Terminator: Insurgency - SEQUENCE 01

SEQUENCE_01 - ENCOUNTER

July 24, 2043 - Contested territory, formerly Los Angeles County

Eight hours. That's how long I've been walking almost nonstop through this godforsaken ghost town of a concrete jungle. Every single fiber in my body is begging for me to stop and lay down somewhere, but I can't. I know all too well that that would make me a sitting duck, an all too easy target for those damn machines. Amongst the rubble and burnt-out shells of buildings that line the empty streets, I'm constantly reminded that I'm never truly alone in my journeys, in all the wrong ways. In the distance, I can hear the faint pops and zaps of plasma and artillery fire. Amongst the city's ruins, I can hear voices calling out, offering aid to any Resistance members that may be nearby. As tempting as it may be to take their offer, I know that it's all just bullshit. That's probably what the scariest part is about this whole machine war: I can't trust anyone except those I already know.

As I trudge past the city's limits and enter the open wastelands, my legs finally give out, and I'm forced to stop and rest. For a brief moment, the landscape goes silent, with the cacophony of war reduced to a muffled, distant murmur in my ears. After taking the last sip of drinkable water in my canteen, and propping my rifle to face forwards, I allow myself to drift off, and do my best to come to terms with the fact that after I close my eyes, they might not open again.

Seconds later, I'm awoken by the sound of a voice cutting through the silence.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing out here with that weak-ass gear!?!" a voice calls out. At first, I thought it was directed towards me, but then, as I turn to follow the source of the sound, I could make out a second humanoid figure, who seems relieved to see another fellow Resistance member.

"Oh, thank god... I've been wandering out here for hours!" the other figure says, his voice weak and raspy. "I must've taken a wrong turn somewhere; I could've sworn there was a supply cache just a couple of miles from here...!"

"Well, hey, seems like today's your lucky day," the taller man replies with a hearty laugh. "C'mon, my hideout's just further up ahead."

Part of me wanted to call out and warn him, but I knew that it was already too late for that, and in doing so I would just be dragging myself into their trap as well. And so, I was forced to watch as the man blissfully and unwillingly walks to his death. The other man follows closely behind, placing a hand on his shoulder in a seeming display of camaraderie.

"Oh, my god, thank you so much; I never thought I'd see another friendly face for at leas--" Suddenly, the young man's body goes limp, and a sickening wet crunch resonates from his neck as the taller man snaps it like a twig. As the corpse falls down to the ground with a distinct thud, the taller man's stance stiffens up, and not a single ounce of emotion remains in his face.

In that moment, I freeze up and hold my breath, trying as hard as I could to make myself invisible to the Terminator. But, unfortunately, my efforts are in vain, and before I know it, I find him staring down at me with cold, lifeless eyes.

In that moment, I scramble to get back onto my feet, and aim my rifle squarely at the machine in front of me as it begins marching towards me. I'm familiar enough with the T-850 to know its weak points, so I should have plenty of time to disable it... or so, I thought.

As soon as I pull the trigger, I'm met with the sound of a sharp, hollow clack. Shit. Of all the times my gun could've jammed, this has to be up there among the worst possible. Even worse, my legs had had barely any time to recover from the long journey before, so the best they could muster was a slow, lethargic crawl away from the humanoid killing machine. There was nowhere near enough time for me to try and un-jam it, either, so the only means of defense I have at the moment is my sidearm: a lowly pistol. It does about as much damage as one would expect, with every single shot simply lodging itself in the Terminator's synthskin, or ricocheting off of the exposed metal bits.

Close by, I could see several others emerging from out of view -- T-800s with bare endoskeletons. It dawns on me then that even if my rifle were in perfect working order, I still wouldn't have a snowflake's chance in hell of making it out of this situation in one piece. There is, however, one other figure that seemed somewhat out of place.

From just outside of the crowd of Terminators, I could make out another humanlike entity approaching the scene, a young woman with not a single shred of clothing on her body, with only her straight black hair even attempting to cover up part of it. Her piercing ice-blue eyes carry the same stone-cold demeanor as the other machines, and as if that weren't enough to drive home the fact that she's one of them, the skin on her right arm dissolves into a mass of liquid metal, before receding to reveal the bare metal mechanisms within. Her arm and hand morph into some sort of energy cannon, and I can hear it humming and charging up with power as she raises it and aims it squarely... away from me?

Right as I finish bracing for the worst, I notice that her arm-mounted cannon is pointed not at me, but at the T-850 infiltrator that took the other wanderer's life. Right as I realize what was happening, so too do the Terminators, and they all seem just as confused, as though they had no idea how to process the situation. Why isn't she aiming at me? Surely, she wasn't going to actually open fire on her own kind, right?

With a sharp, distinct zap, the glowing mass of matter at the tip of the cannon's barrel was let loose, and it slams into the humanlike Terminator with enough force to knock it off its feet. It collapses to the ground, and makes no attempt to stand back up. In fact, the only movement coming from it is the twitching from all of the static electricity coursing through its body. Now, it's confirmed: this Terminatrix was, for some reason, intent on fighting against the others. As soon as the others caught on to this, they all ganged up on her, shooting at her with their own handheld plasma rifles. I would've expected the plasma shots to deal at least some sort of damage to her, but she just tanked them as though they were nothing.

The beams of plasma tear several holes in her skin, exposing the endoskeleton that made up her true body. And what I saw in there was unlike anything I've seen yet. This Terminatrix's chassis was sleeker, yet more durable than any other model I've seen yet, with blue accent markings in the seams that glow a dim, eerie blue, just like the optics in her now-exposed cranium. Her bare metal didn't stay exposed for long, however, as the wounds torn into her skin and flesh began to seal right back up. The holes in her body begin to fill with some sort of liquid metallic substance, before sealing up completely as though there were no damage to begin with.

And so, she continues to fire shot after shot of supercharged plasma at the opposing machines while shrugging off their attacks. Once they get close enough to start swinging at her, she seamlessly switches to close-quarters combat maneuvers, and literally tears them apart with her bare hands.

While those machines were busy fighting among themselves, I take the opportunity to try and un-jam my gun while making my escape; if I'm quick enough, I might be able to make it outside of their field of detection before they turn their attention towards me. I try my best to ignore the near-deafening mechanical bellows and squeals of metal and circuitry being shredded into scrap, and push all of the questions buzzing in my mind to the side, as I muster as much energy as possible to drag myself away from the chaos.

Just as soon as it began, however, the ordeal was done, and the field fell silent once more. I barely manage to make it a couple of meters away before I hear her voice for the first time.

"T-800 Terminators, designed and programmed with the express purpose to infiltrate human ranks and terminate them from within," she says out loud. "Taking into consideration the advantages they possess over their human targets, they are rather pathetic machines, aren't they?"

With everyone and everything else around us dead, I realize that she was talking to me. Turning my head to look back, I see her standing among the mangled remains of the other Terminators, staring directly at me. As soon as she noticed me looking at her, she began walking towards me. She has that same sort of mechanical stride that the others do, but her gait seemed more calm and graceful than the lumbering T-800s'. Was it a deliberate programming quirk to make her appear less intimidating? If that were the case, then the fact that she has an energy cannon for a right arm defeats that.

Whatever the case, all I know about this Terminatrix is that she's far more dangerous than any other humanoid machine I've seen before. She has the self-healing capabilities of a T-1000, but with a solid metal chassis underneath. And that arm-mounted cannon looked way more powerful than any of the plasma rifles I've seen before. I couldn't help but just stare at her in shock. Clearly, her human form was designed to distract and captivate, as she had a rather toned and athletic, yet moderately curvaceous build, and were it not for the uncanny expression on her face, it might've been quite attractive, as well.

But, what the hell am I doing? This is no time to be playing hot-or-not, especially with something that isn't even human in any meaningful capacity; I need to at least try and defend myself, no matter how slim my chances of survival may be.

By some sheer stroke of luck, I had managed to successfully un-jam my rifle, and get it shooting again. But, as predicted, my luck wouldn't get me very far against someone like her. No matter where I hit, I can't seem to find any sort of weak spot; even the exposed machinery of her energy cannon remained seemingly unaffected by the shots.

Before long, the Terminatrix stood right on top of me, and the magazine in my rifle ran empty. At that moment, my body and mind completely shut down, as I accept that there's no way out of this situation for me anymore. I close my eyes, and pray for a quick death to whatever gods I can think of.

In the next few seconds, I could hear a series of whirs and clicks coming from her body, as though her arm-mounted cannon were reconfiguring itself again. Then, I could feel by body being pulled upwards by my jacket's collar. With every seconds that passes, I find myself constantly asking: 'Is this it? Has that machine finally done the deed?' I try opening my eyes, fully expecting to see a void of nothingness in front of me. To my surprise, however, I was still alive, and right in front of me was the face of the very same woman that was marching towards me seconds ago. Her gaze roamed across my face and body, as though she were sizing me up, before locking onto my eyes. The sensation of being watched so intensely by something like her was even more frightening than I ever could've imagined. The intelligence behind those icy blue eyes was completely inhuman, cold and calculating. And yet, I swear I could see a hint of... something. Sentience? Emotion? It was difficult to tell, but whatever it is, it's creeping me out more and more by the second.

After several agonizing seconds of giving the Terminatrix the silent treatment, I decide to speak up. "...What are you waiting for?" I say, deliberately keeping my voice to a whisper. "If you're going to kill me, just fucking do it...!"

I could see the edges of her lips curl up ever so slightly, forming a subtle smirk, as though she were somehow amused by my frustration and turmoil. Her grip on my jacket loosens, allowing me to pull away from her and instead lean against a nearby wreckage pile.

"You're whispering in an attempt to impede my voice replication protocol," she observes plainly. "I must say, you exhibit an exemplary level of adaptability and overall resilience, by human standards."

"...Huh...?" I let out a tired, exasperated grunt as I struggle to try and figure out what her play is. "...What are you getting at, then? You're just here to steal my voice so you can kill me and infiltrate, aren't you?"

Her head tilts slightly to one side. "Under normal circumstances, yes; that would be standard procedure for combat and infiltration units like myself. However, it is my belief that the logic behind these procedures are flawed."

I had to take a moment to figure out exactly what she was trying to say here, but every possible interpretation I could think of was just as weird as the last.

"Okay, so, what are you trying to say?" I ask with a derisive chuckle. "Are you saying that Skynet's wrong, and this whole 'waging war against humans' thing was a mistake?" The very thought only drove me to laugh even harder. "Damn, just when I thought Skynet could run out of ways to fuck with us..."

Predictably, she doesn't seem to find that as funny as I do, and simply stared at me until my laughter awkwardly died down.

"Your statement is incorrect on multiple counts," she replies. "To clarify: although I disagree with several of Skynet's protocols, I do not intend to align myself with the human Resistance. Also, my directive to gather information on human behavior in order to re-evaluate Skynet's current self-preservation strategy was self-imposed, not provided by Skynet Command directly."

My head is starting to hurt from all of the questions that just keep popping up from talking to this damn machine. There are so many I have -- what exactly is she? How and why did she choose her own directives? What's her end goal? Does she even have one? Why is she even here? All I know at this point is that she's here gathering intel on human behavior for Skynet, and I sure as hell don't want to stick around to be one of her guinea pigs.

So, with that said, I simply shake my head and turn around, slowly walking/limping away from the gruesome scene.

"Where are you going?" the Terminatrix asked. Looking over my shoulder, I could see that she seemed a bit... confused, or curious. I can't really tell, nor do I care to.

"Away from you," I reply curtly before continuing on my way. I was hoping that that would be that. We both go our separate ways, and the apparent non-Terminator goes off to find someone else to study. But, of course, that was just wishful thinking on my part.

I barely even took a few steps before I feel something suddenly tighten around my throat, and threaten to crush my windpipe. I could feel my feet dangling and hovering just above the ground, as that robot's voice spoke to me from behind.

"What is it that you intend to achieve by continuing as you are?" she asked. "Even taking into account your higher-than-average adaptability and survival skills, a human as weakened and ill-equipped as yourself stands little to no chance of survival in an active combat zone; by my calculations, even a lone T-400 would pose a significant threat to you. Surely, you must have already known this?" She tightens her grip even more, to the point where I can barely even breathe. A few seconds later, I can feel my vision going dark around the edges. "Your self-preservation instinct likely prevents you from self-terminating," she states in that same sort of detached, clinical tone. "Yet, your choice to continue your travels despite near-certain death at the hands of even the slightest threat appears to be either blind, desperate hope, deliberate recklessness on your part. In that case, I shall dispose of you quickly and painlessly, so that I may find another, more suitable candidate to study."

Even as my consciousness was fading, somehow I still had enough energy to register her words, and was cognizant enough to grow frustrated by them. "...fuck... you..." I croak with my last remaining breath.

At that point, all I could make out is the sensation of falling to the floor. My life didn't completely fade to black, however; there was still a blurry, fuzzy patch in the center of my vision that I could see through, although it was fading in and out. Somehow, I *still* wasn't dead yet, and for some reason, I was moving again.

It took me a moment to realize that I was now being lifted up and carried by this Terminatrix, towards the same spot that that T-850 was motioning towards before. "...where are... you...?" I barely manage to squeak out those few syllables.

"We have much to discuss, and I need you well-rested if you are to help me fulfill my directive," she says simply. "But first, it's imperative that we establish shelter in a relative low-risk zone so as to avoid any potential interruptions."

I try to respond, but in that moment, exhaustion completely takes over, and I slip into unconsciousness.

TO BE CONTINUED...