Troy King looked at the sign over the door: West Highland Police Department. New data entered his programming. His cover was attorney at law, and here to give legal assistance to his target.
Slowly he walked up the steps and was passed by a man in a business suit who was talking sternly into his cell phone. He listened.
“I want him transferred to a more secure place… I’ve seen him break his handcuffs… He’s strong… And I want him in a more secure location. Get it done.”
The man hung up, continued on his way and disappeared out of sight.
He pushed the door open and entered the foyer. A quick scan told him the location of each and everyone around. No sign of his target.
The night desk sergeant glanced up when he approached him: “Can I help you?”
“I’m the lawyer of John Doe,” he answered monotonically.
The desk sergeant shook his head and looked at his charts: “We’ve got three John Does in custody right now. Two on counts of being drunk and disorderly. One on suspicion of murder.”
“The last one,” he said. “Can I see him?”
“He’s just done with his interrogation by some FBI-agent… I hope that you’re one hell of a lawyer because it’s not looking good for him. If the Feds butt in.”
“I’m one hell of a lawyer,” he echoed. “Can I see him?”
“Five more minutes and he’ll be all yours,” the desk sergeant answered impatiently. “There’s a bench,” he nodded at a bench where an elderly man and a young woman were sitting.
Troy put the suitcase on the desk and opened it, taking out two MP5K’s and opening fire on all present immediately.

She smiled a little while she watched him sleep. He was lying on his stomach, his head turned to the right, facing away from her, appearing to be sound asleep but she knew looks could be deceiving. Years of battle did that to you: deep asleep one moment, wide awake and ready to fight the next.
Careful as not to wake him she ran her right hand over his exposed bare shoulders. He had so many scars of battles won and battles lost. Slowly she pulled the sheets down to reveal his lower back. It told a similar story. Scars for her, scars for her son, scars for survival.
Her heart lurched into her throat when he suddenly asked: “What are you doing?”
“Watching you… Thinking,” she answered honestly.
He rolled onto his back and looked at her curiously.
“I know your body, Ty. I know every curve, every line, every scar and each new scar pains me, because I know what it’s been for.”
He reached out to her and cupped her cheek with his left hand while he looked into her eyes: “Occupational hazard, Connor. Don’t sweat it,” he said in a gentle whisper.
His thumb ran tenderly over her cheekbone and she sighed; it was very comforting. People thought that he was emotionally instable if not complete insane, but they didn’t know him like she did. He had learned to keep a straight face, void from any emotion, and people resented him for that, tried to kill him for the decisions he had made.
They had never seen how the war ate away at his soul. How he slowly became consumed with all he done in the name of mankind. Just like she had found refuge with him, he had found refuge with her.
She took his left hand from her cheek and brought it to her mouth to press a kiss on it. A crooked smile began to play around his mouth.
“It’s all my fault,” she whispered. “If not for me, there wouldn’t be John-”
“And without John, mankind would be screwed, Connor,” he interrupted her. “It’s not your fault. It has never been your fault.”
She knew that he meant it but yet she could not find comfort in his words. He propped himself up on his right elbow and gently caressed her right upper arm with his left hand: “It’s never been your fault,” he repeated gently but forcefully.
“People die and died for John… My son,” she insisted.
“And without John, I would never have been,” he countered. “And we would never have been,” he paused.
She could see the wheels turning in his mind and decided to give him the time to find the right words. She owed him that much for bringing this up.
“But I gladly would never come to exist if it prevents all this from happening,” he finally added.
She closed her eyes and felt a tear slide down her cheek, only to be tenderly wiped away by him. Understanding time lines, time shifts and parallel universes like he did, she understood what he had meant to say and she fought back the tears that were now forcing their way out. With him she did not have to be this great warrior. With him she could be weak without being frowned upon. He loved her unconditionally for who she really was and not for who people thought she was. He didn’t expect her to be the legendary Sarah Connor.
She opened her eyes slowly and wasn’t surprised that his face was now only a few inches away from hers, their breaths blending together. As always he knew what she needed and how she needed it. It wouldn’t be anything like this morning; no clothes shredding, no straight up back against the wall encounter, born out of despair and being happy that they were still alive after a horrendous night out.
She knew that he would be good to her. He would be sweet and attentive, taking his time to make her feel relaxed before taking her to the next stage. A low groan rose from deep within her chest when she felt his hand press gently on the skin of her inner thigh. This was going be a long afternoon and she would probably come close to dying a few times but for a change she didn’t mind.

Tyler’s head shot up, awoken from a fond memory of the future past. Gunfire. Faint but unmistakable. It didn’t make sense. He had told Sarah to wait for him, not to bust him out. He looked at the clock on the wall of the interrogation room. The hour was almost up and he should prepare for his break-out but he didn’t think it would be too much trouble.
The gunfire echoing through the hallways of the police station made him rethink his idea of it going to be easy. It wasn’t the Connor-clan coming for him. It was an goddamn infiltrator. But how could that be? Skynet had programmed them to retreat upon seeing him.
He ran a hand through his tousled hair in frustration. He should have thought of this possibility. Instead he had been reckless and had lead them right to an infiltrator.
“Goddamnit!” He growled, giving the wall a punch with his left hand for good measure.
The electronic lock on the door of the interrogation jumped from red to green when the alarms started to sound. A uniformed police officer opened the door, his weapon drawn and aimed at Tyler: “Move!” He ordered as he gestured that Tyler should come with him.
This was getting easy, too easy.
“What’s happening?” He asked, pretending not to know.
“Some freak lawyer just went crazy in the foyer and the hallways to the holding cells,” the police officer answered irritated. “Now move!”
Calm and collect he walked to the police officer.
“No funny stuff,” the police officer said sounding a little uneasy.
He looked at the man and smiled: “What funny stuff?”
“Trying to escape… Something stupid like that,” the police officer said gruffly before he readjusted his aim. “Now move!”

Troy King scanned his surroundings and fired at everyone who he considered a threat. A young female police officer jumped out from behind a corner at the end of the hallway and opened fire on him with a Colt M4A1. He fired back, unfeeling when the young officer fell to the floor, dead. Before stepping over her body, he leaned down and picked up the rifle.
Bullets riddled his back and he turned around to fire at whoever was shooting at him. A middle-aged police officer dropped his handgun and fell to the floor screaming in agony.
The HUD identified the station’s main electrical panel. Slowly he walked up to it, firing at everybody taking a shot at gun. He yanked the cover off and pulled the main wire from the wall, only to jam it directly in the lighting circuits.
The light units flickered before they exploded, sparks and glass raining down from the ceiling. It went pitch dark for a few seconds before the emergency lights came on, bathing the hallways in their eerie faint lights.

Overpowering the police officer had been easy. No one had told the man that he had broken his cuffs. Knowing how thorough the machines worked, it would most likely safe the man’s life. He crouched, looked to his left and to his right before making his way down the hall.
Screams of agony reached his ears but he had gone deaf to it, blocking it out.
Back home, he would have love to go one-on-one with the metal man but in this day and age there were other factors to consider, like the collateral damage, the loss of lives, the fact that he had brought the Connors here.
He could very well be the bastard who would bring metal down on the Connors. It was a rookie mistake, and he couldn’t believe that he had been so stupid. Nevertheless when he had seen himself so young, so innocent, he had wanted to spare himself from all the pain that lay ahead of him. He had lost everything but his life.
Careful as not to make a sound, he slowly made his way past and through the connecting offices. In some, fire raged. In others, bodies and wounded. The machine had been thorough and relentless. More gunfire, more cries. Guns scattered on the floor, and it was tempting to pick one up but they hardly did any damage to the metal man.
He could take the infiltrator on in a hand-to-hand combat, but where would the challenge be in that? It didn’t matter to him if it were a T-867 or T-888, but it could complicate matters even more. The time he would waste demolishing it completely was time he could use to escape. Confusion reigned supreme and he would use it to disappear without a trace.
Finally he reached an exit. After looking over his shoulder to see if the coast was clear, he rose to his full height again, pulled the cord that connected the alarm to the opening of the door and pushed the door open slowly.
“So much for the building being surrounded,” he said grimly when he found himself on a dark, deserted parking lot.

Sarah watched in wonder as the police cruisers past them by on the road, their sirens wailing, their lights flashing. Subconsciously she pushed the pedal deeper and let the black SUV speed up. Devlin was insane but he would not be that stupid, would he?
She glanced at TJ who sat next to her in the passenger’s seat. He had a curious frown on his face, a Glock 17 resting loosely in his hand on his lap. She had rather seen that he had stayed home, but he had insisted on coming along. Reluctantly she had agreed.
He was just a kid, only sixteen, whose father had been murdered by a killing machine not only hours before. A kid who had almost been strangled to death by his own future self if Derek had not stopped the older one.
“Are you okay, Teej?” She asked concerned, watching another squad car race by.
“I’m good,” he answered slowly. “What the hell?!” He exclaimed when he looked out the windshield.
She turned her gaze back to the road and saw the police cars strategically parked in front of the very building they were heading for.
“Go around the back,” he told her after she slowed the car down to survey the situation.
Now it was her turn to frown.
“It’s what I would do,” he answered before she could ask.

Chapter 16: Twist Of Fate - The Ballad Of Robin Baxter

Chapter 18: No Return To Innocence