The music thumped like a heartbeat—relentless, synthetic. Colored lights flickered across sweating bodies as Sarah Connor pushed through the crowd, eyes wide, breath short. Her mind raced. Another Sarah Connor killed. That’s two. What the hell is happening?

She scanned the techno club for help, any sign of safety. Her hands trembled as she checked over her shoulder again. Nothing yet—but she could feel something behind her. Hunting her.

A figure moved through the strobe-lit chaos—a uniformed LAPD officer. Relief flooded her chest. Finally.

But before she could speak, a hand closed around her wrist. Steel under skin. The grip was vice-like—unyielding.

“Wait—what are you doing?!” she gasped, trying to pull away. Panic surged. “Let go!”

The officer didn’t answer. His face was blank, unreadable, but focused. He moved fast, pulling her through the crowd with impossible strength, navigating effortlessly toward the emergency exit.

“No—wait! Who are you?” she cried.

The club doors burst open behind the bar. Cold air rushed in. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance.

He yanked her into the alley.

She stumbled behind him, heart slamming in her chest. Her instincts screamed—something’s wrong. This wasn’t how a cop acted.

He turned suddenly, scanning the shadows.

Then, flatly: “You need to come with me.”

Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. Her gut twisted.

Something isn’t right.