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It comes off with a sucking rip, leaving a bloody skeleton. But the skeleton is made of bright metal, and is laced with hydraulic actuators. The fingers are as finely crafted as watch parts... they flex into a fist and extend. Terminator holds it up, palm out, in almost the exact position of the one in the vault at Cyberdyne. Hold on Dyson reacting to the servo-hand in front of him. He's seen one of these before. Tarissa is screaming now, but he doesn't hear her.

DYSON: My God.

TERMINATOR: Now listen to me very carefully.


HOUSE/KITCHEN - LATER: Sarah puts out her fifth cigarette. She's sitting on the counter. John, Terminator, Dyson, and Tarissa are at the kitchen table, under a single overhead light. Dyson looks like that guy on the Sistine Chapel wall, the damned soul... eyes fixed and staring with terrifying knowledge.

His shoulder is bandaged. Terminator's arm is wrapped with a blood-soaked bandage below the elbow. The steel forearm and hand gleam in the harsh kitchen light. Tracking around the table as Terminator speaks... we don't hear the words.

SARAH (V.O.): Dyson listened while the Terminator laid it all down. Skynet. Judgment Day... the history of things to come. It's not every day you find out you're responsible for 3 billion deaths. He took it pretty well, considering...

Terminator finishes speaking.

DYSON: I feel like I'M gonna throw up.

He looks around at them, clutching the table like he's about to blow away. His face, his posture, his ragged voice express soul-wrenching terror. This is a man ripped out of normal life into their grim world. His voice is pleading.

DYSON: You're judging me on thing's I haven't even done yet. Jesus. How were we supposed to know?

Sarah speaks from the shadows behind them. Dyson turns to find her looking right at him.

SARAH: Yeah. Right. How were you supposed to know? Fucking men... all you know how to do is thrust into the world with your... fucking ideas and your weapons. Did you know that every gun in the world is named after a man? Colt, Browning, Smith, Thompson, Kalashnikov... all men. Men built the hydrogen bomb, not women... men like you thought it up. You're so creative. You don't know what it's like to really create something... to create a life. To feel it growing inside you. All you know how to create is death... you fucking bastards.

JOHN: Mom, Mom, we need to be more constructive here. I don't see this as a gender-related issue. (to the Dysons) She's still tense. (to Sarah) We still have to figure out how to stop it all from happening. Right?

TARISSA: But I thought... aren't we changing things? I mean... right now? Changing the way it goes?

DYSON (seizing on that): That's right! There's no way I'm going to finish the new processor now. Forget it. I'm out of it. I'm quitting Cyberdyne tomorrow... I'll sell real estate, I don't care...

SARAH (coldly): That's not good enough.

Dyson's voice is pitiful.

DYSON: Look, whatever you want me to do, I'll do. I just want my kids to have a chance to grow up, okay?

TERMINATOR: No one must follow your work.

DYSON (thoughts racing): Alright, yeah. You're right.

We have to destroy the stuff at the lab, the files, disk drive... and everything I have here. Everything! I don't care.

FIRE ROARING IN A METAL TRASH BARREL. Stacks of files are dumped onto it. WIDER reveals we are in --

EXT, DYSON'S BACKYARD - NIGHT Terminator dumps lighter fluid liberally over the fire, which flares up, lighting his face demonically. Sarah, Dyson, Tarissa, and John return from his office with more stuff -- files, notes, optical disks. Even his kids are carrying stuff. It all goes into the fire. Dyson drops the prototype onto the fire... his eyes hollow and distant. He stares into the fire, watching his world burning. The has a sudden thought.

DYSON: Do you know about the chip?

SARAH: What chip?

DYSON: They have it in a vault at Cyberdyne... (to Terminator) It's gotta be from the other one like you.

TERMINATOR (to Sarah): The CPU from the first terminator.

SARAH: Son of a bitch, I knew it!

DYSON: They told us not to ask where they got it. I thought... Japan... hell, I don't know. I didn't want to know.

SARAH: Those lieing motherfuckers!

DYSON: It was scary stuff, radically advanced. It was shattered... didn't work. But it gave us ideas, It took us in new directions... things we would never have thought of. All this work is based on it.

TERMINATOR: It must be destroyed.

SARAH (to Dyson): Can you get us in there, past security?

DYSON: I think so, yeah. When?

Dyson looks at her, Terminator, then John. Sees his answer.

DYSON: Now? (he takes a breath) Yeah, right.

He turns to his wife. Her face is streaked with tears, but her eyes are strong and clear. Tarissa puts her hands on his arm. She is stunned by what she's heard, but dealing with it. She believe them.

TARISSA: Miles, I'm scared. Okay. But the only thing that scares me more than you going... is you not going.

He nods. She's right.

SARAH (to Terminator): Is it safe for them here?

TERMINATOR (to Tarissa): Take your kids. Go to a hotel. Right now. Don't pack. (to the others) Let's go.

EXT, HIGHWAY - NIGHT Pavement rushing at us, lit by headlights. Beyond, darkness.

SARAH (V.O.): The future, always so clear to me, has become like a black highway at night. We were in uncharted territory now... making up history as we went along.

TILT UP to reveal a rectangle of light ahead. The Cyberdyne Building...

INT. CYBERDYNE SYSTEMS BUILDING/LOBBY - NIGHT TIGHT ON A CARD-KEY SCANNER as Dyson's hand zips his security card through a slot in one motion. There is the sound of a servo-lock, and -- DYSON enter the spacious lobby, followed by Sarah, John, and Terminator last of all. In a frontal angle, the others block Terminator from view.

THE GUARD at the front desk, GIBBONS, looks up as Dyson moves toward him. Dyson is pale and sweaty, but smiles warmly at the guard, speaking well before he reaches the desk.

DYSON: Evening, Paul. These are friends of mine from out of town, I just thought I'd take them up and show them around.

GIBBONS: I'm sorry, Mr. Dyson. You know the rules about visitors in the lab. I need written authoriz --

K-CHAK! Gibbons is staring down the barrels of Sarah's .45 and Terminator's MAC-10.

TERMINATOR: I insist.

The guard is too stunned to move. We see that Terminator is wearing his jacket and one black glove. Gibbon's eyes go to the silent alarm button on the console.

SARAH: Don't even think about it.


Gibbons nods. He stays frozen. Terminator circles quickly and gets the guard out of the chair. John pulls a roll of duct-tape from his knapsack and tears off a piece.


The second floor corridor elevator doors open and Terminator leads the group warily into the corridor. They have a cart piled high with gear in nylon bags. Dyson motions down the corridor to the right. As they walk, he continues to fill them in --

DYSON: The vault needs two keys to open. Mine... (holds up key) ... and one from the security station. It's in a locker but my card should access it. Here we go.

They stand in front of a wide security door. A sign above reads SPECIAL PROJECTS DIVISION: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Dyson zips his key-card through the scanner and the door unlatches.

INT. FIRST FLOOR CORRIDOR/LOBBY: A roving guard, Moshier, strolls down the long corridor from the first-floor office block. A punch clock swings at his hip, and he's just completed his circuit of the building. He passes the back of elevators and rounds the corner to the front desk, calling out --

MOSHIER: Honey, I'm home...

He sees the desk is deserted and frowns. Figures Gibbons must be in the can, so checks that first before getting alarmed. TRACKING WITH HIM to the restroom around the corner,

MOSHIER: Hey, man, you shouldn't leave the --

Over his shoulder we see past the door as he pushes it open, revealing Gibbons handcuffed to the urinal. Moshier spins on a dime and sprints to the desk where he slams down on the silent alarm button.

The security station is a pass-through area with a counter, behind which are desks and a bank of monitors, showing boring movies about empty corridors. Dyson crosses quickly to a locker behind the monitor area. He swished his card repeatedly through the scanner on the locker. Nothing happens. The light on the locker is blinking red. Sarah notices Dyson's alarmed expression.

DYSON: What? WHAT IS IT?

Dyson whips around, staring at a light flashing on the console behind him.

DYSON: Silent alarm's been tripped. It neutralizes the codes throughout the building. Nothing'll open now.

We see his nerve snapping.

DYSON: We should abort.

SARAH: NO!! We're going all the way! You got that, Dyson?

She's right in his face. Somehow, it works for him. He nods, getting some resolve from somewhere.

INT. LOBBY: Moshier's gotten Gibbons loose. He's on the phone to the cops.

GIBBONS: ... multiple armed subjects. Look, I think it's the guy from that mall shootout, and the woman... yeah, her. Pretty sure. Just send everything you've got in the area --

INT. SECURITY STATION./LAB: John jumps up on the desk next to the wall-mounted locker. Dyson stares in amazement as John starts pulling his counter-electronics gear out of his knapsack. It's just another Ready-Teller to him.

JOHN: You guys get started on the lab... I can open this.

Dyson leads Terminator and Sarah to the main lab doors. Another servo-lock. He tries his card. Nothing.

DYSON: No good.

TERMINATOR: Let me try mine.

He unslings the M-79, pulling it over his shoulder in one motion. Sarah grabs Dyson and drags him back down the hall. Terminator opens the breach and slide in one of the fat 40mm H.E. grenades. He flips the thing closed with a snap of the wrist.

SARAH (yelling as she runs): John! Fire-in-the-hole!

John drops what he is doing, and covers his ears. Terminator fires at inhumanely close range. The door explodes into kindling. The concussion blow his jacket open, and flying shrapnel whizzes all around him. Before the thunderclap has faded Terminator walks into the fire and smoke.

John goes back to work without missing a beat. Sarah and a stunned Dyson walk through the burning doorframe into the Artificial Intelligence Lab. A SIREN is sounding. The HALON FIRE-CONTROL SYSTEM has been triggered. The invisible gas roars in, putting out the flames.

DYSON: Fire's set off the halo system! Here... hurry!

Dyson runs to a wall cabinet and pulls out some BREATHING MASKS. He hands one to Sarah and dons the other. Then he reaches out to hand one to Terminator.

DYSON: Here!

Terminator doesn't need a mask, since its oxygen requirements are so low. He ignores Dyson as he removes his massive backpack and opens it. Dyson shrugs and tosses the mask on a desk. He turns to Sarah.

DYSON (yelling through the mask): We'll have to keep these on a couple minutes, till the gas clears.

Terminator pulls two five-gallon jerry-cans of gasoline from his pack. Sarah starts pulling out book-sized, olive-grab CLAYMORE MINES, stacking them next to the gasoline. Dyson stares. Part of him can't believe they're really doing this.

INT. DYSON HOUSE - NIGHT The T-1000 moves slowly though the ravaged office, analyzing what has happened here. It walks down the dark hallway. The place is deserted. The police-walkie clipped on its belt (real, not simulated) blares to life.

DISPATCHER (V.O.) All units, all units. 211 in progress at 2144 Kramer Street, the Cyberdyne building. Multiple suspects, armed with automatic weapons and explosives. SWAT unit is en route...

EXT. HOUSE/STREET The T-1000 sprints up and throws its leg over the big C.H.P. Kawasaki. Fires it up. It smokes an arcing scorch-mark on the pavement as it spins around and roars away.

INT. CYBERDYNE BUILDING/LAB TIGHT ON A LARGE DISK DRIVE. State-of-the-art. Very expensive. A FIRE AXE smashes down through the housing, shattering the disk.

WIDER, revealing a scene of high-tech pillage. Terminator beats the disk drive into junk and steps to another. WHAM. Same routine. He's already demolished half a dozen. Sarah topples a file cabinet, scattering files. Dyson staggers up with an armload of heavy M-O (magnetic-optical) disks and drops them on a growing stack in the middle of the floor. He and Sarah have their breathing masks hanging down around their necks, since the halon gas has dissipated.

DYSON (to Sarah, panting): Yeah, all that stuff! And all the disks in those offices. Especially my office... everything in my office! (to Terminator) These, too! This is important. (SMASH!) And all this here... that's it.

Sarah goes into Dyson's office and starts hurling everything out the door onto the central junkpile... books, files, everything on the desk. A FRAMED PHOTO of Dyson's wife and kids lands on top of the heap. Tarissa, hugging Danny and Blythe, all grinning. The glass is shattered. Terminator cuts a swath, under Dyson's direction, exploding equipment into fragments with his inhuman swings.

SMASH! It's carnage. Millions in hardware, and all irreplaceable fruits of their years of research... shattered, broken, dumped in a heap for the big bonfire of destiny. Dyson stops a second, panting.

DYSON: Give me that thing a second.

Terminator hands him the axe. Dyson hefts it one-handed. He turns to a lab table... on it is another prototype processor.

DYSON: I've worked for years on this thing.

Swinging awkwardly but with great force he smashes the axe down onto the processor prototype, exploding it into fragments. His shoulder is agony, but he looks satisfied.

INT. SECOND FLOOR SECURITY STATION: John taps away at his little lap-top, which is running code combinations into the card-key lock. Suddenly, the green light on the lock goes on and it unlocks with a clunk.

JOHN: Easy money.

He whips it open, revealing a rack of keys. But the vault-key is distinctive, a long steel rectangle on a neck-chain. John grabs it and runs toward the lab.

INT. LAB: Sarah and Terminator are working like a crack team, rigging the explosives. She is taping the claymores to the gas cans with duct tape to create powerful incendiary bombs. Terminator is attaching claymores and blocks of C-4 plastic explosive to the large mainframe computer cabinets nearby.

All the claymores are wired back to one detonator with has a radio-control relay switch.

DYSON: How do you set them off?

Terminator shows him a remote detonator, a small transmitter with a red plunger.

TERMINATOR: Radio remote.

He makes a plunger-pushing motion with his thumb and an accompanying "click" sound. Dyson nods. Just then John comes running in, holding up the key.

JOHN: I got it. Piece of cake.

SARAH (to Dyson and Terminator): Go! I'll finish here.



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