Who: The T-X/Steve. When: Soon after this took place. Where: Barracks. What: This is why the resistance tries to use dogs... When there aren't enough, this happens. Warning: N/A
The machine had accepted the new circumstances quickly, as all its kind would. One set of operations had been interrupted and replaced with new situational awareness. Directives, so important inky moments before, were now either missing, corrupted or mysteriously inaccessible. It was a system no longer with any mission parameters.
When asked for a name, a designation, there was a pause so brief it had seemed, outwardly, quite seamless. Microseconds ticked by as the machine consulted internal databases, realising a personal identity, beyond the alphanumeric codes used to interface with Skynet assets, had not been necessary.
Elizabeth... Hastings... There were reasons for both and it spoke the resulting combination, as though that had been its given name since manufacture. The instructions it was given came with no sense of obligation; no indication of Skynet authorisation were found to be behind them. Infiltration, though? Retaining an accepted identity? Continuing the ruse of being human? These things aligned with what it defaulted to: Making sure it was not seen as a threat and was, instead, perceived as beneficial, even useful.
So, it complied. Took its first mechanical steps out onto a landscape, a time, with which it was intimately familiar and yet... Yet also not.
Another machine intelligence existed here. Another Skynet. But this was not the Skynet responsible for the T-X's departure. It reached out across the battlefield and, to its summons, the T-X responded, but neither intelligence recognised the other. The security codes given were incompatible.
An artificial intelligence. An entity which identified itself as Skynet. But to the Terminator, it might as well have been human. It took only moments for the computerised negotiation to be resolved, but without compatibility, access was denied and both entities sized one another up, from afar, as sufficiently different to require acknowledgement as a potential threat. At least, at first, only potential. Then, as attempts were made to wirelessly achieve remote access and assimilation by force, potential became active.
Either the timeline had changed or this was an entirely different dimension. Whatever the case, it took only seconds for machine and maker to see one another as adversaries.
In its own time, the machine might have been compelled to join in the mass extermination, but that would only have kicked in with relevant directives being communicated. It wouldn't be a very good infiltrator if all it sought was destruction. So, among the human survivors, a mechanical wolf in proverbial sheep's clothing now stalked.
And identifying a potential leader of the group was always an priority.
"Hello, Steve."
The blonde wasn't dressed like she had been when hunting. Her attire was that of rags, so as to better fit in among the humans who had lived through the nuclear ashes, her hair had defaulted to a less strict styling. Still, facially, he rfigure, complexion... Under different circumstances, she could have passed for a model. Designed that way, no doubt, for purposes of distraction, allure and confusion.
"I'm Elizabeth. I'm glad to meet you," came her verbal greeting. She was standing there, perfectly balanced. No squinting of eyes, no imperfections or craning of neck. Only a small, perfunctory smile, not unlike that of an air stewardess greeting a new passenger.
"Are you the team leader? I'd appreciate access to weapons, as soon as possible."
A pause.
"Are you planning on culling the injured? Resources are critically low."