(no subject)
Sarah was Skynet.
That notion, that realization came to her one night while she wasn't sleeping. While she couldn't sleep, couldn't even pretend to try because the nightmares were so bad and the shaking was so bad that she wanted to scream. Couldn't scream because screaming was disruptive, she'd wake the neighbors. Upset them.
Sarah was Skynet.
She'd controlled them, she'd fixed Allison, done things to her own son. Drugs. Mental conditioning. God only knew. Had them living in fear of some sort of cybernetic boogieman. She had Allison convinced, even now, that she was a machine. Not real, not a person, not worth more than anyone. Not worth more than John.
Sarah was Skynet.
And Sarah had taught her how to fight, how to kill, how to destroy, how to take care of John, how to protect him, how to disable a man, how to get rid of a body, how to field strip a Ruger Mark 3, how to hide, how to turn a wall into a safe, how to pretend, how to hide bruises, how to quick clot and how to run. How to fight Skynet. How to kill Skynet.
And Sarah was Skynet. Sarah was Skynet now.