Terminator: Realities

LOCATION, LOCATON, LOCATION

John and Quin jumped out of a truck to walk through a very large cluster of burned-out buildings that looked in serious need of maintenance. It was an old top-secret military base with several now empty surface-level buildings. In front and behind them marched other members of the Resistance.

Any working vehicles parked inside what buildings they could or away from the base to hide the location of both.

"I'm telling you," Quin said chuckling. "We need to come up with better callsigns. Come on, the ones we got now are corny as hell; Coach, Football?"

John found it somewhat humorous as well. "It works," he replied. "Think of it as our version of the Enigma machine. As long as it confuses the Terminators and they can't figure out what we're saying, it's fine with me. Besides, I'd rather be called Football as opposed to Cupcake."

"Good point," Quin said. "I don't know what an Enigma machine is, but I should get a callsign too."

John raised an eyebrow and looked at Quin. "Sure," he said, expecting Quin to come up with something silly. "Do you have one in mind?"

Both men entered the base through a set of huge, metal doors that lead deeper into the Earth. These doors were automated, blast-resistant, the only way in, and most importantly, hidden. It was large and mostly underground, leaving the desolate surface to appear to have been destroyed.

"I got one," Quin said. "I can be S.E.X.T. Sext. Which stands for sniper exterminator of Terminators."

John burst out laughing. "Don't you know what sexting is?"

Quin was too young before learning what such a thing was. Born after the war started, he never owned a cellphone and thus didn't know what one was. "What?" he asked. "You don't think it's cool?"

John continued laughing. "You don't even know what a cellphone is, do you?"

"Cellphone," Quin wondered out loud. "What's that?"

John, still laughing, said. "Nothing! Keep that name. It's perfect. In fact, as leader of the Resistance, I make it official right here, right now."

Quin suddenly felt self-conscious as John continued further into the base along the way on a different path. "Ok," he said uneasily. "I guess that's what I'll use."

As John walked, he regained his composure and looked around to see survivors huddled against a Resistance member's station, eating the little food they had while the soldier worked. On his other side, between two workstations was a small hall with a group of survivors, a family, getting comfortable. Right next to him as he walked by, was an older man and woman working diligently on repairs for some clothing items. The sad thing was that almost everyone looked homeless except the soldiers wearing the appropriate attire, though even they looked like they could use a good cleaning.

That was the norm throughout the base. Very few areas were now off-limits or designated top-secret. Aside from the few stragglers struggling for survival outside, most were now living in a place that was previously inaccessible to them.

The militaries of the world couldn't say 'No' to desperate survivors. What little was left of the world's armies quickly realized that there was no such thing as an untrustworthy human when they found out it was the machines causing so much chaos.

It would only take months before determining that all humans would have to band together to fight an enemy that made no distinction between race or creed. Suddenly all of the human's differences had disappeared. It didn't matter what your skin color was or if you had socialist beliefs. Racism and political allegiance were among the first ideas to die. The very concept of communism and democracy were no more.