Everyone had their own stories, their own experiences involving John Connor. A popular story was how they first met the man, how when they first laid eyes on him, they knew they were going to fight and die for him. Most times, the people with those sort of stories had never really met the man, couldn't pick him out from an ordinary solider if their lives depended on it. John Connor was their leader and as such, he was an ideal. He was a belief, a promise for the future. But above all, he was hope.

The ones who'd actually seen him, actually met him, actually talked with him smiled to themselves over the memories, sharing them only after prodding. No one had anything bad to say about John Connor, no one had ever shown anything but unwavering loyalty. So, following this tradition, those who'd never known him followed with nearly the same amount of unswerving loyalty, making up stories about meeting him, secretly hoping he was all that was talked about and more.

The girls said he was dashing, the boys said he was brave. The children said he was a mythical hero. No one said he was human. No one said he could die. No, it was impossible. He was John Connor, the hope of mankind. The future.

This lowly solider had never seen John Connor before this moment, but his presence, his existence was undeniable in this moment. He had a walk about him, an air of confidence. His very presence promised victory on the battlefield, promised that the machines would not win the day, promised that the future would live on.

Why this lowly solider saw the Terminator when the great John Connor did not was not important. This lowly solider pulled up the gun the great John Connor had bequeathed to all his soldiers and fired, having no time to shout out a warning.

The shot did the trick. Attention was drawn to the machine who'd snuck behind their lines somehow and was taken down with ruthless efficiency as right hand men swept the unwilling John Connor away from danger, putting their bodies between him and the machine. This lowly solider stood there too, willing to offer everything for the man who lead them, for the man that gave the world hope.

The terminator, in its fury at being denied John Connor, shot and killed five before being struck from the world, cast out of memory. One of the five was this lowly solider, of little importance to the world and very little importance to history.

Blood soaked from wounds, not even changing the color of the already blood soaked earth. If this lowly solider had survived, the only notice the world would have taken was one spectacular tale of seeing John Connor for the first time, how a lowly solider saved mankind's hope.

John Connor, though he did not have to, came back to hover over this lowly solider, taking a blood soaked hand and staying until death came. This was why John Connor had such a reputation. Why girls called him dashing, why boys called him brave. This was why everyone was willing to die for him, why he was the hope of the world. This was what this lowly solider had saved. This was it.

John Connor smiled a sincere thank you to this lowly solider as death came to claim its next prize. This was the first time this lowly solider, this lowly Freedom Fighter had seen John Connor, and John Connor had not disappointed. John Connor was indeed a great man, to take the time to visit this lowly solider before death, even though no one would remember this lowly soldier's name, no one would mark this lowly solider down in a history book, apart from a casualty.

As a lowly solider died, the hope lived on. The future looked just that much brighter. John Connor lived, a dog tag in his hand, committing the name of the lowly solider to memory, so that no one would call such a brave soul lowly anymore.

The solider can be male or female, whatever you see. Personally, I look at the solider as a guy, but that's just me. I wanted to give an unconventional look at John Connor, so... yeah.

Thanks for reading.