John Connor snuffed the campfire out by kicking ash over it. It was time to get his first objective done.

Intel gathering.

Picking up the hefty spear, he walked over to the entrance where the corpse was. It wasn't long before he was standing in front of it, staring down at what was essentially a mechanical man without pants, impaled to the wall by a sword through the chest. Of course, the first order of business was to move the corpse. Doing any inspection out here would just expose him to needless danger, especially if more of those machines were to come. Still, that required removing the main thing impeding that task: the sword.

Raising his spear, he hammered the blunt end onto the handle of the sword, jolting the body in the process. It was hard to tell if the sword moved or not, so he hit it again. And again. And again for the fourth time. For the sixth time. Seventh time. Eighth. Ninth. And so forth.

With a rhythm going, he continued to hammer it, loosening it. For good measure, he swung at it from both sides and even from underneath. Eventually, it loosened enough that he could yank it out, though its heavy weight forced him to drop it soon after. The wound that he had pulled it out of was a mess of dried fluids and exposed wires and circuitry. There was definitely no flesh, even when he put his finger into it and dug around. Though, some reddish residue did get on his fingertip and under his fingernail.

"Better get it inside first."

It took a bit of effort, especially since the corpse was so heavy, but he managed to get it inside by dragging it on the floor by the arms. Getting it up the escalator was a harsher ordeal, though he still managed it after a while. Dropping the corpse onto a store counter, he started going through the pouches on the vest, hauling out a variety of items. There was a combat knife, three grenades, a lighter, flashlight, and…

"Why would a machine have food supplies?" Dried ration bars, a couple of apples, two canteens, and a small bag of walnuts. Opening the canteens and smelling provided the answer to what they were: water and alcohol. The alcohol in particular had a pungent smell that he didn't recognize. Taking a small sip, it felt like it was burning as the liquid went down his throat, but he confirmed that it was definitely alcohol and not some kind of motor oil.

Placing the items off to the side, he stripped the corpse of the vest, shirt, cape, gloves, and the white cloth tied to its wrist. While there was the tear and stains from the stabbing, he figured that he could wash it well enough that it would be wearable, especially since he had nothing else, and he had to clean the pants and boots he was wearing later anyways. Setting them aside, the only item that he kept by him was the combat knife. He took the hilt and pulled the knife out of its sheath.

The blade was clean and sharp to a razor's edge. More than that, it was uniformed along its length, lacking the dents and deformities that would have resulted from regular blacksmithing methods. It was more akin to a modern mass-production style knife, one sharpened with a laser. That made it an ideal replacement for a surgical scalpel.

Placing the bladed tip at the corner of the corpse's wound, he began pressing in.

~o~

"Is this really a Terminator?"

Placing the combat knife down gently, John Connor took a deep breath as he stared down at what was on the counter. It was not a corpse anymore; it could no longer qualify as one. If anything, what was in front of him was a cluttered mess of disassembled parts, like placing organs on display at a museum. As necessary as it was, it had a grotesque edge to it that left a bitter taste on his tongue. However, as a scientist, researcher, and former prospective Resistance leader-in-training, he set his feelings aside to concentrate on his work.

It had been hard to get through the exosuit, such that he had to see-saw the knife to open it up. There had been a bit of a mess with the leftover red fluids inside the exoskeleton that looked a lot like blood, even though it didn't quite feel or smell like blood. That was actually a theme he eventually saw throughout the entire body. None of it was flesh; every single part, despite looking like it, was actually synthetic just like the skin. In fact, an incredible amount of detail that gone into imitating the human body, almost to a completely unnecessary degree, in spite of it being completely inorganic.

While that meant that there were no flesh farms, the lack of an organic brain also meant that it wasn't a cyborg. Considering all the things he had seen inside it, this person could still have been a digitized human. By that, he meant a human whose memories were digitized and then uploaded to an android. There were certainly a couple of projects based on that concept, though he didn't know if they succeeded or not, but why else would there be so much unnecessarily detailed imitations here?

To put it into perspective, the Terminators were made with the singular purpose of hunting down humans. To that end, only an endoskeleton was needed so that it could move and shoot. When there was a need for infiltration, layers of flesh, blood, and muscle were added in order to imitate humans. Thus, one could conclude that Skynet only added something when it served a purpose. However, that was not the case here. There were so many different systems packed into a single body, many of which he actually recognized to some degree, such that it would be faster to list what he didn't recognize than what he did.

The main thing was the power generator which worked by converting Maso particles and organic matter into energy. The intake of Maso particles by "breathing" would allow enough energy for basic functions, but for storage and bursts, organic matter like food items and liquids could be converted into extra energy. Combined with a sensory system for taste, that made it a full-on mimicking of humanity's need to breathe and eat.

On that note, he did in fact recognize those systems, especially since his company did pioneer many of that technology. While it did look different and more efficient in many ways, the base and the foundation were the same. Instead of saying that the part that they invented had been replaced; it was more like it had simply been upgraded, albeit stacked with so many upgrades on top of it to the point that it was barely recognizable.

If he had to guess, it was three or four generations worth of upgrades which, at that point, most engineers would instead simply make a new product altogether. For however sleek and well-designed the exoskeleton was on the outside, the inside was a collection of these oddities. Still, all of this did show something.

This was near-future technology that seemed reachable, given a number of years to work out the kinks.

Twenty years? Fifty years? A hundred years?

Well, he couldn't imagine humanity being on the same type of technology for fifty years, let alone a hundred years. Technological advancements had come fast during the nineties and after the turn of the millennium. At that rate, had the White Chlorination Syndrome never come to pass, they could have possibly started living on the moon. Maybe even reach Mars.

In any case, it didn't seem like these…machines? Terminators? Androids? Cyborgs? Well, whatever they were, they didn't seem to be designed with the sole purpose of killing off humanity. Maybe replace humanity, considering everything that they were equipped with, but why bother with that? The human form was a limitation in and of itself. If they wanted to improve on humanity, there were more efficient and better ways to do so. However, this was now going into speculation. He needed more information to get a better idea.

It was time to take apart his robot attackers and see what makes them tick. Oh, while he was at it, he should probably also see how his assault rifle works. While it was a bit of a risk to be without his gun, the spear would have to do in the meantime.

~o~

John Connor had come to a conclusion.

These robots were essentially war bots. Not in the sense that they shared a similar purpose, but rather that these robots were far too alike in design, barring some upgrades. They had all the qualities of the cheap mass-production models that were often deployed against the Legion. The metal of their barrel torso chassis was actually rather thin, and the insides had only the most necessary of circuitry. Overall, it could be considered a hollow shadow in comparison to the possible Terminator that he had worked on. There was even enough space in the torso that he could store a wrench and lunch box inside there without any detriment to its functions. The joints and hinges were rigid, only having a small limited range of movements, while the head was essentially a sphere that was half-filled. Or was that half-empty?

Overall, it was cheap and fast to make, though effective enough for its purposes.

In fact, one could compare a Terminator to a Rolls Royce, then this robot was more like a Jalopy. Easy-made hounds that could hunt down humans by sheer numbers alone.

A frightening thought, but the possibility was there, especially since, by the evidence so far, it seemed like this could be fifty years in the future if it wasn't an alternative reality or something like that. However, that kind of thinking branched out to too many possibilities. It was best to only consider time travel until the evidence becomes too damning to ignore, though if it ever reached that point, it was unlikely that he would ever be able to return since he only knew how to build a time machine, not a dimensional travel device.

"Think about it later, John," he muttered to himself in an effort to clear his mind before switching gears to what he found out about the assault rifle.

Or rather, the plasma weapon disguised as an Avtomat Kalashnikova 1974 assault rifle. On the counter, he took it apart by using his knife as a screwdriver, though there were times that he wanted to hammer it to pop it loose. Thankfully, it didn't come to that because the gun was a lot more dangerous than he had first thought it was, and by that, he meant it was dangerous to his own health.

The magazine actually contained plasma cells, but there was no need to replace it when it ran out of ammo. That was because it was connected to a Maso converter that, over time, passively took in the Maso particles from the air and converted it into plasma to store into the cells. Essentially, that meant that this was a self-contained weapon that effectively ran on an ammunition source that could passively replenish itself, eliminating the need to reload. The only problems were that overheating from prolonged shooting could melt the barrel and the fact that if any vital components were hit, it could literally turn into a plasma grenade. There was no alarm sound system or external display, such that if any integral component were to somehow be compromised, he wouldn't know until it exploded into a huge fireball, taking him with it. Still, despite the risk of a violently explosive death, the benefits of the plasma rifle far outweighed any of those…minor detrimental aspects. Well, minor in comparison.

"What's life without living on the edge?" John Connor groused as he started putting the rifle back together.

There was no way that these pieces of technology could have survived the rigors of time travel. More than that, these weren't alien technology; they were entirely recognizable to him, albeit with upgrades and variations. Thus, he couldn't deny it any further.

This was indeed the future.

~o~

After washing and setting out his clothes to dry—and ending up naked once again—John had set some fishes to be smoked over the campfire while he caught up on some sleep in the backroom of one of the shops. While he had planned for it to be a short nap, maybe two or three hours to get him going, it had probably lasted for longer than that because, by the time he woke up and came out, the campfire had already gone out with the wood having been burnt through. The fishes that he had smoked were overcooked so they tasted dry and chewy, but they would still last. As he had carefully realized earlier, the Sun was still out, making his theory of longer days hold more weight.

Getting into clothes again felt almost like a new start. It was weird how much more secure it made him feel just to be clothed, but he supposed that he was just too used to it. With the boots, camo pants, bulletproof vest, tan shirt, and ragged cape, he looked like a desert mercenary. Or at least, that was what his reflection in the mirror shards he found in the bathroom showed. The shard that he was using was only as big as his palm, but he had gotten a good enough idea of what he looked like. It was, however, a little difficult to hold the mirror while shaving with the combat knife. Still, he managed a close enough shave, surprisingly with no cuts or nicks. He had never considered the benefits of a straight razor, but maybe it was something that had merit after all.

The smoked fishes were wrapped in thin bark and pocketed into the pouches along with the items that were originally in the vest. The mirror shard also went into them as well. The knife and canteens were hooked onto his belt, and the AK-47's weapon strap was hung around his neck so that the pseudo assault rifle would hang freely over his chest when he wasn't holding onto it.

"Check." He patted over a pouch, feeling the shape underneath his hand. Moving his palm over several more pouches, he confirmed their contents. "Check, check, and…check."

John nodded in mild satisfaction. He was as ready as he would ever be. Still, he took one last look around the shopping mall. He wasn't exactly going to miss the place. Still, it had been somewhat of a comfortable living, despite only being a couple of days at most, but if he wanted to just live without worry, then he would have just stayed in his laboratory for the rest of his life. No matter what, he had to keep looking and moving forward.

With all of his possessions on his person, he made his way to the entrance. Stepping out into the sunlight and feeling the heat on his skin, he was once again faced with his next trial: a long wooden bridge that precariously swayed in the wind. Each step took him closer to the deathtrap until he was just before the first step. It looked just as unstable as it did the first time that he saw it.

Tentatively, he tapped the first wooden board with the tip of his boot. After a couple more taps, he firmly set his boot down on it, even though he kept most of his weight on the other foot. When it didn't make any ominous creaking, he placed more of his weight on it. By this time, his heart was already beating despite it not having been more than a few seconds at most. Despite some shakiness, it was actually more solid than he thought it would be. The main problem was that the rope handles that he could hold on to were actually too high for him to reach on the first few steps. It was only at the seventh board that he would be able to get a handhold. Well, handholds, since he will need to hold onto them on both sides to balance his weight out and not accidentally flip the bridge over.

Taking a deep breath, his other foot left solid ground and landed on the second board. So far, so good, even though he could feel the two boards sway in opposite directions under his feet. He felt an abnormal amount of wind blowing over him, but that was probably because the canyon was acting as a funnel. Unfortunately, rather than cool him down, that made him all the more nervous as sweat dripped from his hairline.

"Easy does it, John. You've done this a million times. Step by step, don't look back…or down…"

From the first board to the third board, he took that step. The second board to the fourth was his next step. Maybe he was too conscious about it, but he felt himself swaying, as if losing his balance, even though he knew that wasn't what was happening. He could barely stop himself from compensating for his imaginary balance loss, and that placed even more stress on him. Third to fifth. Fourth to sixth. Fifth to seventh. Sixth to eighth.

It was only now that he finally reached the spot where the rope handholds were reachable. Grabbing them as if his life depended on it, which it did to a certain extent, he found the ropes to actually be quite sturdy. Gripping them tightly, enough to whiten his knuckles, he made his way forward step by step. At least, until he reached one of the metal sheets nailed to the boards.

He tapped it with his boot, feeling out the surface. It was rusty and rough, which worked better than smooth and slippery. His boot firmly landed on it as he continued his way across. As he was moving step by step, it felt like ages were passing right before his very eyes. His heart rate and adrenaline was slowing down his perception of time, making each step agonizingly slow and stressful. It wasn't helped by the fact that the gaps in between some of the boards were sometimes large enough to fit his leg through.

It was further down the middle when the bridge got even more shaky, as if his presence was causing it. Grinding his teeth so much that it felt like he was going to chip a tooth, he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, to ignore how each of his feet was swaying in different directions, independently of each other. His heart was beating in his ears and sweat kept dripping into his eyes, making him blink and feel the urge to rub them. However, to do that, he would have to let go of the ropes, and that was something he definitely was not willing to do. His breaths came fast and heavy, and every time he looked down—despite saying in his mind repeatedly not to—he could practically feel his vision narrowing at the sight of the distance below.

Walking forward almost mechanically, by the time he noticed where he was, his hands were holding onto ropes that were already at head height and rising. Releasing his grip on the ropes, he practically rushed the last few steps and collapsed onto the cliff and rocks just beyond the bridge. Rolling onto his back, he stared blankly up at the sky while catching his breath. Honestly, at this point, he had been breathing so much that he was feeling a little light-headed.

"I'll never make fun of the suspension bridge effect again." Giving a little laugh at the thought, in between his ragged breaths, he closed his eyes and laid his head back on the rock. It was such an exhausting experience that he would have fallen asleep right then and there if it weren't for the fact that the rocks were rough and craggy, poking uncomfortably into his back.

Rolling back on his front, he pushed himself up to his feet with more than a bit of reluctance. After taking a few moments to stand up and stretch his back, he finally took stock of where he was.

"How did I not notice this…?"

Beyond the large rocky landscape that composed the cliffs were grass and dirt, leading to ruined buildings that were side by side with each other. There were cement sidewalks and streets in between that led further into intersections and even more buildings. Most of all, this obviously urban area was not covered in white salt as he had come to expect from such abandoned regions. Instead, greenery infested every which way, marking the ground, crawling over the cement, and climbing up the walls. For the oddly placed shopping mall to not have a bit of salt, it had been somewhat reasonable, but for a city of this size that must have had some use, it was jarring to see it so devoid of the white salt, the leftovers of those that had infected by the White Chlorination Syndrome.

It should have been a land of white death and decay, but it seemed more like an overgrown ruin of a city district, made evident by the stream of water that seemed to cut through the heart of the city block.

"Well, walking upstream hasn't failed me yet."

~o~

A/N: Oh, hello there. I will stay behind, to gaze at the bridge. The bridge is a wondrous body. Like a magnificent father. If only I could be so grossly incandescent! Praise the bridge!

What's that? Am I a rope bridge fanatic? Of course not! I've never even stepped onto a rope bridge before. In fact, if I were to sum up how I feel about this bridge, it would be…

Sunk cost fallacy.

Putting that aside, things should pick up in pace from here on out so expect the narrative and story pacing to go faster. Or at least, I think it will be.

Anyways, time for a bit of explanation. This part is completely optional so you can skip it if you want.

I like crossovers, but I am not a fan of fusion. That's why I am careful with anything that combines two elements from two different series. Basically, I ask myself if it makes sense and if it is necessary.

Plasma weapons! To be frank, it is something of an attempt to justify the existence of the Pods' infinite, regenerating ammunition supply. And the fact that the "bullets" from the Pods' Gatling move too slowly and shouldn't be able to damage the stronger, gigantic robots if they were just regular bullets. In addition, you never get to see the Resistance fighters ever fight, but you got these WWII weapons on the tables in the Resistance base which would be very behind the technology of Yorha. That didn't make sense so plasma weaponry seemed like a nice use of Terminator technology to fill in the gap. Anyways, it's essential to have them powered with a renewable energy source that isn't solar powered since it needs to also work in the Kingdom of Night. Thus, Maso particles.

Now, about Maso particles. Before Nier Replicant/Gestalt, they got rid of all the Maso particles that caused White Chlorination Syndrome. Yet, magic, which Maso causes, still existed during Nier Replicant/Gestalt. Therefore, to bridge this contradiction, it was easier to split the Maso particles into good Maso and bad Maso. Basically, bad Maso is gone, but good Maso is still here. Why would I say it is still here by the time Nier Automata comes around? Emil.

Edit: Okay, it actually was split in canon, though with fanon names that are apt enough. White Maso for bad stuff from the White Giant. Red Maso for good stuff from the Red Dragon.

And lastly…

Thanks, Vahn, for editing!

Also, made a Ko-fi despite resisting for years. I would appreciate it, but it's completely optional. I'm still going to write anyway because I like writing.

ko-fi dot com/icura