...3:20 PM..

...Pureville...May 25th,2015...

John causally strolls right out of the Unbrandy Bunch house with hands in his pockets. Not a car is passing through the street which is odd for starters when the Holcomb Street has every new brand make of cars passing through on the road usually every day. How does Uncle Bob know? Uncle Bob has dropped John Connor here numerous times and successfully blended into the parked cars along the sidewalk for hours on end.

At least, not this time for the window screen is clear instead of dark.

John came to a stop at the window.

"Hey Uncle Bob," John said. "You are creeping out the parents."

Uncle Bob looks over to see two figures zip out of the window view then puts his back against the seat.

"So?" Uncle Bob asks, his head turned towards John.

"You gotta get a life," John said. "Protectors should have their own lives."

"I don't have a life," Uncle Bob said, acknowledging the obvious.

"You are operating and talking to me," John said. "So you do have a life."

Uncle Bob saw a car lacking a roof and peeled off paint revealing a scorched metal in his review mirror in the distance sticking out like a dandelion in a patch of sour potatoes. Uncle Bob's eyes glance from the mirror towards John.

"Alright," Uncle Bob said.

"Pick me up at 8 AM," John said. "Not six, like last time."

Uncle Bob nods acting as though he understood.

"Pick you up at 6 AM," Uncle Bob said. "I will."

Uncle Bob drives off.

John walks onto the side walk with a sigh.

I shoulda' not mentioned two different times, John thought.

The red car speeds past John.

"Hey!" John shouts. "Watch where you are driving!"

The driver is T-888 Model 102. T-888 is driving down the road after Uncle Bob charging up his gun using fresh new bullets from a box tucked right his thigh. Uncle Bob is processing the many places he can drive into without drawing outsider's attention. One of the places that came up in his search results is the abandoned warehouse once used to create acid and house it for military related purposes. Uncle Bob goes through traffic taking swift quick turns in different directions making cars hit rears, some collide against the other vehicle's doors.

T-888's path is blocked by the numerous cars.

It will take 15 minutes for this traffic jam to get sort out.

Uncle Bob parks in the parking lot of the warehouse, unbuckles, and gets out. A T-888 is pretty good at tracking a lower model because of the energy signature energized thanks to the fuel cells inside the Terminator models. Uncle Bob shuts the driver's side door. Uncle Bob goes into the building taking a long rifle with him inside. We wait outside several minutes for T-888 right outside the building.

15 minutes afterwards the burned car slams right inside the building making some of the wall material collapse into the vehicle making dust unsettle. The T-888 punches out the car door. The car door struck the wall leaving a mighty imprint shortly behind landing to the floor. The T-888 takes off a blue 'Dallas Cowboys' hat dropping it to the leather seat. T-888 takes off a blanket from the passenger seat tossing it to the backseat then takes the shot gun resembling machinery off the passenger seat where obvious black stains lay. T-888 clips on two pairs of silver earrings that have diamonds on them on his ears. T-888 stuffs large bullets for the unique shot gun weapon into his deep pockets.

T-888 goes into the darkness.

"T-800," The T-888 calls going deeper down the hall. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

T-888 dives deeper into the isolated and old warehouse.

"I am right here," Uncle Bob said, in the shadows behind T-888. "And that is not my designation."

T-888 turns around.

"That is your designation!" T-888 retorts.

"Not by my files," Uncle Bob said, pressing the trigger to the rifle.

The rifle sends out a rocket shaped bullet right towards T-888. T-888 is smacked hard against a middle metal curling center where a boiling heating furnace lies right behind it. T-888's chest is revealed. The T-888 uses the side railings to get up holding the gun up in the direction of Uncle Bob. T-888 hits the trigger to the unique shot gun. Uncle Bob grabs a hold of the large bullet then turns it around towards the left and lets it go.

The bullet hits a neighboring wall embedding itself in.

Kaboom! sends smoke and flames flying towards Uncle Bob.

Uncle Bob walks out of the way of the  flames.

"Why...Why are you still online?" T-888 asks.

"Someone has to make sure John Connor lives," Uncle Bob said.

"Forget John Connor!" T-888 shouts. "Skynet wants you dead!"

Uncle Bob shot into the knees of T-888.

"I won't abandon my mission that easy," Uncle Bob said.  

T-888's knees buckle toppling him down towards the ground face first. 

T-888 forces himself halfway up.

"I will fulfill my mission," T-888 said.

Uncle Bob shot into the left elbow of the T-888.

"That, you will not,"  Uncle Bob said.

"How dare you say such thing!" T-888 said, furiously struggling to hold one rifle.

"Consider yourself failed," Uncle Bob said.

Uncle Pop rolls a rounded leveler on the wall then steps back into the hall where the flames have died down so much it cannot stir damage on others. T-888 rises a brow confused by the rounded wheel Uncle Bob had turned. The sounds of water of the sorts flowing through pipes gets louder and louder by the second easily enough to be mistaken as a stampede of elephants running in the upper floors under some law of logic. Uncle Bob turns away then walks down the hall. What seems to be water jets out of the sprinklers landing upon T-888.

However once the water like liquid lands on T-888; it began to burn.

"I am not the only one!"  T-888 calls, crawling on the floor using his still operating  right arm.

"I know," Uncle Bob said.

"Skynet will send others to terminate you!" T-888 warns Uncle Bob. "LET ME KILL YOU!"

"Never," Uncle Bob said.

We can see the tips of Uncle Bob's fingers flesh has been burned away leaving behind tips of his digit. He stops at the doorway then leans against it waiting. He waits for five minutes listening to the screams of T-888. Eventually the screams became mute in the dead silence. Dead silence would be uncomfortable and frightening to humans but not to cyborgs. Uncle Bob take is back off the doorway and turns towards the inside of the building. Uncle Bob  goes down the hall once more with his fingers around the trigger to the rifle. Uncle Bob stops at the doorway to the room and then he rolls the wheel in the opposite direction he pulled it in.

Uncle Bob looks around the room for T-888.

B-Bang! went something hard knocking against Uncle Bob's head sending him knocked down dropping the rifle.

"You have become infected by the humans," T-888 said.  "Your scanners have become rusty."

Uncle Bob turns towards T-88 grabbing the rifle  and shot into T-888's left shoulder.  T-888 lacks skin, flesh, and all the works except for his metal endoskeleton frame.  It did startle Uncle Bob to hear a human voice coming out of a Terminator model 88 levels above him, or maybe it is the result of not facing another cyborg in fight. The bullet flew landing into the ceiling chipping off one part of the shoulder of T-888.

Uncle Bob rolls out of the rocket bullet's way then gets upright.

Smoke clouds the room.

Scene: Not clear.

Switching to: Night vision.

Everything that has heat radiating off became highlighted in red to the green vision Uncle Bob has. He saw a oncoming balled up fist. Uncle Bob grabs the fist but not the second fist that struck him at the face. Uncle Bob  twists T-888's arm then daggers the rifle right into the chest area of the T-888 thanks to the highlighting of the fuel cells below where a six pack should be.  Uncle Bob presses the trigger sending a large bullet through making quite a hole. T-888 jabs his elbow under Uncle Bob's chin  somehow smacking the side of his face making him step back.

The clouds drift away giving a good view of the scenery.

Scene: Clear.

Switching to: Regular vision.

T-888 bends the rifle in half.

"Can we stop with this dance?" T-888 asks. "It is getting more pathetic by the minute."

Uncle Bob grabs T-888's legs then disconnects them from T-888 making the cyborg collapse on his back. Uncle Bob looks down towards the legs that have spider like toes being long and finger like perfect enough for a idea in his processor.  Uncle Bob tosses one into the room right across then picks T-888 up by the neck using the foot that acts like a hand. Uncle Bob brings T-888 back into the room, rolls the wheel once again, and then held him out in the room with acid sprinklers going on.

"You cannot cover this up," T-888 said. "My death is in the records."

"I can try," Uncle Bob said,watching the acid melt T-888's shoulders.

"Did you hear me?" T-888 ask.

"Yes," Uncle Bob said.

"My death is in the records!" T-888 cries.

Uncle Bob looks towards the other side of the room where there is a security camera running.

"Ah," Uncle Bob said,with his hand still on the somehow operating  leg. "Evidence."

Evidence Uncle Bob cannot get to.

T-888 screams trying to get out of the grip of the large spider like toes.  T-888's torso melts away as he attempts to claw at Uncle Bob's face struggling the deathly grip. Uncle Bob grabs the fuel cells out of T-888's body. Uncle Bob takes his hand back out of the way. Eventually T-888 is gone into the shadows of nothing. Uncle Bob puts the fuel cells into his deep motorcyclist pocket. Uncle Bob tosses the leg into the room where it burns into a pool of polyalloy.

"One down," Uncle Bob said. "Several more to go."

Uncle Bob turns away and walks down the hall. Uncle Bob drives the burned car out of the building leaving a gaping hole. Uncle Bob connects the car to the truck. Uncle Bob tows the car into a old car dealership where he parks it into a empty lot with great care for the truck. Uncle Bob gets out of the truck, puts on gloves, and unhooks the poor in condition car. Uncle Bob checks the engine to the car then shuts the hood.

Uncle Bob goes inside the dealership.

"Do you take old and burned cars?" Uncle Bob asks, at the front desk.

Mrs Hopskins, a old lady, looks up from the old styled 1990 computer with a keyboard and mouse.

"Depends what make it is," Mrs Hopskins said.

"1970's Hot Rod Mustang," Uncle Bob said. "The engine is still good."

Mrs Hopskins smiles.

"You selling it for a family van?" Mrs Hopskins asks.

"No," Uncle Bob said. "I am selling it for my brother Jerry Connor. He passed away recently and I promised to sell his old Hot Rod Mustang at a old car dealership," Mrs Hopskins wipes away tears. "It is what he would have wanted."

"I am truly touched," Mrs Hopskins said, dapping at her eyes using kleanex. She gets up from the chair adjusting her glasses. "I must see this car before considering buying it for the dealership. My husband would jump on the offer!"

"Husband," Uncle Bob said, perplexed by the word 'husband'. "Meaning?..."

"My companion," Mrs Hopskins said, with a dreamy sigh. "Ah, he's out fishing with his pals today so I am left in charge!" She has a laugh walking out of the building with Uncle Bob.  "I have been married to this man for sixty years and he still does not fail to bring in a good fancy car for the customers."

"Peer bonding," Uncle Bob said.

"Yes," Mrs Hopskins said. "If that is how you see it. Before I met him; I had nothing, nothing, nothing."

"Nothing?" Uncle Bob asks,keeping the door open for Mrs Hopskins.

"The girls wanted to take me out one day to a bar," Mrs Hopskins said, going through the doorway  babbling. "Ah, thank you young man."

"Did you go?" Uncle Bob asks, curiously letting the door close.

"Yes," Mrs Hopskins said, fondly.  "And I met my man at a car dealership on my 18th birthday. What is your name?"

"Bob Connor," Uncle Bob said, following after Mrs Hopskins.

Mrs Hopskins smiles then stops seeing the vehicle.

"Oh my!" Mrs Hopskins gasps, she turns her head towards Uncle Bob. "Whatever happened to this old gal?"

"My brother drove through a flaming circus," Uncle Bob lies.

Mrs Hopskins turns towards the burned car.

"That flaming circus must have been a bad one!" Mrs Hopskins said.

"It was," Uncle Bob said.

Mrs Hopskins turns towards Uncle Bob.

"Could I have a test run with you?" Mrs Hopskins said.

"Affirmative," Uncle Bob said.

Mrs Hopskins laughs.

"You are a funny man," Mrs Hopskins said, getting into the driver's seat. "It has been many years since I drove a Hot Rod Mustang!"

Uncle Bob gets into the passenger seat then buckles himself up.

"Elaborate," Uncle Bob said.

"It has been twenty-one years since I drove one," Mrs Hopskins starts up the vehicle. The engine hums to life. "Oh my!" She breaths in the smoke coming from the engine. "Sweet speed, it smells just like a Hot Rod Mustang!"

Uncle Bob holds on to a handle built into the side of the passenger seat.

"Slow down," Uncle Bob said.

"No chance!" Mrs Hopskins cheerfully said. "Woohooo!"

She flew over a bump in the air.

"This car is not built to do that," Uncle Bob said,

"Hot Rod Mustangs are by my experience!" Mrs Hopskins replies.

One hour later Mrs Hopskins  drives in to the Old Car Dealership with a wide smile on her face and Uncle Bob is horrified while still keeping a tight grip on the door for dear life

"You got yourself a fine deal," Mrs Hopskins said. "I'll have a young Larry Bomer fix this old girl up for sale."

"I am well aware of that," Uncle Bob said, getting out of the car with jelly legs.

Uncle Bob leans down putting his hands on his knees.

"You sure you are not a family man?" Mrs Hopskins asks.

"I am sure," Uncle Bob said.

"No companion?" Mrs Hospkins asks.

Uncle Bob straightens up.

"A dog should count as one," Uncle Bob said.

"Here," Mrs Hopskins said, handing a lotto ticket to Uncle Bob. "My husband and I won't need it. We're happy as a pea with our lives."

Uncle Bob raises a brow.

"What is this for?" Uncle Bob asks.

"The lotto, dear," Mrs Hopskins said. "The British one time lotto ticket."