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Found in the scavenged rubble of Skynet HQ, it is an exact duplicate of Marcus Wright.


Kyle does his best to ignore it: just another metal motherfucker with the kill switch set to off. Just another thing pretending to be human. 


But all the memories and experiences that made Marcus who he was are present in this thing. It’s a dab hand at fixing anything with an engine. It looks like Marcus, talks like Marcus—even stinks of rusted cars and sweat the way Marcus had near the end. It plays with Star like she’s its salvation, and looks at Kyle much the same way, contentment shining in its mild, strangely innocent eyes. 


And in the night, when all else is silent, it even fucks like Marcus. Like Kyle had imagined Marcus would fuck, anyway: slow and hard.


Afterwards, it gazes up at the ceiling of the hangar, stroking Kyle’s thigh as it speaks in hushed, reverent tones about Los Angeles-that-was. About a brother it’d never had and would never know.


In almost all the ways that matter, it is Marcus Wright.


But in the end, his hand resting over a strong, steady heartbeat, Kyle can easily count each difference.