The gun felt strange in his hand. The usually warm, familiar, and comfortable grasp around the trigger suddenly felt numb and unknown to his skin, as if he wasn't really feeling it. The heaviness that usually accompanied it was suddenly gone, the weapon now feeling as light as air in his hand. He wondered when and why this change occurred. He couldn't remember waking up one day to the numbness that now consumed him. Had it slowly creeped up on him without his knowing, settling into his veins carefully and undetected for so long that he could only notice it once it had completed its task? Or had it happened so suddenly that it had simply erased the memory of his life before the change?

Either way, he knew he didn't have the time to elaborate. The frantic scrambling that he heard throughout the house reminded him of the task they now had to complete. His sharpened hearing detected his mother loading the arsenal of weapons hidden beneath her bed. He could sense his uncle testing the handguns that had been left in his care, planning out how many of the weapons each of them could carry.

Knowing it was getting down to the last second before their enemy burst through their door, John slapped the last magazine into the handgun he'd been fingering for the better part of five minutes. This was no time to question the strange changes he'd noticed in himself, so he continued to prepare for the next battle they needed to fight in order to save the world. After his weapons were loaded, he shoved him into the holsters he'd fastened to his belt and headed into his mother's room, ready to be briefed on their battle plan. "Mom?"

Her head snapped up at the sound of her son's voice, but a disgusted gasp escaped her lips as her gaze met his. The gun she'd been loading snapped up in front of her with lightning fast reflexes, her eyes filled with terror as she held her son at gunpoint. "Who are you? Where's John?"

John felt his eyebrows knit together in confusion, but the action suddenly felt difficult and strange to him. Unnatural, almost. His body felt heavy and cold as his confused gaze questioned his mother without a word, his head cocked to the side. "Mom, what are you talking about? I'm right here, just put the gun down."

He heard the unmistakable click of the gun cocking in her hands, her finger suddenly applying pressure to the trigger. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, and suddenly he found his eyes taking in the sight of his outstretched arm pointed toward his mother, the gun in his hand suddenly missing a bullet. He watched the shocked and fearful look that filled her eyes as her shirt blossomed with the warm red liquid that was suddenly flowing from her chest. And just like that, in the span of less than a second, John's mind suddenly realized that he'd killed his mother as her lifeless body slumped to the floor.

He staggered back as he held his hands in front of him, as if expecting them to suddenly be slick with the blood he'd spilled. But he realized that he didn't recognize the limbs that were stretched in front of him. Metal: cold, silver, shiny metal had replaced the muscle and skin and bone John had known for his entire life, and he saw the mechanical finger that was still wrapped around the trigger it had pulled.

His horrified mind ordered this revolting new body to drop the gun, and it obeyed, though begrudgingly. He felt his control slowly slipping away as he stumbled across the room, hurrying to glance in the mirror to witness the unknown creature he'd suddenly become. Harsh red light blazed from his eyes instead of the familiar green he'd become so accustomed to. Cold metal replaced the skin that was slowly disintegrating as the unmistakable metallic skeleton of a Terminator replaced his human body. The expression he wore in his mind was becoming more and more difficult to express on this hideous new face, and his emotions were slowly slipping away from recognition as they suddenly felt too forced and unnatural. He soon found himself with a vacant and blank look on the machine that had replaced his body: the same damn look he'd fired bullet after bullet into as he fought the countless Terminators that had been ordered to kill him.

"Tell me John," He spun around at the familiar voice, his heavy head swimming with the effort it took. He saw Cameron, the one Terminator he had felt safe around, standing in front of him. She curiously took in his new body before glancing back at the human body she held in her arms: his mother, the person he'd loved and trusted most in this world. The woman who he'd killed without a second thought. "What do you feel?"

-o0o-

John bolted upright as his eyes snapped open, hearing the old bed creak as his sudden movement startled it out of the slumber it had settled into. He felt his heart pounding painfully against his chest as panic and adrenaline coursed through his veins. Beads of sweat clung to his skin and slowly rolled down his body as the terror that had consumed him lingered in his mind.

His eyes flashed around his room, his fingers immediately dashing to his nightstand to retrieve the gun he kept there for safety. He assessed any movement he noticed in the corners of the room, jumping at every shadow that caught his glance. His head was throbbing, as if the terrifying thoughts that consumed him were desperately trying to break free from the confines of his mind. He hadn't felt terror like this since the first time he'd laid eyes on a machine whose sole purpose was to end his life.

His skin was hot and flushed as he dropped the gun in front of him, knowing that the images that had terrified him weren't reality. Deep breaths entered and exited his lungs as he tried to calm himself down, but his stubborn heart continued to pound mercilessly against his ribs. He held his hands in front of him, inspecting every muscle, knuckle, and pore to make sure they were indeed human, despite the deceiving chill that had begun to flow through his body. His frantic mind couldn't think straight, and for a second, it convinced him that his body truly was that of a machine's.

Slowly, his breathing began to return to normal and his heartbeat relaxed just the tiniest bit. He ran his hands through his hair, pausing to massage his temples as the images of his terrorizing nightmare continued to run through his mind. He'd been dreaming this very thing for years, though he hadn't admitted it to anyone. Not to Cameron or Derek, and definitely not to Sarah. After all, how could he tell his mother that he'd been dreaming that he'd killed her for all these years? He knew that most people would just brush of this nightmare as a senseless vision that would pass in time. But John knew better. He knew what this dream meant, and it scared the living hell out of him: it was a warning that he was losing his humanity.

It had taken years for him to come to that conclusion, but as he grew older and learned more about the world he was fighting to save, he realized the ironies he'd been living throughout his life. He'd realized that he hadn't had a choice in what his life would turn out to contain. And, by the time he'd realized how different he really was, he began to question whether or not he could really be defined as 'human'. After all, isn't the whole point to being human to have the choice to do what you want with your life? Isn't that what philosophers have been saying for hundreds of years? And if the decision to plan out your own destiny is what defines you as a human, then didn't that mean that John is anything but the one thing that should define him?

Like his recurring dream, he hadn't admitted these pained thoughts to anyone he knew. He knew that both the dream and his theories would condemn him to a life of even more scrutiny, so he simply kept quiet when he awoke late at night with the fear that he was losing his humanity and slowly turning into a cold and emotionless shell of what he once was. And wasn't that the same thing as becoming a machine? To lose all feeling for the ones you once loved and to slowly feel apathetic and unfeeling towards everything that tried to bring you back to your humanity?

"John?" His head snapped to the doorway, green eyes flashing as the intruding voice interrupted his torrent of anguished thoughts. But it was only Cameron, another piece of irony staring him in the face as he continued to grasp at the edges of feeling and compassion as they tried to slip through his fingers like smoke. "Where is the threat? Your heart rate has increased by twenty five beats per minute and my sensors indicate high levels of stress and anxiety."

John rolled his eyes, knowing she wouldn't be able to see the action in the dark shadows the night had cast around him. Was it really so difficult to just ask 'Are you okay?'. But no, Cameron would never ask this. Because only a human could inquire about the well being of another. A machine was only concerned about the physical state he was in, and this latest piece of evidence in his 'Human vs. Machine' comparison was soon filed into his brain for further thought when he was alone once again. "There's no threat Cameron, I'm fine. It was a dream."

He sighed and dropped his head in his hands, ignoring the inquiring look from Cameron as she cocked her head to the side. A heavy sigh escaped his lips and unwanted tears welled in his eyes as he whispered his next words, for himself more than for the girl who'd shown up to protect him. "It was all just a stupid fucking dream."

-End-