The John and Cameron Chronicles

A Terminator: the Sarah Connor Chronicles fanfiction

By BenRG

Disclaimer

T:tSCC was created by Josh Friedman for C2 Productions. This is a non-profit fan work. No claim of ownership is made of any of the trademarked characters, situations or events in this work.

Author's Notes

This is just a collection of brief SCC scenes that I have written, largely to see if I can write the show. They should not be seen as part of a larger story, just my own 'take' on the adventures of our favourite would-be saviour of humanity and his cyborg best girl.

Censor: T – Maybe the occasional naughty word.

Chapter 1 – Arming Up

"Are you sure about this, Cam?" John was feeling nervous. One of the inflexible commandments of being John Connor was to 'stay off the radar'. The actions that his cyborg friend/bodyguard proposed would test that to the limit.

Cameron Phillips (Cyberdyne Systems model 101, series T-715, serial no.: 2A-1185) did not show any annoyance at John's question, even though this was the third time he had asked it in the previous five minutes, twenty-four point seven-zero-three seconds. Maybe it was because she didn't have emotions. Maybe it was because Terminators were programmed for patience. Perhaps it was just that she had long since learnt that getting pissed off at John's neuroses just didn't help in any way. "There are a limit to the number of weapons that your mother can obtain either legitimately or through illegal sources at reasonable costs," she explained in her neutral but melodic voice. "Unfortunately, we require further enhancement of our arsenal if we are to meet our minimum mission firepower requirements."

With that, Cameron pushed open the door to 'Henley's Field Sports and Survival'. The middle-aged man with a high-and-tight behind the counter looked up as the bell over the door rang. With some surprise he noticed the two teenagers, a scruffy brown-haired boy and a stunning leather-clad brunette girl with a perfect and emotionless face. "Now, what can I do for you kids?"

Cameron walked right up to the counter, John rushing to keep up. "Yeah," the one-day saviour of mankind blurted, making up ideas on the move. "Right, uh... Our parents want to start us on the ranges, you know? They've okayed us to get our first..."

"Western Firearms Longbow 5.56mm semi-automatic rifle with twenty-power low-light scope and laser spot." Cameron overrode John's attempt to create a semi-plausible reason for two teenagers wanting to purchase a small army's worth of weapons and ammo.

The counter guy (Mr. Henley?) walked over to the rack of rifles to the right of his seat and pulled down a nearly five-foot-long weapon that John immediately recognised to be a clone of the Russian SVD Druganov sniper rifle. "Not a bad hunting weapon at all," Henley allowed. "Being a military design, the recoil is minimised and the flash suppresser on the muzzle brake means that you can use it at night without being blinded every time you fire."

"Glock model 17 9mm semi-automatic pistols - three units," Cameron barked, either not interested in Henley's opinion or too focussed on her current mission to care. John had noted that Terminators in general seemed to have a gun fetish - Cameron was probably living her own personal fondest fantasy here. The 'girl' made a point of cycling all three of the police-standard semi-auto pistols and nodded as the proprietor pointed out that these particular models had laser spots just below the barrel, forward of the trigger guard. She moved her head, still looking in the display case of pistols. "Modified KSG M93R 9mm automatic pistol with 'Auto-9' muzzle brake," she snapped.

John looked at the weapon that had caught his cybernetic friend's eye and his eyes opened a lot wider. "No way!" He couldn't be more impressed. He had seen 'Robocop', of course, but he never realised that you could actually get Beretta P93Rs with the customisation developed by the film's gunsmiths.

"Ah, my Auto-9. She's a collector's item, you know. It'll cost a lot extra."

"Irrelevant," Cameron said. She saw the profound look of pain on John's face and modified her response so as to be less suspicious. "Our parents are willing to cover extra costs in order to get the best."

"Uh... yeah. They won the state lottery," John added helpfully.

Henley pulled out the chrome-plated pistol (Pistol? It was nearly as long as an Uzi!) and handed it to Cameron, watching with some appreciation as the girl cycled its mechanism, ejected the magazine and inspected the cartridge ejector port. "It doesn't just look good, kid. The three-inch extension and muzzle brake increases the accuracy out to about a hundred feet and stabilises it enough so one-handed firing is possible on full auto. That option is locked off, of course. Federal law says so." The man winked in a way that Cameron found significant and decided that he was indicating that the pistol was not entirely to legislative standards.

She handed the gun to John, who was impressed. "Twenty-seven rounds 9mm automatic fire," she explained. "Portable and easily concealed."

John realised that she intended for this to be his weapon and took it eagerly. The big cannon fit in his hand and he enjoyed twirling it, gunslinger-style, around his forefinger. "Super cool!" he murmured.

"Don't do that when it is loaded, kid," Henley said dryly. "It'd be a shame to lose a new customer so soon."

"I do know to keep the safety catch engaged," John responded dryly. He demonstrated and then stuck the huge weapon into his waistband. It went about halfway down his thigh. "Not gonna work. I'll definitely need a holster for this monster."

Cameron was looking at the wall racks again. "Franchi SPAS-12 with folding stock," she said. Then moved her head to the right. "Viking Arms SOS."

"Twelve-gauge semi-auto shotguns," Henley murmured. "Are you kids planning on hunting bears or something?"

"Something just as dangerous," John said with a shit-eating grin. Cameron nudged him with a very hard hyper-alloy elbow. The boy took the hint and subsided. He picked up the British-built SOS and raised it to his shoulder in a 'high port' firing posture. He looked down its M-16-like iron sights, working the pump. "Great balance on this beast!"

"Colonial Arsenal Guardian-22 semi-automatic rifles with telescoping stocks - two units," Cameron continued, noting John's antics with a slight smile.

"Ah! The 22-calibre mods based on the Krauts' G3 assault rifle. Well balanced, damn reliable and easy to maintain." Cameron didn't listen to the proprietor 'sell' the assault rifles. Instead, she inspected their breaches, noting the location of the retaining pin, the removal of which would allow the rifles to fire on full automatic. She also noted that, in all other respects, the rifles were fully activated, as were all the other weapons selected so far.

Putting her rifle on the counter (John was still checking his, adjusting the range-calibrated rear 'iron' sight), Cameron strode down the display cases, selecting further weapons. "IAI Desert Eagle Magnum-357 semi auto pistol. IAI Uzi 9mm submachinegun with collapsible stock. Browning Phoenix-8 9mm target pistol. Skorpion-PAS 9mm submachinegun with folding stock and fore-grip."

Henley pulled out the selected pistols and put them on the table with the rest of Cameron's selections. "Great choices, little lady. You know your firearms! The rifles and shotguns are great for hunting and any of these pistols would be ideal for home defence or target shooting. So, which ones do you want?"

"All," Cameron intoned.

Henley's eyebrows hit his hairline. "All? You're kidding! That's over $3,000 of hardware!"

"And 3,300 rounds 9mm, 2,700 rounds 5.56mm, 6,000 12-gauge shells and 270 rounds .357-caliber," the Terminator added without so much a twitch of expression. John covered his face in disbelief as Henley boggled at his 'sister'.

Henley sighed. "Well... okay. I'll need your ID, written permission from your parents and their IDs too. Oh, and the city firearms permits what with you being minors and all."

John gritted his teeth. Of course, they didn't have those things. In any case, the paperwork would put them 'on the radar', something that they couldn't possibly risk. "Yeah, about that," he said. "You seem like an okay guy. So, is there some kind of arrangement we can come to?"

"Kid, I don't know what you are trying to pull..." At that point, he saw Cameron's hand snap out with inhuman speed and snatch a handful of 12-gauge shells, the first of which disappeared into the SPAS-12's loading port. "Hey! You can't do that...!"

There was a fearsome katch-chak as Cam pumped the shell into the shotgun's breech and levelled the huge weapon at Henley's face. "Incorrect," she replied. "As a point of fact, we should not do it, according to the law. However, as you can see, we can do so, if we choose. Please put your hands on the back of your head."

Henley reached for the sky, his face nearly white with terror. "Out from behind the counter, sir," Cameron said levelly.

"I'd do it if I were you, pal," John added with a grim smile. "She'll only ask the once." John was hoping desperately to keep Cameron off of 'Terminate' mode. Henley nodded, looking sick and, keeping his hands on the back of his neck, circled around the counter. As soon as he was in the centre of the room, John snatched the proprietor's gun, a Browning Hi-Power semi-auto pistol, from his waistband. Cameron nodded approval. The Terminator kept her shotgun levelled at the man's face all the while.

"Kneel," Cameron ordered. The man got down onto his knees. "Keep him covered," she instructed John before resuming loading the SPAS-12. As soon as she had the maximum seven shells (one in the breech, six in the tube) she brought the gun up to her shoulder and fired at each top corner of the room. She then swung back to the counter and fired at what looked like a shooting trophy but was actually a camouflaged CCTV camera.

Henley looked sick. Not only had the little psycho bitch blown out all four of his security cameras, she had also got the one supposedly hidden in the fake trophy. "Where are your security system recording devices?" Cameron asked. When Henley didn't respond immediately, the SPAS-12's muzzle touched his forehead. "Five seconds," Cameron announced. "Four, three, two..."

"In the office at the back of the store!" Henley hollered.

"Thank you for your co-operation," Cameron responded dryly. The shotgun whipped around and its skeleton butt stock slammed into the back of the hapless Henley's head, sending him straight into a concussion-assisted dreamland. John rolled his eyes as he locked the store's front door and flipped the sign over so it read 'closed'. "What?" Cameron asked, sounding strangely defensive. "He'll live!"