I grew up after in the ruins, starving, hiding from H K's each case.

Hunter killers, patrol machines built in automated factories.

Most of us were rounded up.

Put in camps for orderly disposal spending by laser skin.

Some of us were kept alive to work.

Voting bodies exposing the units ran night and day.

We were that close to going out forever.

There was one man taught us to fight to storm the wire of the camps to smash those metal motherfuckers in a junk.

He turned it around.

He brought us back from the break.

His name is Connor.

John Connor.

Your sons.

Your unborn son?

Yes.

No, no, no, no.

I'll kill you.

Let me see.

Oh, get out of the car.

Dropped your name.

Drop to the ground!

Oh, you do it.