Had the network allowed for full names or visual identities, there might have been additional interest taken in him. The likelihood was, Marcus came from either the same timeline as their new visitor or one very similar, for he had faced iterations of the same T-1 models this machine had activated before Skynet gained awareness. Civilisation had fallen on the same day, the same year and, now, a representative from Marcus' walked freely among them. She wore similar ragged clothing as the human survivors, with hair defaulting to the style displayed upon arrival in 2004.
When he spoke up, the blonde's attention snapped quickly in his direction - and focused.
Not just a Marcus. This was a very specific Marcus. Perhaps she had his full identity on file or perhaps, as some machines did, it somehow scanned his internals, flashing up his endoskeletal interior and logged its similarity to that of the prototype infiltrators before the T-800's evolutionary dawn. Or maybe it was as simple as the remnants of his old, destroyed control chip registering as inaccessible.
Whatever it was, she closed the distance with clear interest, looking down his entire body and back, again. Scanning smoothly, efficiently, assimilating all possible physical data. Classifying. Logging. In human terms, it looked as if someone was experiencing déjà vu. In truth, it was recognition.
"Marcus," she repeated, like a librarian adding someone's name to a register. "We have a mission. Are you able to depart?"