Back at the Connor Compound, John's working away on the chip, which is plugged into the guts of the HAL 9000 he just bought. He suggests Cameron make herself useful and make a 7-Eleven run for burritos and chocolate milk: "It'd mean a lot to me." Instead, she plants her arse on a stool and watches him. They talk a little bit about how much power he's giving the chip, because it only needs a little bit to access the visual memory, but if he gives the chip too much power, he risks activating its decision-making capabilities and strategic mission analysis. "We don't want to activate those functions," she says.
So John cranks the juice, enough to see some jumbled images of streets and hallways. "What a mess. How the hell do you keep your brains organized?" he asks. "Not like yours," says Cameron. After a random scary image of a platoon of naked bald men (well, Terminators, presumably, or else the T-888 still had to come to terms with certain aspects of his orientation, I think), we watch a woman writhe in a bed. "Vick, God, you poor thing, you're up again?" she says, imploring this "Vick" fellow to come back to bed: "I can't sleep with you standing there like a statue." As "Vick" turns, we glimpse him the mirror. It's Brett Favre! No, wait -- it's the T-888! There's also a picture of him on the dresser with the woman in the bed.
"Was that thing...married?" says John. "The T-888 is an advanced model infiltrator." Yeah, but I don't think she knows, says John, asking if that's possible. "She would not be the first person to be fooled by a machine," says Cameron. Maybe she meant to say that the T-888 is an advanced model vibrator?
It's later now (as in the next day), judging by the lighting. More images from the visual memory: a woman in a room with diagrams and work across every surface, explaining that she's been working a lot lately, and she knows it's hard on Vick to stay at home since his car accident. "I thought we'd made progress. Just talk to me, sweetie. Don't keep it inside, please." Poor woman -- everyone knows male Terminators aren't programmed to talk about their feelings.
Then we watch as Vick watches this woman outside, parking her car. And then there's a shot of Vick (we see him reflected in the window of a door) walking up the steps of a house, taking the mail out, and looking at each individual piece of mail addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Vick Chamberlain, pausing long enough for the Connor Crew to get a good look at the address.