"Hey look," Shawn said. "The cyborg has tied both his shoes together that he has to move BOTH of them!"

How the hell they got their hands on my boots is beyond me.

"Hahahaha," The other men laugh.

I manage to scoot myself to  table, sit down, and then untie my boots. I then lace them back in their proper knot on separate boots.  John Connor is out leading a batch of Resistance on what is assumed to be another hopeful target on Skynet. I poke a hole into the cardboard cup full of oil. I have since learned my digestive system can properly take in liquids for the time being as it adjusts to the human side. There are small chewable food such as rice in a pile. The other men have bred,potatoes, and artificial milk. I am the luckiest of the bunch. I put a hole into the container then begin sipping up the delicious oil.

I use two chop sticks to pick up the rice and place it into my mouth.

Some people stared at how I ate.

Guess using chopsticks ran out of style decades ago.

In thirty minutes I finished off my breakfast, clean my tray off, and recycle the straw. I put the tray on the counter where most Resistance members put their trays when they finished. Everyone resumed talking while I still held the chopsticks tucking them into my pocket. For some reason I take choprsticks wherever the hell I go in this world. I snap my pocket shut with a click.

"Hey T-11!" I heard  Washman,

I flip over Washman on the floor.

"Hey!" Washman said. "What was that for?"

I frown.

"You know how I am with someone following me," I said.

"Be a man and give me a hand," Washman said, holding his hand out.

"Last time I said that, you sent me into a mud pond," I said.

"This time we are not outside," Washman  said.

I sigh,then help Washman up.

"Ready to go snooping out for more Judgement day survivors?" Washman asks, surprising me.

I stare at Washman letting go of his hand.

"But I have yet to be certified for outside combat," I said. "One wrong move and a human is dead."

"You can control yourself," Washman said, patting my back.

Just last week both of us had not been on the 'good' terms. 'Why?' You might ask. I took out a rogue Terminator  (That currently then was being reprogrammed and had escaped custody) before it could kill Washman. I used a sniper ind of gun with smoke drifting out of the exit since my bullet exited. I suppose Washman really meant when he said 'I am in your debt'.  I had shot at the neck, then the chest, and finally the skull of the T-600.

"But still," I said. "I have not completed my distance aiming."

"You are a Terminator Hybrid," Washman said. "You can do anything."

All I really wanted then was to go straight to the training room with my instructor and resume my distance training. However life does not work that way. Why? Apparently Washman called me a chicken for not going out in Resistance uniform with him to check out if Surviors are out there coming for the main hub of the Resistance.

I walk out with Washman.

"If you die I will face the consequence,"

"Oh relax, T-11," Washman said. "I have you!" He punches my shoulder. "Silly butt."

"My butt is not silly," I said, with a frown.

"It is a figure of speech," Washman said. "I still have yet to explain figure of speech to you."

"Like the word 'hell'?" I ask.

"Stop saying 'hell',"  Washman said.

My jaw drops at Washman.

"You just said it," I said.

"I know," Washman said, casually as we walk out the base.

"But why should I not?" I said, lowering my voice right as some dressed Resitance soldiers came by.

I had a baseball hat on.

"Hell is a bad place, T-11," Washman said, once the men were out of sight.

"I do not understand," I said. "You use the word 'hell' a lot! Why not I?"

"Because you over use the word 'hell'," Washman said. "Hellaholic."

"I am not a catholic," I said. "Even though it is a nice religion and all."

"A-hol-ic,"   Washman said.

I raise my eyebrows.

"What is that?" I ask.

"Let's just go,"  Washman said, shaking his head.

"Seriously, what is that?" I  ask.

"'Aholic' is denoting a person addicted to something," Washman said, speeding up his pace.

I quicken my pace seeing Washman take out a square device from his pocket.

So that is what 'aholic' means, I thought.