Chapter 5

~o~

John Connor, the man who would have led the Resistance to ultimate victory against Skynet. Despite never existing, the possibility haunted him all his life, urging him to do more. In a way, even as he did his best, he had rebelled against it. When the bombs didn't drop and life moved on, he tried to return to any sense of normalcy. He graduated high school with top honors, got into a prestigious college, and indulged in decadent parties and one-night stands, forgetting his past for a moment. The legend that could be found was nothing more than words on a cassette tape. Yet, wasn't that fine? Wasn't it better this way? The future didn't need him anymore.

It hadn't lasted long. Still, he appreciated those few years of peace that he had gotten, even though the Legion had put an end to that. Now, he found himself in a desolate future overrun by hostile machines…

"Right back to where I started, huh."

Without hesitation, John brought up his plasma rifle and pulled the trigger, letting loose a controlled burst of purple plasma. These bolts of plasma, held together in that shape by generated magnetic fields, lanced through the space in between the buildings in under a second, striking at the machine's hulking torso. The moments that the bolts touched, the field maintaining them broke apart, unleashing their superheated payload. They burned through the jacket and slightly melted the metal skin underneath, making it glow a molten orange-red.

The large machine biker raised its left arm and anchor, shielding its face from the succeeding barrage of plasma. Even with an emotionless mechanical face, its movements indicated its annoyance more than anything else as it brought up the rocket launcher in its other hand, aiming it straight at him.

He dropped to the floor right before a missile flew through the window, speeding over him. It hit the back of the room, exploding in a firestorm of heat and pressure. The entire back wall blew out, along with some portions of the ceiling and floor, thankfully taking most of the fiery backwash with it.

With nothing worse for wear, John pushed himself up from the floor and climbed back up to his feet. Grabbing the window frame, he pulled himself up to it and looked out. The large machine had redirected its attention to below, already in the midst of spinning the anchor by the chain to build up momentum. Before he could do anything, the machine threw the anchor down in a wide swing.

Down below at the street level, the twins—while engaged in fighting with a small group of machines—were barely able to roll out of the way before the anchor scythed through the street, tearing up the cement and machines alike as if they were paper. In that momentary lapse of attention, the surviving small machines swarmed in while more flooded out of the building like an agitated hive, forcing the twins onto the back foot in an ever-closing encirclement. Looks like he may have jinxed it; this nest really was a goddamn infestation.

Seemingly delighted with the situation, maniacal electronic laughter ripped out of the large machine's voice-box, disturbing in both its eerie sound and sharp dissonance. The backpack reeled back the chain like a fishing line, pulling the anchor straight up at high speed.

John aimed and fired at the chain, but it did little good as it was moving too fast to focus his shots on any one spot. Frankly, all it did was catch the robot's attention. Still laughing, the machine biker snatched the anchor out of the air, stopping the reeling process, as it turned to look at him.

"Damn it," he said, realizing that he was more than a little underarmed for this. Despite his efforts, his shots weren't doing much good as the machine biker ignored the damage and began raising its rocket launcher.

In that split second, a flicker of an idea formed in his head. It was nearly suicidal because if it didn't work or if he missed, he would be left too out of position to dodge the follow-up. Without time to think it through, he used that precious moment to tilt his plasma rifle to the side as he pulled down on the trigger, spilling out a burst of purple bolts. Three shots in perfect alignment, following one after the other, speared through the gap between the buildings to enter into the dark opening to the barrel of the rocket launcher just as the machine pulled on the trigger.

The rocket launcher detonated, its metal exterior ripping apart into an explosion of fire and shrapnel. The flames engulfed the machine entirely, spreading through the entire floor and sprouting out of the windows and newly made cracks in the walls. Unable to support the weight anymore, the level above collapsed, causing the entire rooftop level to drop down, incidentally snuffing out much of the flames in dust and rubble.

John let out a breath, his rifle clenched tightly in his hands, even as he stared incredulously at the destruction that he had wrought.

However, any relief that he had was short-lived when—not even waiting for the dust to settle—a large metal arm brushed aside a portion of the rubble and pushed against the shattered floor as a metallic body clambered to its feet. Despite being in an explosion and having a floor dropped on it, the machine was still operational, its red eyes glowing menacingly through the thin clouds of dust. Its left arm was blown clean off, and the side of its torso was a mangled and dissipated mess, filled with shrapnel and melted metal. The black leather jacket was gone as well as the meticulous Mohawk, burnt away by the flames. Even the shoddy tattoos were smeared over by a layer of black soot, blotting them out almost entirely. Still, if anything, the remnant of its red-smeared smile looked even more intimidating with a blackened layer.

Thinking quickly, John moved his aim down and fired. The shots sped through the air and ate through the already damaged floor beneath the machine's feet. There was no time for the large machine to react before the floor broke apart, unable to handle the machine's heavy bulk. Falling, it slammed straight through the succeeding level, its momentum and heavy weight dropping fueling its descent floor by floor. Clouds of dust and rubble obscured its fall, even as the sound of heavy crashing echoed.

However, this was not the time to relax; the twins still needed help. Leaning halfway out of the window and turning his aim downward, John flipped the fire switch on his rifle, changing it to single shot mode. Each pull of the trigger sent a bolt of plasma racing down to the street below, vaporizing a portion of the small machines that he hit. From this distance, and from his lowering adrenaline, some of his shots did miss, but many of his snipes were on target, lessening the load on the twins fighting below. It was almost calming in a way.

At least, that was, until an anchor exploded out of the cloud of dust and straight toward him on the ninth floor.

John dived to the side as the anchor smashed through the window, flying over him to hit the ceiling at an angle. The anchor broke through, sending pieces of rubble falling down. As the dust and pebbles rained on him, he rolled over onto his back. He had only caught his breath when the slack in the chain straightened, the line pulling taut as his surroundings shook. It was only then that he realized that the anchor had somehow been caught on the floor above him, and the machine lifeform was now pulling on the chain.

The building creaked ominously as John immediately flipped the fire switch on his rifle to full auto. He frantically raised and aimed his weapon at the chain before pulling the trigger. A stream of superheated plasma spewed out of the rifle barrel, exploding on the chain link at a close enough range that he could feel the heat emanating off of it. Even as he felt the rifle heating up—both from usage and close proximity—he simply gritted his teeth despite the handle becoming too hot to bear. Whatever the chain was made of, it wasn't melting enough despite glowing a molten orange-red.

Of course, that was when his rifle stopped firing. He held down the trigger in a panic, but nothing happened. In fact, it was heating up even more and started rumbling noticeably in his hands. His eyes widened as he realized that it was going to explode. Adrenaline flooded his mind, slowing down his perception even as his brain raced to come up with a solution.

"Ah, screw it!"

John jammed the weapon into the hole in the chain link above him and scrambled away. He had just made it across the room when a bright purple explosion lit up the entire room and evaporated everything in a circumference, including the link. The plasma blast sent both ends of the chain in opposite directions at high speed.

The chain whiplashed back through the broken window, all the way to the large machine. The severed end of the chain smashed into the right eye of the machine biker, shearing through the socket and side of its skull, leaving a trench of sparking circuitry. However, its remaining crimson eye was still active and coherent, though its mannerism was clearly expressing anger as it raised its head and let out a shrill, robotic shriek.

However, that was the least of his worries though as the floor and walls around him continued to creak, the decayed foundation no longer able to hold on to the tilting building.

"Fuck!" Even as John said that, he scrambled to his feet just as the floor began rumbling. He had to move—and he had to move fast.

Sprinting over to the other side of the floor, where the rocket launcher had shot out the wall, he slowed at the opening and looked out. The building wasn't vertical anymore, such that this side looked more like a slope. He could still run the stairwell, but getting down nine floors without getting something dropped on top of him was just asking to tempt fate. Not that sliding down the side of a slanted building was any better. Unfortunately, that left him with a choice between being buried alive or falling to his death.

His answer was obvious.

"Do or die, John."

Breathing in deeply, John stepped out of the hole, letting his body fall onto the slope and slide down. The wall dragged at the back of his clothes, scraping the vest, as he gradually gained speed. He aimed for the open window on the next floor, the soles of his feet impacting the window sill and sending a shock up his skeleton. Quickly grabbing the sides of the window to prevent himself from falling in, he pushed himself forward and off the window sill to drop into a slide again.

He aimed for the next window, but the building chose that time to tilt even more. His body lifted slightly off the wall, overshooting the window by mere centimeters.

"Shit!"

Having missed his target, John knew that he was going too fast. He reached out with his hands and grabbed the succeeding window sill, arresting the momentum of his two floors fall. Even as he swung like a puppet in the wind, he held onto the window sill. Clouds of dust rained down on him from high above, but he paid no attention to that. He was now on the sixth floor, but he needed to keep going. Reluctantly, he let go of his grip and fell back into a slide again.

The soles of his feet slammed into the fifth floor's window frame, but by this time, the building was almost perfectly diagonal so the impact was a bit more endurable. It was now even possible to run along it, though that method would be nowhere close enough to overtake the speed of sliding. Still, the control it gave was something to consider. However, he knew that the building's collapse would just speed up from this point on so there was no time to waste and that unfortunately left him with little choice. Stepping off the window sill, he resumed his desperate slide.

John slid past the next window without bothering with it, instead coming up on the third floor's window. He was about to grab onto the window sill with his hands when the wall he was on top of broke apart. He quickly changed his target, grabbing onto the edges of the hole and preventing himself from plunging into the interior. The building tilted again, sending a jolt that nearly broke his grip.

"Auuugh!" Grunting heavily with the exertion, he pulled himself up and out of the hole. He had no time to take a breather as the building's fall was accelerating, enough that it was now faster to run along the slanted surface. Getting up, he sprinted forward with all his might past the second floor and then the first floor. He leaped off just as the wall he was running on crumbled, throwing himself into an immense cloud of dust that he couldn't see past. He brought his arms up to protect his face and neck, curling himself up into a ball.

Blind to everything, he slammed roughly into the ground, rolling head over heels. His rolling didn't last long before he crashed into some kind of rubble that jabbed painfully into his back, causing him to gasp and breathe in the dust. He immediately descended into a coughing fit. With shaking hands, he ripped off the ragged white cloth tied to his wrist and wrapped it over his mouth. Typing the ends around the back of his head, he quickly and greedily breathed through the makeshift filter.

His lungs burned, and his body ached. He could barely see through the storm of dust, and there were too many sounds that he couldn't filter out. All he could do was lie there and breathe the small amount of air that made it through his cloth mask.

"John!"

The call took him out of his reverie.

"I'm—" John coughed wetly. "I-I'm here!"

A hand took him by the arm and pulled him up. He could barely focus as he was dragged through a storm of dust. His eyes stung, but he didn't resist the person pulling him. As they moved into a less dusty area, he finally managed to blink out some of the dust from his watering eyes.

"Devola?" John asked incredulously. "How…?"

"Not now, John," Devola replied. "We have to go."

"Where's…" He coughed again. Barely able to breathe with the dampened mask on, he tore it off and threw it away carelessly. "Where's your sister?"

"She's holding the machines off," she said. "When the building fell, it attracted every one of them in the entire area. More are probably coming so we have to get out of here."

"We can't leave her behind."

"We're not!" Devola looked offended at the idea. "We're going to meet up with her, but we have to hurry."

"Alright, lead the way."

It didn't take that long before they spotted Popola fighting several small machines, backing away while the large machine biker slowly stumbled toward her.

"Popola!"

The moment that Devola shouted her name, Popola disengaged from the fight and ran toward them. Oddly enough, the machines did not give chase, seeming to lose their purpose when they gained some distance. Even the large machine biker stayed still, seeming like it was lamenting while watching them go with a baleful glare.

John shook his head even as he ran with the twins. If they wanted to clear out this dangerous nest, they needed more Resistance members and firepower for this. That bastard was a big enough threat that, if it repaired itself, it would definitely be a danger to the base.

~o~

In the same location, hours later…

~o~

The dust storm had long settled upon the ruined landscape. Intermixed with the scattered concrete rubble were shredded machine parts, the pebbles and loose screws almost numbering in equal amounts. Bulbous robotic heads laid abandoned in haphazard piles, their eyes eternally darkened and their innards strewed across the wasteland. In this image, the eternal shine of the never-ending daylight was truthful and unforgiving.

On top of a particularly large pile of cement and metal debris, the large machine lifeform—its face still painted in facsimile of a delirious smile—kneeled unceremoniously, its remaining arm hanging limply by its side. The red light of its sole eye flickered on and off, fighting desperately for permanence. However, in the end, it darkened all the same, its newest wound proving too much. A katana was embedded into the mangled right side of its face, aimed straight down such that the blade was pushed through the neck and halfway into the torso.

A slender hand, gloved in black that reached all the way up to her biceps, took hold of the hilt and pulled the sword out callously, ripping out the weapon as well as a bunch of screws and bolts. The large machine, unbound, collapsed into the pile like the husk that it was, adding its own corpse to the countless that littered this desolate space. Standing alone in this silent battlefield was a white-haired woman in the remnants of a form-fitting black dress. Long, shoulder-length hair framed her stern face, an expression that seemed edged with hatred and almost frozen in time.

She kicked the large machine's husk, sending it rolling down the pile, but her hatred did not abate in the slightest. That was because, as a survivor, she was only continuing a war that had commenced long before her time, and that was the only thing left that drove her onward. Memories came unbidden, moving her forward one step at a time down the pile of rubble and parts. However, in this landscape of rusted silver and decayed gray, there was a flash of white and red that stood out.

A ragged cloth, stained in the middle with reddish fluid, was hanging on a loose piece of rebar that was standing up from the rubble. It was not unusual in and of itself; the white cloth was fairly iconic of the Resistance, and it was not uncommon for there to be deaths. The number of machines she had seen here would be more than enough to wipe out a squad.

Yet, in spite of that, the hydraulic fluid on it looked slightly strange. Walking up to it, she pressed two fingers—her thumb and index—on the crimson spot and rubbed some of the dried flakes onto her fingertips. She brought her hand up to her mouth and put her two fingers inside to press down on the sensors of her tongue.

It only took a moment before her eyes widened as the scans completed. Taking her fingers out and staring down at them, she slowly turned her gaze to the ragged cloth swaying in the wind.

"A human…?"

~o~

In another place…

~o~

From the time when John had thought that he would need to face off against Skynet to the actual reality of his enemy being the Legion, the battlefield had always been the place where he was destined for in one way or another. His childhood had been stripped away from him to prepare him. The T-1000, the white husks, and the Red Eyes. All insidious in their own way—mechanical, biological, magical…

Ever since Skynet had been stopped by the actions of one T-800, ever since he knew that the future could be changed, he had always known that death could just be around the corner. There was no certainty anymore that he would survive, that he would become someone great like the Resistance leader that he could have once been. In his darkest moments, when he only thought of himself and his own pains, he hadn't noticed what his mother was going through until she broke down.

"John, let's run away."

As if it was possible to escape the White Chlorination Syndrome, she had suggested it with such hope in her eyes that it was hard to see through it.

That was the last time John had ever felt so lost. Every time he fell, he simply got right back up. And fall, he did. Over and over and over again. Each time, he pushed himself to his feet, battered and bruised. They called him self-righteous, stubborn, suicidal, and a maniac. He was all of those and none of those.

More than all of that, he was simply one thing.

Hungry.

Putting his hand into his vest's pouch, John took out some nuts and popped them into his mouth. Idly munching on them, he spotted the twins taking glances at him while they were walking by his side.

"…do you want some?" He held out some nuts in his palm as offerings.

"No, thank you," Popola politely refused.

"Yeah, sure." Devola grabbed the entire offering and stuffed it into her mouth. Mumbling in between her bites, she said, "Thanks."

"No problem."

John had to admit that he had never thought that escaping from a battlefield would be so leisurely. Retreating wasn't uncommon against the Legion, and those trips back had always been plagued by a sense of paranoia, wondering if the person next to him would eventually turn into the very same beings that he had been fighting. The problem wasn't from defeating the white husk that they would become. No, it was from the plague that their corpses would bear which could contaminate an entire area. It wasn't uncommon for headquarters or barracks to be quarantined or abandoned because of it. That made it difficult to ease up on the tension even off the battlefield.

Here, however, he was simply walking peacefully through the ruined city with two pretty redheads while ignoring the passive small machines that hop here and there. It could possibly even be considered an idyllic situation, if the atmosphere wasn't so awkward.

"So…" John began. "They have coffee at camp?"

"Base," Popola corrected. "And yes, they do, as well as tea."

"I'm more of a coffee person."

"Alcohol is better," Devola commented.

"Honestly, I can't argue with that, but it'd be hard to discuss things when we're drunk."

"It's not like we got enough ingredients to make the kind that we like anyways."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, haven't had time to go get them. The one I like is made with desert roses which are a little hard to get," Devola answered. "Popola doesn't drink often, but she likes a recipe with lizard tails and mouse tails."

"Uh…huh…"

"It's delicious." Popola's cheeks started to color. "But I don't drink it often since I can get a little too…out of control…"

John grinned. Some things held true even in the future it seemed. It always was the quiet ones that surprised you the most.

Without the plasma rifle, all that he had was a combat knife since he left his spear back at his makeshift camp, but nobody in their right mind would want to be in close quarters combat with machines anyways. Well, at least, nobody that was from his era. The twins weren't the only ones that he had seen wielding melee weapons, but those other people had also carried ranged weapons unlike these two. While there were plenty of materials that could be scavenged from destroyed machines, he wondered if there were rarer components that would limit the production and supply of plasma weapons. However, given the twin's social status, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think that they would be denied access to those kinds of weaponry.

And that didn't sit well with him.

"Thank you," Popola said, taking him out of his thoughts. "For saving us."

"Yeah," Devola said, looking slightly embarrassed and turning her face to not stare directly at him. "We could've gotten out by ourselves, but it'd have been more troublesome without you so thanks."

"No need for that. You both saved me as well," John responded. "If you didn't hold off the machines and find me, I'd have been a goner."

"Probably."

"Devola!" Popola looked positively scandalized.

"What? It's true."

"You didn't have to put it that way…"

"It's fine," John said. "Thanks for coming back for me since I know it would have been easier to just leave me behind. I'm glad you didn't, though."

"That's…" Devola looked uncomfortable.

"We'd have come back for you even if you didn't save us earlier," Popola said.

"Then that just means you're both naturally good people."

"Right…good…" If anything, Popola seemed more troubled by his words, enough that John was starting to think that he was digging himself a hole.

"What's wrong?"

"N-nothing." The straight-haired girl wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Let's pick up the pace," Devola said, interrupting them. "We're almost there."

It was an obvious deflection, but John let it pass. How could he criticize anyone for keeping their secrets when even his own story was unbelievable enough that only people with their heads not screwed on right would take his word for it? Worse was the fact that he couldn't exactly prove anything. Every piece of evidence that he had was basically in his head, and that wouldn't go far in validating his authenticity. Unfortunately.

The rest of the journey was made in silence, each member of the party lost in their own thoughts.

It wasn't long before they reached the lake and the barricade on the cliff above it. While walking up there and through the open pathway in between the barricades, John's heart was beating faster and faster in his chest. However, his worries didn't manifest as they went through unaccosted.

Beyond the barricades were a couple of ruined buildings that they went through as if they were simply pathways. All of that soon opened up into a large, open courtyard that nestled in the middle of a cluster of buildings. There were plenty of Resistance members here, wearing the desert mercenary style that was recognizable. More than a few glanced at them, but after a few long moments, all they did was merely stare despite how dust-covered and dirty the three were.

Following after the twin's quickening pace, they moved over to a spot in the courtyard that was underneath a clothed canopy that provided a measure of shade for the two empty folding chairs there.

"Wait here. We need to go report to Anemone," Popola said. "After that, we'll clean up and then come back with some new clothes for you."

"After all that, I could use a rest." John gave a small grin. "But shouldn't you girls take a breather too?"

"We'll be fine," Devola said, brushing off his concern. "We've been through worse."

"I don't doubt it," John replied. "But hey, can you do me a favor? If possible, can you tell Anemone that I need to talk with her about some potential intel I have? You could say it concerns the future safety of this base."

"You mean the machine nest?"

"No, it's about something else." John's expression turned somber. He could tell her about the infiltrator unit, but if other units were nearby and picked up on his suspicion, they could decide to go berserk and murder as many Resistance members as they could. No, it was best to try and take care of this discreetly since it didn't seem like they had made any overt moves yet.

"Something more urgent. Discretion might be needed."

Devola and Popola frowned and seemed to scrutinize him. He could understand their hesitation since he didn't share this information with them after all, but fighting together had probably earned him some credibility which would hopefully be enough.

"We'll mention it to her. Right, Popola?"

"Of course." Popola gave a smile. "It's the least we can do."

"Don't let me keep you then." John smiled back. "And don't worry, I'll find something to keep me occupied in the meantime."

"Like we would be worried about a reckless guy like you," Devola replied with a huff, though she didn't delay any further as the twins began walking away toward a large open tent on the other side of the courtyard.

With the twins gone, the eyes that were somewhat hostile in nature began to look away, though there were more than a few that stared at him in curiosity.

'Huh...so it was the twins,' John thought as he found the hostility in the remaining stares had lessened by a considerable margin. He took a seat in one of the folding chairs.

Honestly, having gotten to know the twins personally now, John was left wondering what they did that was so bad. Humanity needed to put aside their differences if they were to beat the machines. Still, he couldn't—no, shouldn't make any assumptions without getting more information, but he wanted to listen to the two's story from their own mouths first. Besides, hadn't they promised to exchange their tale for his? He doubted that they would believe him, but that was something for later, after his meeting with Anemone.

His stomach growled softly. He licked his dry lips and brought up his canteen. Twisting off the cap, he took a quick sip of it, letting the now warmer water inside wet his lips and tongue. He took another sip—a longer one this time—before recapping the canteen and placing it back on his belt. Out of one of his pouches, he took out one of the dried fish that he smoked over a campfire just yesterday and took a bite out of it. Chewing it briskly and swallowing it down, he was about to take another bite when he sensed someone approaching. However, faster than he could react, that person ran up to him and slapped the fish out of his hand, sending it into the dirt.

"Hey! What did you do that fo—"

"You damn idiot!"

John was taken aback by the fierce glare of the woman who was suddenly standing before him. She was definitely familiar, someone that he had seen before, but the recollection escaped him.

"Someone get the twins. Now!" Her voice was incredibly loud, enough that it was likely the aforementioned twins probably already heard it. "Tell them it's an emergency!"

"Wait, what's going on?" John asked in alarm. However, that was enough for the woman to turn her burning attention back to him.

"Shut up and lie down on the floor." Before he could protest, the woman shoved him off the chair. "You're goddamn lucky I caught you before it was too late. There's still some time before all the fluids in your body congeal."

Landing on his butt, John could only stare up at her in confusion and mounting anxiety. Before he could bring his thoughts back into order, the twins arrived in a rush, still wearing their dusty and dirty clothes.

"Jackass, what's going on?" Popola asked in a rush.

"This idiot took a bite of mackerel!" The insulted woman brought her glare back on him.

John saw Popola looked horrified, and in Devola's case, her facade dropped completely as she looked at him with real worry.

Shit! Had he been eating poisonous fish this whole time?!

"We have to hurry. Devola!"

"…right!" Devola dropped down on top of him, pressing her palms to his chest. "I'm running the diagnostics."

"I'll assist," Popola said, raising her hands as well.

The twin ripped open his vest and felt around his bare chest. The strange part was that they weren't using any tools. How were they planning to do a diagnostic check without equipment?

As the seconds passed by in silence, the woman that had yelled at him grew increasingly impatient until she looked like she couldn't handle it anymore.

"Hey, clock's ticking." She frowned when the twins didn't respond. "What's the holdup?"

"Dev? Pop?" John asked, shorting their name since he felt that they had become somewhat friendly by this point. "You girls gonna do something?"

Their expressions gradually turned to confusion.

Then to fear and hope.

Devola slowly opened her mouth.

"You… You're human?"

John's eyes briefly flitted to where he heard audible gasps coming from the angry woman and a few other stragglers, but he quickly turned his attention back to Devola.

"Yes?"

To his surprise, the twin fell back on their butts and looked at him as if he was an oasis in a desert. More than that, the other people around weren't looking much better, seeming as if they were shell-shocked. They stared at him with wide eyes and gaping mouths, and some of them were even trembling. A couple had even run off…

Just what was going on here?

~o~

A/N: Whew, tough chapter. Thanks for reading!

Thanks again, Vahn, for editing.

Ko-fi if you want to support my work. I got one last time so I'm happy about that. Thanks for supporting me!