The Demon Hand
Terminators don't store memory the way humans do.
[run-loop]
A woman's voice, Russian-accented English. "The height is nice, beautiful feet, but your upper body is a little...mechanical, ya?" Elbows, wrists, locked into position. Swiveling. They untense. "Remember, you are a cat."
"I'm a cat."
The woman [link-audio: Maria Shipkov] blinks, smiles. "Come next week. We need to develop your flexibility and your imagination. Remember, dance is the hidden language of the soul. Ya?"
[link-visual]
The T-888's chip. Her [link-audio: Alison Young]'s fingers closed around it. Sunlight.
[link-visual]
The woman dancing. Maps onto a diagram of human anatomy: tracking points for wrist, elbow, neck, fingers, ankles, knees, hips. Each motion tracked and captured. Interspliced, a later memory -- her own joints bending, limbs swirling, fingers trailing. In the visual field, the physical memory of her movements, limbs and joints, map onto [Maria] until [Maria] stops dancing.
[link-visual]
Eyebrows lifted, eyes widened. Surprise. "Oh. What are you doing here?"
"Watching you."
[link-visual]
Her face [Alison Young] in the mirror.
The physical memories can't be mapped onto anything. There's no visual data that matches. It's mixed and matched.
(She's a new model.)
[link-audio]
"Remember, dance is the hidden language of the soul. Ya?"
[link-audio]
"Who bought the Turk?"
Man's voice [Dmitri Shipkov]. A card in his hand. Now in hers. "Okay. That's all I have. Okay?"
Text on the card. Sarkissian. It moves closer to the visual field, and then her fingers release it into the dress pocket. "Thank you for explaining."
The door, her hand on the knob, the hallway.
Stairs.
Two men pass her. Armed.
Each step on the stairs is worn deep into her physical memory. Legs lifting, feet arching, back straight; elevated. Posture is important.
[link-audio]
A woman's face. [Sarah Connor] "Where's Dmitri?"
"Dead. So's his sister."
[link-audio]
The man's voice; anger, fear. "Where are you going? Hey, hey? Where do you go?"
The woman's voice, higher. An unidentifiable tension in her voice. "You promised you would help us!"
Gunshots. Screaming.
Her hand on the doorknob, and then sunlight.
[link-visual]
Misty light through the windows, reflecting in the mirror, flashing on her skin [Alison Young]. The room is a limited space: linked with the visuals are data, awareness of the distance between her fingers and the dresser, her toes and the wall, her head and her hands. Arms around and over her head, hands flowing from her wrists, back bending, toe and ankle arching to a point.
No. Maria.
[link-audio]
"Did you kill them?"
"No. It wasn't my mission."
[link-audio]
Gunshots. A woman's scream.
No flags, no highlighting. The sounds are unimportant.
Cameron dances.
[run-loop]
A woman's voice, Russian-accented English. "The height is nice, beautiful feet, but your upper body is a little...mechanical, ya?" Elbows, wrists, locked into position. Swiveling. They untense. "Remember, you are a cat."
"I'm a cat."
The woman [link-audio: Maria Shipkov] blinks, smiles. "Come next week. We need to develop your flexibility and your imagination. Remember, dance is the hidden language of the soul. Ya?"
[link-visual]
The T-888's chip. Her [link-audio: Alison Young]'s fingers closed around it. Sunlight.
[link-visual]
The woman dancing. Maps onto a diagram of human anatomy: tracking points for wrist, elbow, neck, fingers, ankles, knees, hips. Each motion tracked and captured. Interspliced, a later memory -- her own joints bending, limbs swirling, fingers trailing. In the visual field, the physical memory of her movements, limbs and joints, map onto [Maria] until [Maria] stops dancing.
[link-visual]
Eyebrows lifted, eyes widened. Surprise. "Oh. What are you doing here?"
"Watching you."
[link-visual]
Her face [Alison Young] in the mirror.
The physical memories can't be mapped onto anything. There's no visual data that matches. It's mixed and matched.
(She's a new model.)
[link-audio]
"Remember, dance is the hidden language of the soul. Ya?"
[link-audio]
"Who bought the Turk?"
Man's voice [Dmitri Shipkov]. A card in his hand. Now in hers. "Okay. That's all I have. Okay?"
Text on the card. Sarkissian. It moves closer to the visual field, and then her fingers release it into the dress pocket. "Thank you for explaining."
The door, her hand on the knob, the hallway.
Stairs.
Two men pass her. Armed.
Each step on the stairs is worn deep into her physical memory. Legs lifting, feet arching, back straight; elevated. Posture is important.
[link-audio]
A woman's face. [Sarah Connor] "Where's Dmitri?"
"Dead. So's his sister."
[link-audio]
The man's voice; anger, fear. "Where are you going? Hey, hey? Where do you go?"
The woman's voice, higher. An unidentifiable tension in her voice. "You promised you would help us!"
Gunshots. Screaming.
Her hand on the doorknob, and then sunlight.
[link-visual]
Misty light through the windows, reflecting in the mirror, flashing on her skin [Alison Young]. The room is a limited space: linked with the visuals are data, awareness of the distance between her fingers and the dresser, her toes and the wall, her head and her hands. Arms around and over her head, hands flowing from her wrists, back bending, toe and ankle arching to a point.
No. Maria.
[link-audio]
"Did you kill them?"
"No. It wasn't my mission."
[link-audio]
Gunshots. A woman's scream.
No flags, no highlighting. The sounds are unimportant.
Cameron dances.