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[M] [Avengers] Resistance against What?

#1
On the outside, Marcus Wright felt like he was being dragged around carelessly like a potentially retired ragdoll which would have belonged to a child.. Of course, he wasn’t really unconscious but nobody could know that for sure.  On the inside, the terminator felt every little bump that Ben dragged him across in the mansion. He mentally cursed the fact that he couldn’t say anything to try to convince the ten-year-old to drag him a bit more carefully on the way to the infirmary.

Ah, the infirmary. How many times has the terminator died and magically come to life again? Was it three? Marcus was on his way to being more cat than human or terminator as he thought about using another of his nine lives. He thought about how nice that may sound to anyone he might have told back home, but here in the Omniverse he didn’t think it was so good. The Human Resistance had treated him like a small part in their group, an minority. Marcus was a HUGE outcast in that group. Skynet didn’t want any part with him and Marcus felt the same way about it. Even most of the human’s in the resistance wanted very little to do with him. All except for John Connor, Blair, Kyle, and Star. The four of them had visited him in the grave they buried him in..

As Ben struggled to lift the terminator’s metal body onto the metal slab they called an operating table, the scratches and cuts showed off more of the terminator’s metallic skeleton making the  tween boy started gagging in response to the gashes.

The metal slab started to feel strangely like home. It was the strangest place for a man to live, given it was also his death bed. Marcus remembered every bit of his second death. Instead of a oddly technical and calm, computerized area well stocked for the Avengers, he was out on a field medical area. For once in a long time, Marcus felt like a real man who could actually respect the value of human life. John didn’t see him as a pain in the ass, maybe just maybe John held respect for the terminator in question.

After what seemed like three years in the Avengers, he should of been used to the rough training in the Danger room.  Yet, he was taken down by a droid, a simulator robot.  How absurd was that to the well trained terminator? It shamed him to think that was the impression he left on Ben. As he laid there, the various cuts and scrapes started to slowly and painfully heal like they usually do.

This was meant to be a team of heroes and the adventures they went through were supposed to shape and mold the team as a whole. It was time to explore the important questions. Throughout their adventures, was he truly helpful to his team or has this terminator been holding the Avengers back?

He laid there mulling over the answers while he continued to heal. Over his metallic skeleton muscle fibers reformed over the steel which covered his human heart like a cage. Each beat of his four chambers were as important to him as the lives he had saved over his years in the Omniverse.

This old hero felt as washed up as John Connor did. Did they actually see eye to eye? The mental image of his old General began to change. The color of his eyes faded into blanks spaces that stared at him with the moon's suspicion. It was as if he stared with Moon Knight’s eyes. Glaring into his soul.

It made him wonder why.

Three agonizing hours later and the terminator’s wounds had completely healed over. A robotic arm moved over the full length of Marcus’s body, and sent an analysis to the computer. When it was done, a couple high pitched beeps announced its findings. Marcus didn't need to see the screen to know that his body appeared on it. Beside his brain and heart numbers climbed and fell across the space boxed off beside each part. These numbers later would mean something but for now they were undefined.

How many times has he been saved by technology lately? Between the mediocre shit in the resistance’s hideout and Skynet's advanced technology he's lost count.

Technology. It left the terminator with a bad taste in his mouth. His final breath was administered by a police officer who was anxious  to “get rid of him” as fast as possible; convinced he was truly a burden to the world and social order. He swore he could taste the poison they injected into his system as he drifted off to who the hell knows where. The only thing technology has ever been good for up until his revival was proving basic laws of nature would always ring true. The weak perish, the strongest survive, and death was unavoidable.

Waking up in the apocalypse only served to prove that point. Painful experience after hardship it continued to remind the terminator. Until one day. A oddly sympathetic computer artificial intelligence “woke him up” from a long winter’s nap. A nap that was supposed to be final for him, right?

He bit his tongue and watched a computer he barely knew and wanted nothing to do with. The words most prominent phrase repeating in his memory: “save his life”.  Why did this Skynet A.I. save his life? Wasn’t technology supposed to kill people? Humans were full of D.N.A. and the Resistance symbol meant “Blood” to whomever wore it. But up until this point, he was convinced humans were as horrible as the police guards who sent him to his untimely death and technology was this awful device used to only serve humans and eliminate the “unwanted”.

The next taste of technology came in the form of “fellow” terminators like himself as Skynet wanted to gain favor with the “human” terminator, calling to him frequently like a needy baby. Every so often, he told it to stop trying to “save” him.  

But Skynet wanted him to come home. Still Skynet wasn’t his mother and he decided when curfew started. He'd have ice cream for breakfast if he damn well wanted it.

Before he knew it, he was walking the lone landscapes of jagged ruined buildings with a woman who was thankful that he'd rescue her. Her dirty brown hair bounced with her amazing body as she walked. She'd gotten her parachute stuck on a tower and dangled from its pack. He’d been eyeing her outfit. He came to the conclusion that she must of been a pilot. The way she carried herself she had an air of stark independent about her. She could handle herself by the way showed her attitude.

Blair, she called herself.

The one who would change his life that day, no… Changed his life in general.  She called the shots, in and outside of combat. Traitors of the human resistance or “survivors” were only out for themselves. Kindness was a rare trait at times like these.

The terminator remembered that time fondly.

Their “first date” of sorts. No sitting by the campfire singing Kumbaya songs, instead it was very “Judgement Day and Chill”. He remembers how much Blair enjoyed listening to his heart. She also seemed to think the mechanical side of him was useful.

It was raining that day. It all changed when Blair took Marcus to the HQ. There had been buried mines that upon detecting war machines would set off. She'd passed through the field without question, but when she turned to him the demolitions went off.

Well, fuck humans, now.

Humans. The welcoming committee.   The Resistance carried him around in a shitty war cot like a overbearing father. The first thing one of Connor’s men does once he gets carried in, is having of their surgeons stare at him with a open gasp and a man named  Barnes slam him with an butt of a rifle. Some welcome committee this Human Resistance turned out to be after all. Blair and what appeared to be the surgeon, which was his old General’s wife were mummering over the show. A fucked up one where the man of the hour was hanging over a missile silo wearing absolutely nothing with a huge, fucking gap in his body.

Nothing like a fucked up evening during Judgement Day where a whole lot of soldiers, men to say the least loved staring at his naked exposed body. Nothing says “Welcome to the Human Resistance” like dungeons over human silos. He wanted to kill the man responsible, but that man stared over him, both in awe like he was today’s feature presentation. John Connor.

Marcus wants to tell the man to fuck himself but apparently the man is crazily babbing off stuff about how he somehow killed his mother and father, Sarah and Kyle Reese and despite this, the terminator knows NOTHING about them and the war against machines” and all that and this.

Marcus was this close, THIS close to spitting in the old general’s face. But that would end up very bad since he was in the prime position to be shot. Connor walks away and tells Barnes and Blair to watch him like he needed babysitting. Barnes stares at Marcus with a glint in his eye and a grunt in his voice “You killed my fuckin’ brother, you Machine!” and aims his gun at Marcus, a bullet reflecting off his metal skeleton with a resounding ping and looks at Blair “Your turn.”

Once again, he has no idea why he was the scapegoat for everyone’s problems today.

But the one thing, the one thing that gets to him is the sick glare of his girlfriend, Blair. The one person he could trust in this fucked up dystopian wasteland, wanted to SHOOT him? That was fucked up. Ok, well he did some pretty fucked up things in his lifetime, but now? Marcus looked as lost as a puppy dog waiting to be “put down” at the vet.

The shot rang true as Blair tried to put on a serious face in front of Barnes as she shot Marcus.

Marcus screamed, horrified at how he put his trust in everyone and had it ripped from him.

It somehow reflected as he pulled up on the table, those same puppy dog eyes. He promised he wouldn’t be lost over anyone, not even Blair.

Emotions were weak, even though they were human.
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