Flight is Right
Disclaimer: This story is fictional. Any and all references to persons alive or dead is purely coincidental, unless, of course, it is intended! If I DO make references to persons, whether alive or dead, rest assured that I don't own whatever happens to be their intellectual property.
Chapter Four: Misdirection
"Fifty...six...fifty...seven...eight...fifty nine..."
Pushups were a good way of clearing your head, especially if you felt too exhausted to even think afterward. John Connor had a lot of endurance, but he was more than willing to push himself above his usual limit of a hundred today. He used to exercise every morning before he'd moved in with Charley. He'd only recently started over again.
John was outside in the backyard, wearing sweat pants and a plain white tee-shirt. Although it was an early February Sunday morning, the weather was fair, albeit windy. The sky was almost completely cloudless, the sun shining with its constant brilliance. The trees surrounding the sides of the yard swayed back and forth as the wind flew against them. The swings nearby creaked as they swung. John could hear distant honks of traffic in the distance, along with the occasional train honks and almost regular police sirens. All of it was background noise, falling into the norm of his regular hearing. If it all came to a halt he'd probably say "what was that?
"Seventy two..."
John always muttered things to himself whenever he was alone, like right now. It didn't help him concentrate on what he was doing --though sometimes it helped with math homework-- and he didn't do it just to hear his voice --though sometimes it was comforting. -- He usually did it just to make sure he was by himself. If he talked to himself, he assumed someone else would answer if they were around. By the silence that mostly followed, he could reassure himself that he was, indeed, alone. Sometimes it was important to just be by yourself, in your own safe space. To collect your thoughts.
His mom didn't appreciate things like that, or at least John thought she didn't. If he ever told her that he was sure she'd reprimand him, telling him that being around other people and sharing your thoughts with them was good training for his role as Leader of the Tech-Com Future Resistance Against the Machines™. He smirked to himself as he added the obligatory TM sign to the back of that phrase. It helped soften the seriousness of the idea of him becoming a messiah.
His mom wouldn't like that sort of thinking either. He pushed himself up and quickly lowered his body down again, muttering "ninety...eight..."
He grunted as he reached one hundred; and kept going. He was feeling pretty tired already, but he wanted that feeling of exhaustion that would clear his torrential mind of thought. He'd be blank.
Yesterday wouldn't go down as one of his finest. Aside from getting completely blown away (and...something else) by Cameron's behavior, exploding unnecessarily at Derek (his uncle had been generally icy to him since then), and laying in bed for a few hours... he'd found out that the root of all of it, Sarah's leaving for at least two weeks, wasn't going to be happening after all. He'd felt a lot of relief at first, then anger at himself for acting like a douche bag to everyone as a result of his earlier fears. Mostly he felt relief. Anyway, no one had brought him up on how he'd acted, which he supposed was a mixed blessing.
Another mixed blessing was Cameron staying as a result of Daniel Forsythe's prudent choice of high school for his presentation. Not only had she given him a bad vibe due to her role in his dream the other night, she'd come off as...intimate yesterday, for lack of better word for it. Her smiling, touching him, comforting him...He knew that this was part of her learning how to blend in better, but it was like she was sending him mixed messages all the time, like a chess opponent who constantly shifts his strategy. She could be cold and blunt one minute, then...something else the next. Did she want him to like her? How was that possible?
He'd felt that her leaving would give him time to process all this without distraction and give him insight on what exactly it was that she was doing and how to respond to it while keeping it quiet at the same time. He just couldn't do that when she was around to confuse him like this. He blinked as sweat rolled down his face. His entire body was shaking now, heavy with the exertion of exercise as well as emotion. And something else.
"Hundred...thirty seven..."
It never occurred to John that Cameron wasn't actually trying to confuse him and was doing...something else. He felt like he was about to collapse. He exhaled and his body trembled as he inhaled a second later.
Something else. What was that something else?
"Hundred...forty."
His arms gave out from under him like support beams collapsing and he fell face forward onto the ground, arms stretched out ahead of him. His body shook gently as he breathed rapidly. Sweat rolled across his back and felt almost like ice as it cooled under the wind. He sighed as he moved his head back and forth, liking the gentle feeling of grass brush against his face. His right hand idly plucked a few blades out from their roots as he dragged his left up to stroke the bangs of damp hair along his forehead. His legs felt like jelly, and he was content to remain motionless.
Completely exhausted, wanting only to regain his breath and simply lay there on the grass, John felt blank. It was almost similar, yet different, to the feeling of afterglow. The thoughts of what had been bothering him over the past week or so, the stress of trying to find the Turk, Derek's sudden introduction into his life, Cameron...His mom...Forsythe...it all drained from him as if someone had pulled the plug out of a water filled bath. He felt pure. He rested there without thinking for a few minutes as his breath slowly returned to him, dancing between consciousness and sudden, abrupt sleep.
He turned his head slightly so that his cheek lay against the grass. He let his eyes flutter open, and he stared around the yard, watching the grass ripple like lake water under the wind, and the tree branches jerk and sway gently. He looked at the shed several yards away. He shut his eyes again and let his head sink further against the grass.
A few seconds later, his eyes shot open. They darted toward the shed again. There were two rocky slabs arranged against the side of the structure, and they definitely hadn't been there the last time he'd been out here.
He remained where he was for a few seconds, gathering his strength and pulling his scattering thoughts back into their rightful places. After a moment, he pushed himself up using his forearms. They shuddered and threatened to fall out from under him, but held as he dragged his legs forward and bent them. He slowly rose and straightened himself. He paused for a moment to push a few locks of hair out of the way of his eyes --he desperately needed his hair cut soon-- and started walking toward the shed.
It took about ten seconds for him to make the trip and he stopped in front of the slabs. They were curved near the top like tombstones and were just about featureless, no cracks, signs of fraying or chips. There were, however, inscriptions near the top of both stones, written in a language John couldn't begin to understand.
Дмайтри Шипков Мария Шипков
John stared blankly at the inscriptions for a moment, trying to jog his memory --which was just about out of juice right now-- for the name of this language he was reading. He'd seen it a lot during the eighties in Latin America, among the partisans. After a minute of thinking, his tongue just about hanging off his chin in concentration, he gave up and resolved himself to asking Cameron. He wouldn't worry about these things right now, they seemed completely harmless. He looked away, not noticing that the soil here had been overturned recently.
He needed a shower, at any rate, so now was a good time to go back inside. He felt a nice sort of satisfaction as he started for the back door, thinking back to how blissful that feeling of emptiness had been. He could barely get himself to remember what it was like. If he could be like that all the time, not a care in the world, he had a feeling he'd be much happier.
--
Derek Reese grunted as he passed the bathroom door, hearing the shower running. He resisted the urge to simply put paid to privacy for the sake of relieving himself. He absently scratched the side of his head as he reminded him once again that people appreciated the finer things in life these days, and that one of those luxuries was privacy. He sighed. He'd gone over the same "this shit won't matter in less than FOUR years" schpeal about a trillion times in his head, and out loud to the Connor's, and it wasn't getting any more effective in convincing them to change their ways. He pushed the thought out of his head; anything that reminded him of post-Judgement day was something he preferred to relegate to the far-off corners of his mind.
The truth was, he liked living in the past. Things were much, much better here. There were problems of course, but they meant nothing to Derek. The human race had it good, as far as he was concerned. Every day he was thinking less and less about his mission and more and more about how to enjoy this time he had. That didn't mean that Connor's assignment to him wasn't paramount in his mind, because it was. He was just...distracted all the time, checking everything out, every tree and clean white building, seeing if everything he'd known and taken for granted as a child was just a hallucination or if all of this had actually, truly existed. And it was even better than he'd remembered.
He liked this. He'd do anything to maintain its purity.
He knocked on the bathroom door. He heard John yell "What's up?" from inside.
Derek glowered a bit as he heard the teenagers voice. It felt intensely familiar to the John he'd known for most of his life, and yet it was different at the same time. He'd be lying if he said he liked Supreme Commander John Connor of the future. The man was as cold and calculating a bastard as they came, stupendously intelligent, and boy did he know how to nurse and hold a grudge. This John made him feel guilty for hating the other one. This one was confused, he was like a floating feather in the wind, unsure of the direction he'd be taking next. The only thing he and his future self shared was the fact that they both knew how to hold a grudge, though this John held them for admittedly less mature reasons. They still hadn't really spoken to each other since John's outburst yesterday, to name an example.
"It's nothing." Derek spoke into the door. After a moment he added, "Sorry."
Silence from the other end. Water continued to splash on the floor of the shower stall. Finally, John said, "Ok," in a low, barely audible voice. Derek rolled his eyes and continued on through the house. He found Sarah Connor waiting for him in the living room, a cell phone in her hand, and car keys were in the other. Derek frowned. Sarah wasted no time, walking over and pressing the phone into his hands.
"Dial the number I showed you, if you need help just call John," the keys jangled in her hands and she started for the door. "I'll be back in an hour."
Derek glared, "I can handle this thing fine, I had two of em' when I was fifteen. But, uh... why can't you do it?" He stared at the keys, "Where are you going?"
She raised an eyebrow, "Super market."
Derek slapped himself mentally, "Oh. Uh. Alright."
Sarah rolled her eyes, smiling theatrically. She whirled around and fast-walked through the kitchen door. Even when going shopping, she moved with a purposefulness that Derek had only heard about in legends. Although the real thing was obviously a lot less impressive than what she'd been made out to be, her determination got you wanting to do things. Without even realizing it, he was pressing the buttons on the phone, quickly remembering the phone number he'd been given. He heard the jeep start up and then drive away.
Derek hit "call" and brought the phone up to his ear. It felt a little awkward, as he'd been used to a more sleek design in 2011, but it wasn't too bad. The main differences between the cell-phones of 2007 and 2011 was that the newest thing was "watch-screens" which let you see the person you were talking to via the main screen.
A few seconds passed as the dial-tone droned on. Derek cast a quick glance around the room for Cameron Phillips and nodded to himself when he confirmed that he was alone. Fucking thing creeped him the hell out, as everyone in the house was abundantly aware at this point. Not that they cared.
"Campo de Cahuenga High School, how may I help you..." a tired woman's voice said.
Derek attempted to manage the perkiest voice he could muster: no easy task for him, "Hi there, I was wondering when this, uh...robot presentation was going to be held."
Typing on a computer on the other end. The woman sighed; a low, almost inaudible sound, "It should say in the newsletter, right above the mention of the upcoming Pizza Day."
Derek rolled his eyes. His parents had never read those damned things; no one ever did except for Sarah, it seemed. She was meticulous to the point of being obsessive. "I lost it," he responded, trying to act as friendly as possible. It really wasn't working.
Another sigh, and this time it wasn't even concealed. More typing, sounded distinctly...vicious now. Derek smirked to himself right before she intoned, "Tuesday, 12:45 PM. Anything else?"
Derek's smirk disappeared as if someone had wiped it off his face with a clean rag. Whoa. "Tuesday?" he asked, now thoroughly confused, "I thought it was Friday."
The dignitary was quiet; obviously steaming with mute rage at Derek's theatrical incompetence. "No, sir. Tuesday. Good day."
She hung up. Bitch.
"That's odd."
Derek literally jumped an inch in the air. He whirled around, his right hand reaching immediately for a non-existant pistol on his belt. It took a distinct measure of will for him to arrest the motion before the metal bitch interpreted it as a sign that he'd gone nuts. He stared at Cameron Phillips, who stood several feet away from him. He hadn't heard her come in, but it was evident that she'd been listening the whole time with her advanced hearing.
He glared at her for a long moment, unsure of whether he should look on at her with naked hatred or fear. Maybe both, if he could manage it. She freaked him the hell out, not only with the fact that she was built for things other than combat, but... He shook his head. He refused to think about what he'd seen the other night. Maybe he'd been dreaming. Just remembering it threatened to bring tears to his eyes, he'd been so shaken.
He found his voice, "No shit."
She cocked her head at that, probably thrown by the non-sequitor nature (as she was aware) of the statement. Frowning, she said, "I just ran a search on the technological awareness program. Their website states that, among the events being held, this is going to happen...on Wednesday, 1:30 PM."
Derek blinked. "How can so many people get the date wrong for this thing?"
"I don't know," Cameron replied. "They may be deliberately trying to mislead us."
"Us? You mean, us as in everyone living in this house, us?"
Cameron shook her head, "No, not really. It's more likely that they're trying to decrease the accessibility of the lecture."
Derek said nothing. The gears in his head were turning a mile a minute. Tin Miss' presumption struck him as pretty likely, given that...
"It may be connected to fears regarding Andy Goode's murder," Cameron said, finishing Derek's thought. He nodded in silent agreement.
"What now, then?" he asked, not really expecting a good answer. He hated it when things got unnecessarily complicated, but he'd learned to live with it. You had to when you lived most of your life the way he had.
She shrugged, "We talk to people."
--
John moved the pawn straight ahead, dropping it into place with the staggered formation he'd started creating. The pawns now resembled a vee on the chess board, preparing to clash against his opponent. Said opponent was a bespectacled Junior sitting across from him named Eric Dent. Eric was analyzing the board intently, musing over his next move. John leaned back in his chair, knowing his pawns wouldn't get much done other than keeping the guy's attention on trying not to lose his more valuable pieces. It was an intimidation tactic. He knew he'd take casualties, but they were acceptable losses for the set-up of his attack on the king.
Eric glanced up at John and down again quickly, obviously not enjoying the smug look John had allowed to play over his face. He was a fairly conservative player, John had seen, moving his pawns and more valuable pieces up laboriously, trying to get a feel for John's strategy before launching an attack. John raised an eyebrow as he moved a rook one square to the left. John moved one of his pawns forward and knocked out another pawn. Eric responded by removing that piece and replacing it with a bishop. John moved up a pawn. Eric moved the rook he'd used earlier, moving it to the side. The guy really didn't like taking chances. John moved another pawn up in an attempt to encircle the bishop. And so it went on.
They were outside the high school, at a table reserved for chess games. People were walking all around, talking. Most sounded tired; weekends did that to you. A lot were holding their hands on their foreheads and squinting a lot. Some groaned about headaches. It was the aftermath of a party John hadn't known about, probably. He wondered what those were like. He turned slightly to look around. He didn't see Cameron anywhere; she'd been gone for a few minutes. Hopefully it was for a good reason. He turned back to Eric.
"Hey..."
Eric's eyes flitted up to John, "Yeah?" He seemed a bit surprised, for whatever reason. He definitely looked annoyed.
John sighed inwardly and pressed on, "You hear about this robot thing?"
Eric stared for a moment, his eyes narrowed in confusion. He absently moved a piece. John countered it just as absently and stared at the board. The pieces had dwindled rather fast. Blitzing the enemy would do that. Eric was moved his king around nervously.
After they'd found out that apparently no one knew when Forsythe was supposed to appear, Sarah had recruited John and Cameron to probe around the school and see which day turned up the most as the probable date. John was also supposed to call in very quickly if it turned out to be today.
As of now, the questioning hadn't been very fruitful; John got blank stares a lot of the time, much like the one he was receiving right now. He went straight to the main office at the beginning of the day and got three different answers from the receptionists there, which inadvertently touched off an argument. He'd slowly backed out, needless to say.
Eric's eyes suddenly widened in remembrance, "Oh, you mean the program thing?" John nodded, "Yeah, my tech teacher told me it was on Wednesday, and I forget what time."
John nodded, offering a forced smile. So far Wednesday was the least popular choice among the kids he'd spoken to. They all seemed to think it was Friday, given the news report they'd seen on this thing. Eric's answer wasn't that helpful. He said, "Thanks, you're a big help."
"No prob..." Eric muttered, staring at the chess board. He obviously didn't like what he saw: his king was being threatened at nearly every point, and he'd be in zugzwang before long. He moved his remaining knight to capture John's last pawn. It seemed like a last hurrah. John dispatched the knight with a bishop and started laying siege to Eric's remaining pieces.
As he waited for Eric to make his move, John let himself drift away from the board. His interest had already basically collapsed once he knew Eric couldn't tell him anything more. He started to scan the area for people he knew. Maybe Morris would know, although John really doubted he was the techno-type. He caught sight of the other teenager sitting alone near Cameron and John's table. John had to smile a bit at Morris' stubbornness. Cameron hadn't shown the least bit of interest (if anything she viewed him as an obstacle to quickly push out of the way if danger came down) in him, but there he was, still trying to get her attention. John sweeped the rest of the area silently and frowned when he didn't see Cheri Westin.
His mouth fell open a bit as he thought about her. He would be lying to himself if he said he didn't like her. She was pretty, and bright enough to boot, a solid combination in his book. She had a nice, deliberate way of talking that spoke of her matureness. On the other hand, she was relentlessly aloof and didn't keep many friends. She never talked that much and seemed distinctly uncomfortable around anyone besides John, and she mostly shied away from him as well. Still, he was glad to have anyone to...well, crush on as long as it wasn't the robot.
John blinked at the easiness with which he considered liking Cameron in a romantic way. Just hypothetically, though. Not even hypothetically. Of course not. He didn't consider it. No.
Right? John moved a piece, he wasn't sure which one. His hands were on auto-pilot, seeming to know instinctively how the game was progressing. Cameron appeared from behind a corner and advanced quickly toward Morris, probably eager to try out a few phrases she'd picked up. John stared at her as she walked. She seemed less mechanical every day whenever she was around people, taking on their mannerisms and posture. Her hips moved back and forth gently as she walked forward. All calculated within a split second in her chip; move this way, talk that way, give off impression of interest. Be vague, attractive. Of itself, John's heart rate was accelerating. Cameron sat down and said something to Morris. As he responded, she turned her head and looked in John's direction. She was all business as she recognized that he was alright, not in any form of danger. Then she grinned and waved her hand at him.
He looked away quickly, his breath suddenly a bit ragged. His eyes fell on Cheri Westin, who was just sitting at a table near Morris and Cameron's. Upon seeing her, she saw him as well. She smiled and nodded a few times in recognition. She moved her bag down off the bench and onto the grass, making room. She expected him to come over. John's eyes flitted over to Cameron; she was still looking at him, still smiling. She was waiting for recognition. He nodded in both girls directions. They both went back to what they were doing, equally unaware that he'd silently answered two people. Satisfied.
John was getting hard. He exhaled sharply; he'd been holding his breath. Holy christ.
With a sigh of exasperation, Eric overturned his king, conceding. "You're fucking good, Baum." He leaned over the table to begrudgingly shake John's hand. John took it and shook without thinking. He smiled toward Eric as the older boy got up to leave, but his heart wasn't in it.
John wasn't thinking about chess anymore.
--
Cameron Phillips eyeballed John from across the field as the older human, identified as Eric Dent, age 17, Junior grade of Campo de Cahuenga High School got up and started walking in the other direction, toward another table populated by several men. By Eric's slumped posture and downcast eyes, he'd been defeated in a chess game with John. That was why Cameron was somewhat confused. Generally she associated victory with elation and joy on the side of the winning party, in this case John Connor. This was usually characterized by a smile, eyes being more dilated than they usually were, and sometimes laughter. John was not doing any of those things. His demeanor and facial expression characterized embarrassment, mixed with pensiveness.
That was all Cameron was able to discern from this range. If closer, she'd be able to detect a bit more. Right now, though, John was safe, and Cameron had other mission priorities besides ascertaining John's neuroses, no matter how much she wanted to. It just seemed like something she ought to do.
Morris was discussing the supposed fact that the employees running the catering services inside the high school despised him and wanted him terminated. He supported this supposition with the fact that these employees erroneously gave him spaghetti when he'd asked for tacos. Cameron extrapolated on his words and determined a probability of 0.12 percent that the lunch staff wanted to terminate him. She cocked her head toward him.
"That sucks," she said. She picked up the nearby styrofoam cup and drank some a carbonated drink popularly known as "Pepsi" from a straw.
"I know!" Morris agreed. He looked down at the spaghetti and forked some into his mouth. Chewing for a moment, he looked considerate. "Eh, it's not too bad, actually."
Cameron looked over and found Morris staring at her as well. She noticed that his eyes drifted quickly away from her chest area and up to her eyes. He smiled, somewhat disjointedly. She smiled back to him, "Hear anything cool?" she asked.
Morris shrugged, "Haven't heard of any murals popping up."
It took Cameron a half-second to realize he was talking about the frescos that had appeared on the walls of the school interior shortly before the suicide of Jordan. "I thought people stopped talking about that," she observed.
Morris frowned, "Sure, they stop talking about it. Doesn't mean they forget, y'know?"
Cameron imitated Morris' earlier shrug, almost completely mimicking the motion, "No. I guess not." She decided it would be more efficient to cut straight to the main subject of her earlier question, "I heard about a robot presentation."
'
Morris nodded almost at once, "Me too, it's supposed to be three days from now."
"Really?" Cameron replied, "Who told you?" Her smile disappeared, and her face went blank as she awaited the answer.
Morris raised an eyebrow. "I just heard it from my history teacher. I think it was an announcement." He tilted his head, giving her a sidelong look, eyebrows somewhat elevated. His accelerated heart rate suggested underlining fear that she was angry at him.
She quickly readjusted her expression, grinning at him and lowering her eyebrows somewhat to give the impression of subtle attraction, "Thanks." She looked over at John.
Morris, now reassured, followed her glance and looked back toward the chess table. John was getting up and heading toward a table occupied by several men and women, student Cheri Westin, aged 16, sophomore grade among them. Cameron's HUD suddenly flashed "system anomaly." Seemingly of itself, Cameron's eyebrows had lowered considerably, her mouth had set itself into the ghost of a frown. She was glaring without having...
She let herself glare and reset the system to disregard such things as anomalous. She started going over the likeliest reasons for why she'd reacted thusly. Four seconds went by and, after not coming up with a satisfactory answer, she terminated the procedure. She would commit more time to figuring it out later.
"Damn, your bro's stubborn."
"Yes, he is damn stubborn," Cameron agreed, still glaring.
Morris shook his head and rolled his eyes. Cameron extrapolated that he was referring to the fact that Cheri Westin came from a rather restrictive family and was limited in her social maneuverability. John looked briefly in their direction as he walked over and then sat down next to Cheri. Cameron stared over for a moment before turning back to Morris. She assumed a normal expression.
"Didn't know your brother plays chess," Morris said. The spaghetti lay half-finished on his tray, and he was looking intently at her. It was clear that now he wanted to hold an extended conversation.
Cameron assigned her left ear auditory systems to extend their range so she could pick up on John's conversation, while squelching voice patterns that did not match his or Cheri's. In order to avoid a lax, sedated expression on her face as she processed their conversation while also maintaining her own with Morris, she relegated the data to her memory for later review. Close review.
"Yes, he's very good."
"I mean, I just didn't take him for the chess type. Doesn't seem like something he'd do."
Cameron smiled, "You don't know him that well."
--
PLAY-BACK, AUDIO FILE #67. REF: PRIME/SUB-PRIME CORRESPONDENCE.
PLAY-BACK
"Hey."
"Hi John."
four second interval
"Lunch any good today?"
"Average, y'know how it is."
(Laughter) "Yeah. I usually just let my mom pack lunch."
(Laughter) "She must care for you a lot."
five second interval
"I guess so. Ah...Hey, did you, uh, want to talk about something?"
two second interval
"I guess. I mean, I don't mean to pry...you don't have to answer. You know..."
"Yeah?"
"Is your sister alright? I mean, I must sound like a gossip, but sometimes...forget it."
"How she acts, you mean?"
"Yeah. Like she's...I dunno. Is she alright?"
"We had a tornado a few years back. She hasn't been all that well since then, y'know."
"She follows you around a lot."
three second interval
"Um...Yeah. I guess. I mean..."
eight second interval
"I'm sorry, John. Forget I asked."
"No, it's fine. It was hard on all of us. She's...I almost got hurt, like really bad. She just wants to protect me."
"I wish I had your family."
(Scoff) "Yeah right."
"No, really. They must care for you a lot."
five second interval
"John?"
"Um... Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Hey, uh, Cheri...you hear of, uh anything going on later? Like a lecture, something like that?"
two second interval
"The technological awareness program?"
"That's it."
"Wednesday, 12:45."
three second interval
"You sure?"
"Positive, John. Really."
two second interval
"Well, alright then...thanks. Hold on. What the hell do you want?"
ten second interval, interspersed with-
Priority switch: Auditory systems to encompass all voice patterns, effective immediately. Minimizing range zone. Narrowing.
Sub-Prime entry.
"It's alright, I was just about to go!"
"Dude, I don't think you fucking get it. You stay the fuck away."
"Michael-"
"Shut up. You, get outta here."
"You're not the boss of me, dickhead."
IMPACT NOISE. PHYSICAL VIOLENCE DETECTED, PRIME SUBJECT THREATENED.
ACTION; EVALUATE. SECONDARY PRIORITIES RESCINDED. SWITCHING TO COMBAT MODE. TERMINATE THREAT IF NECESSARY.
--
John's head swung back around toward Cheri as the guy -- Michael, he guessed -- punched him. Cheri stared at him in shock, her mouth agape. He mostly felt the shock of the blow rather than any real pain; guy didn't have that great an arm. He quickly checked himself for blood and his fingers came away with nothing. He started breathing rapidly, feeling the adrenaline surge into him as he turned to look at Michael. He didn't think about why he'd been punched in the first place, and he didn't care. He wanted to hit the bastard.
"Now listen," Michael began, bending over. "Go. Away."
"Fuck you," John spat, and started pushing himself up off the table.
Michael got up and delivered a kick to John's midsection. He flopped back against Cheri and yelled out in pain, feeling the shock vibrate from his abdomen and throughout his body. John's teeth clenched down hard and his eyes widened with the jolt of pain.
"Michael?!" Cheri screamed.
John pushed himself up and swung his legs around the bench. He stood up and stared at Michael.
Michael stared at him coldly as he got up, his head tilted slightly. The people immediately around the table had gone silent. John gave the guy a side-long glance. Michael was just a bit shorter than he was. His face was bony and somewhat narrow, with brown hair reaching down to his equally brown eyes. His mouth was set into a stoney glare. He wore a black-colored ring on his left ear. John stood directly across from him.
Michael lowered his head a bit, as if attempting to parley, "If you don't get outta here I'll make sure you don't walk again." John merely nodded.
He bent forward quickly and lashed out with his right hand, balled into a tight fist, striking Michael in the crotch without warning.
Well, that had been his intention. Michael actually swung his whole body to the left, avoiding the blow and bringing his knee up to smash into John's outstretched arm. John cried out in pain as the strike connected. He clenched his teeth tightly and lashed out with his left arm and brought down his right to form a grip around Michael's leg. John pulled the leg forward, causing Michael to stumble and fall with a startled yelp. Seizing on this, John let go and grabbed the back of Michael's head. He brought his knee up and jabbed it into his stomach. Michael yelled in pain. Finally, John quickly swung himself behind Michael and he shoved his opponent's head downward, smashing it against the wooden bench. Blood splashed up from Michael's nose, and he stumbled back and fell to the grass with a gurgling scream of pain. It took John a moment to ascertain that he was down for the count, and he resisted the urge to kick him in the side of the head.
The whole exchange took less than ten seconds.
Cameron appeared at the corner of John's vision, practically on top of Michael's prostate form, her arms already reaching out to grab his collar bone. Her face was deadened, utterly blank, the same fixated glare Terminators always wore when they were preparing to try and kill something.
"Cam, hold up," John commanded.
Cameron cast a look down to Michael, who was bleeding profusely from his nose and groaning. She stood there for a moment before letting her arms drop to her sides. She sent a look to John. It wasn't approving.
Cheri sat there for a moment, staring at the scene in mute shock before springing up. She gripped both of John's arms and stared frantically at him, "Are you ok?! Jesus!"
The adrenaline rushed out of John's system all at once, leaving him feeling distinctly cold. Confusion and a slight bit of horror overtook him as he processed this spate of violence directed at him. He couldn't find a single fucking reason for it. He pressed his fingers up to eyebrows, his eyes wide. Cheri's hands were close to his face now, but she didn't do anything. John's teeth chattered a bit as he said, "Uh," he looked down at Michael, gulping, "Yeah. I..." Cheri let go of him and stooped over Michael. The guy was just laying there, unmoving. A few tables down, someone yelled "Dude! Kick-ass!" Cheri stared at Michael for a long moment before looking up at John. She shook her head, her lower lip was trembling slightly, "W-why didn't you just walk?"
John blinked, feeling as if something had just gone completely wrong. "Cheri, what...Who..."
"John," Cheri's voice had assumed the ashen tone it took whenever she was troubled. All of a sudden she became expressionless, her eyes just a bit wide with fear, "Just go. Now. Walk away."
He opened his mouth to speak. Something completely unintelligible spilled out and he shut up. He took a step forward, staring from Michael to Cheri. She looked...concerned for the guy. She was absently stroking his forehead with one hand, her other was fishing around her bag, probably for first aid or a tissue to wipe up the blood. Cameron stepped forward and halted him, "That's an excellent idea."
John knew this guy, he suddenly realized. His name was Michael Oxferod, or something. He'd seen him one day, sitting in John's chemistry seat. He'd been talking in a low voice to Cheri. He'd shoved John on his way out of the class room. Was he nursing a grudge or something?
John stood there, simply staring down, his thoughts scattering in all sorts of different directions for what this was supposed to mean. Cheri didn't even look back up at him.
Michael was her boyfriend. He couldn't see any other reason for all of this.
"Please, John," Cheri said. Her eyes were still fixed to Michael.
John only felt his legs start to take him past Michael and Cheri. He was still staring down at them. He didn't know how he looked or what people were seeing on his face. It could be sadness, it could be bewilderment, could be wanting. It certainly wasn't elation at the fact that he'd whupped the guys ass. He tore his eyes away and walked over to the table where Morris was sitting, staring wide-eyed at him as he approached. John managed a tight, "oh well" sort of smirk. Cameron fell into place behind him, her head turned tightly toward Michael. She wouldn't allow him to come under attack again.
John sat down and stared off past Morris' head, off into space. He registered nothing. He was on the brink of simply bursting with negative, confused emotion. He felt like yelling "what the hell just happened?" at the top of his lungs. He held the side of his head with his left hand and leaned on the table. He shut his eyes tightly.
Morris sent a look to Cameron. He looked just about ready to rain congratulations on both their heads, for whatever reason.
Cameron was still staring at Michael and Cheri. Michael was slowly getting up with Cheri's help, but it didn't seem as if he wanted to have another go at it. He was glaring. With the air of one making a great concession, she turned back to Morris. She shrugged and rolled her eyes, "Boys," she said.
Morris raised his eyebrows and smirked, "Hey..." he said severely, acting hurt. Chuckling a bit --nervously--, he looked to John and suddenly grimaced, "Hey, hey, are you alright?"
John cocked his head back, trying to smile, "I'm fine. Just...that was sudden," he murmured. As he spoke, he opened his eyes, only to realize that his vision was blurred. His hand darted to his face and came away slightly wet. He hurriedly wiped off his face and tried to smile again, for real this time.
It didn't work. He got up without a word and started for the inside of the building, leaving Cameron and Morris to stare at his back as he walked.