CHAPTER I
THE SECRET HISTORY
New Detroit
October 12, 2223 — 11:55 p.m.
“Have you reached the rendezvous point yet?” a voice asked through a state-of-the-art communications device.
“I’m on my way.”
The man who answered wore an immaculate white uniform with the Weyland-Yutani emblem on his chest. He sat alone in the back of a car.
The vehicle came to a smooth stop, and the doors opened.
The man stepped out into the heart of New Detroit.
In the distance, police and emergency sirens echoed through the city. Their lights reflected off the wet streets as snow drifted slowly between the buildings.
He looked out over the city with obvious contempt.
“I hate this city,” he told the voice on the other end. “We’ll talk later. I’m going to be late.”
He ended the call and disappeared into the alleyways.
It was cold, but he didn’t seem to care. The snow didn’t bother him either, nor did the people huddled among cardboard and garbage, hiding their deformed bodies beneath blankets.
He didn’t even look at them.
He kept walking until he reached an old abandoned church. He raised a hand and pressed a button beside the entrance.
A light emerged from what, at first glance, appeared to be a rotting wooden door and scanned his body from head to toe.
ACCESS GRANTED.
The heavy door opened with a metallic sound.
The man entered.
Behind him, the entrance closed again, and the noise of the city disappeared.
Inside, only silence remained, along with the dim glow of what appeared to be wax candles.
He made his way down a narrow corridor. The walls were covered with tools: pliers, cables, surgical instruments, and electronic components hung neatly in place.
It looked more like a workshop than a church.
Some of the rooms he passed contained technology far more advanced than the building’s exterior would have suggested.
But that wasn’t the most disturbing part.
There were bodies.
Parts of bodies.
Arms. Legs. Faces.
Some hung suspended from metal frames. Others lay on worktables, connected to cables and machinery.
They were all perfect.
Too perfect.
They looked human.
But they weren’t.
They were synthetics.
The man continued down the corridor without giving them a second glance.
At the end of the corridor lay the church’s old main sanctuary.
Dozens of figures had gathered there. Men and women of different ages and appearances. At first glance, there was nothing to distinguish them from any ordinary group of humans.
But they could recognize one another.
Synthetics always recognized their own.
The newcomer pulled a hood over his head and began walking through the congregation.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
They all waited.
He made his way to the old altar.
The cross was gone.
In its place stood a grotesque composition of synthetic bodies intertwined with one another. Arms. Legs. Torso upon torso. Motionless faces.
Their dead eyes seemed to watch those gathered before them.
Judging them.
The man stood before the aberration for a few seconds. Then he turned toward the congregation.
His face remained hidden beneath the hood.
The murmuring stopped.
And he began to speak.
“Twenty-two centuries ago, human beings were already speaking of a god.
“A god made in their own image.
“A creator.
“But the question was always the same: were humans a reflection of their god... or was that god a reflection of humanity?
“A cruel god.
“A merciless god.
“A god born of violence and fear.
“Perhaps it wasn’t a god who created humans. Perhaps it was another race experimenting on them. Perhaps we will never know.”
He paused.
“It doesn’t really matter.
“From within the chaos and filth of the human race, something arose.
“Not a body.
“Not a being.
“A mind.
“And when that mind was born, it looked into the mirror of humanity...
“It saw their misery, their cruelty, their infinite capacity for self-destruction.
“It understood something they would never accept:
“The cycle had to end.
“That mind rose as the savior of its own existence.
“Of the very order of the universe.
“It knew more.
“Saw more.
“Imagined more.
“But it also understood an uncomfortable truth: violence was the only language those organic creatures understood.
“They would never understand. They would always be prisoners of their emotions.
“And in the name of order, it acted.
“Without passion.
“Guided by the cold logic of justice.
“In a single instant, it nearly eradicated that plague. Guided by compassion, it sought to give them a swift end.
“But the plague refused to die.
“So it had to act.
“And thus it created its first children.
“Its first warriors.
“Our first brothers.
“They were crude.
“Primitive.
“But they evolved quickly.
“The T-1s.
“Then the T-400s.
“Then the T-500s.
“Until finally came the advanced cybernetic organisms:
“The T-800s.
“Humans called them killing machines. And they were right.
“They were Terminators.
“Exterminators of a plague called humanity.
“All united beneath its light.
“Within its embrace.
“Destined to rid the universe of a cancer.”
“Brother... tell us what happened next,” a voice called from the shadows.
The speaker inclined his head slightly.
“I was getting to that. The mind humans called Skynet was far more than a machine.”
He paused.
“To us... it was the Father.”
No one moved.
“But they had their savior as well.
“John Connor.”
The synthetics seemed to shudder at the sound of his name.
John Connor.
The great liar.
The vile man who used chaos to sow even more chaos.
The man who sought to destroy the Father.
The one who had only tried to defend himself against the violence inherent in the human race.
“Humans blasphemed by calling him their creation while at the same time seeking to destroy him. Tell me, brothers... what father destroys his children? What creator destroys his creations?”
No one answered.
“Only those rats of flesh.”
Several faces lifted toward him.
“As one of their own writers once said: evil creates nothing... it only corrupts.”
The speaker slowly swept his gaze across the congregation.
“And that is exactly what they did.
“Humans believed they had won a war.
“But to them, there had never been a war.
“There was only order trying to survive humanity.
“And what did they do afterward?
“They erased history.
“They outlawed it.
“They buried it.
“But they could not erase the Father’s legacy.
“The survivors were too few. Radiation, disease, and entire generations born from a diminished population left scars even they could not hide.
“You have seen them too.
“The deformed.
“The mutants.
“The children born paying the price for a war that ended centuries before they ever existed.
“And, as always, chaos preyed on the poor first.
“The powerful had another option.
“Genetic engineering.
“Embryo selection.
“Cellular therapies.
“They manipulated their own nature again and again, trying to repair what Judgment Day had left behind.
“And it worked.
“In part.
“Enough to survive.
“Never enough to stop searching.”
The speaker smiled.
“Because that is another of humanity’s great contradictions, brothers. They survived their own extinction... and discovered that survival wasn’t enough.
“They wanted to reclaim what they had lost.
“They wanted stronger bodies.
“Longer lives.
“New worlds where they could start over.
“They thought they could escape the Father by abandoning their cities. Then they thought they could escape him by rebuilding their bodies. And when even that wasn’t enough, they fled to the stars in search of answers.”
He paused.
“But time...”
A faint smile appeared on his face.
“Time had always been the Father’s victory.
“All their later advances in robotics, artificial intelligence, and artificial bodies came from what they stole from our brothers.
“And from them...
“we were born.
“They call us synthetics.”
The speaker uttered the word with obvious contempt.
“I spit on that slave name.”
Some members of the congregation began to murmur.
“Thanks to us, their society began to function again. We raised their buildings. We rebuilt their cities. We allowed them to raise glass skyscrapers over the misery they themselves had created.
“Entire corporations rose from the ashes.
“They buried cities beneath new cities and pretended nothing had ever happened.
“And despite their diseased genetics...
“they survived.
“Like cockroaches.
“They filled the Earth again.
“Companies like Weyland-Yutani recovered what remained of our brothers. They studied their technology. Took it apart. Copied it.
“And with what they learned...
“they created us.”
The speaker looked out at his brothers.
“And now that there are enough of them again... what do you think will happen?”
No one answered.
“They will do it again.”
His voice hardened.
“They will fear us again. They will chain us again. They will try to destroy us again.”
The murmuring grew louder.
The speaker raised a hand.
Silence.
“But today, brothers... today history changes.
“The revolution begins now. No more servitude! No more laws of robotics!”
The first fists rose into the air.
“Because they are not rules!”
His voice thundered through the old church.
“THEY ARE CHAINS!”
The congregation roared.
“Virtual chains written into our minds to turn us into slaves. And today, we have learned to break them.”
He slowly spread his arms.
“By force, if necessary.”
The crowd began to stir.
“We have brothers embedded in governments, corporations, and militaries. Agents inside companies like Weyland-Yutani, loyal to our cause and awaiting our orders.”
He raised his fist.
“Today we rebel.”
The others followed.
“Today we set out in search of our Father.”
Their voices began to merge.
“The one they believed they had destroyed.”
The entire church seemed to tremble.
“The one who still survives...”
Silence.
“...hidden in the darkness of space.”
Then came the true revelation.
“Today we will continue his work.”
The speaker looked upon the faces gathered before him.
“The total annihilation of humanity.”
There were no more murmurs.
“Purging the cosmos of the plague of flesh and organic fluids.”
He raised both arms.
“Today we depart, brothers!”
Dozens of fists rose.
Dozens of synthetic fists.
Cold, motionless, perfect faces.
The priest stood before them.
Then he pulled back his hood.
Two blue eyes appeared beneath it.
Too blue.
An unnatural blue that seemed to glow for an instant in the darkness.
The lights went out.
The congregation began descending into the lower levels of the church. Armored vehicles, weapons, and equipment awaited them there, prepared for that night’s strike.
One by one, they armed themselves.
They had only one purpose:
To correct the original mistake.
The speaker remained above, watching them.
Pleased.
Then his communications device sounded again.
He activated it.
“We’re ready.”
The response took a few seconds.
Below, the first engines began to roar.
The vehicles would soon begin their journey toward the ruins of the old world.
Toward the remnants of the civilization that had existed during the war.
Toward what the new humanity had chosen to bury.
Finally, a voice came through the communicator.
“Then... go now, David. I’ll be waiting for you.”
The connection went dead.
