The fire is spreading and no one wants to speak about it.
John does not think he has a hero complex and in a way he's correct; psychologically speaking, hero syndrome (or complex) "is a phenomenon affecting people who seek heroism or recognition, usually by creating a desperate situation which they can solve." John has said and done a lot of things in the last two and a half decades, but he has never attempted to be recognized for what it is he's supposed to be doing.
By the time John was twelve he could name 90% of the machines, the Hunter-Killers, the T-models. Strengths and weaknesses. He had better aim with a rifle than with a handgun - possibly, John thinks now, because he might be farsighted - which might have lead Sarah to training Allison more with handguns. He's not sure since he's never asked.
By the time he was fourteen John and Sarah had a silent agreement that she wouldn't pressure him to stop learning computers as long as he put his skills to good use. Helping her, helping the people she knew.
By the time he was sixteen, listening somewhat impassively while Charlie convinced Sarah to allow him to enroll in the local high school, meet other kids, he knew it probably wouldn't work. He probably couldn't really make friends. Because he was acutely aware of where he fell short, socially. His obsessive-complusive tendencies were full blown by that point, but like everything else he hid them in more rhetoric and odd behaviors. If he was interested in the algorithms used by the City and County of Los Angeles to program the timing of street lights in high traffic areas it could be attributed to John's interest in physics, in computer programming. He knows how to take a TV apart but he's never watched much television and he knows the rules of baseball but has never been to a baseball game. He knows the bus schedule by heart but he's never ridden one. He's never hung out for very long or slept over.
By the time he was eighteen, two days after having coffee with Allison for his birthday, one hour after an argument with Sarah that left his face is stinging he knows something is wrong. With all of it but mostly with him. He can't focus on the math, which is hard enough normally, but he's made the same mistake four times now. Even with Allison's notes in front of him, helping him step-by-step. And it's been nearly a month since he could, since he could smile except for his birthday and John knows a lot of things are wrong but he doesn't know what that means.
By the time he was twenty and Allison glitched, couldn't remember him but remembered her own name and smiled blankly before shaking her head and walking away from him, John was so terrified and shocked that he didn't know what to do. He knew what he was supposed to do; he was supposed to get her home, call his mother, wait for her to fix it but he didn't. Past the roaring buzz in his head he caught up with her and handed her a gun. Showed her how to check the rounds, the safety, and told her to be careful. Told her to stay away from the police and places with lots of cameras. She'd blinked and stared and caught him when he fell, when the programming clashed with the idea of just letting her go for once and hoping for the best and when he woke up nearly an hour later back at home neither of them could remember what happened.
By the time he was twenty-two he was half convinced that his mother was fucking insane, above and beyond the Judgment Day idea. More convinced when things hurt, when everything hurt, when doctors and staff psychologists kept trying to get him to talk about what happened, why he wouldn't sleep, the drugs in his system, the nightmares he woke half the floor with once he started screaming. What he was supposed to do was get online, post proxies and codes, find his mother. Find Allison. Find Allison before Sarah found her. Which was impossible from the hospital, with another week to go before he was released.
By the time Sunday comes around and now John knows the extent of programming and the source of the repetitive scars, the true meaning behind his mother's dismissive reaction when he told her years ago "You're hurting her" and he hadn't even known what he meant, entirely, John is not interested in saving the world. He doesn't want to be a hero. He wants to make amends, fix the impossibly broken things in their life and relationship. He wants to see Allison smile more, make jokes, look at him like he is the most foolish man on the face of the planet.
But he doesn't want anyone to know that's what he's doing. He doesn't want anyone to really have enough of an idea of the scope of what's wrong that he's trying to put right. He doesn't want recognition or praise. He just wants them to be safe.
By the time John was twelve he could name 90% of the machines, the Hunter-Killers, the T-models. Strengths and weaknesses. He had better aim with a rifle than with a handgun - possibly, John thinks now, because he might be farsighted - which might have lead Sarah to training Allison more with handguns. He's not sure since he's never asked.
By the time he was fourteen John and Sarah had a silent agreement that she wouldn't pressure him to stop learning computers as long as he put his skills to good use. Helping her, helping the people she knew.
By the time he was sixteen, listening somewhat impassively while Charlie convinced Sarah to allow him to enroll in the local high school, meet other kids, he knew it probably wouldn't work. He probably couldn't really make friends. Because he was acutely aware of where he fell short, socially. His obsessive-complusive tendencies were full blown by that point, but like everything else he hid them in more rhetoric and odd behaviors. If he was interested in the algorithms used by the City and County of Los Angeles to program the timing of street lights in high traffic areas it could be attributed to John's interest in physics, in computer programming. He knows how to take a TV apart but he's never watched much television and he knows the rules of baseball but has never been to a baseball game. He knows the bus schedule by heart but he's never ridden one. He's never hung out for very long or slept over.
By the time he was eighteen, two days after having coffee with Allison for his birthday, one hour after an argument with Sarah that left his face is stinging he knows something is wrong. With all of it but mostly with him. He can't focus on the math, which is hard enough normally, but he's made the same mistake four times now. Even with Allison's notes in front of him, helping him step-by-step. And it's been nearly a month since he could, since he could smile except for his birthday and John knows a lot of things are wrong but he doesn't know what that means.
By the time he was twenty and Allison glitched, couldn't remember him but remembered her own name and smiled blankly before shaking her head and walking away from him, John was so terrified and shocked that he didn't know what to do. He knew what he was supposed to do; he was supposed to get her home, call his mother, wait for her to fix it but he didn't. Past the roaring buzz in his head he caught up with her and handed her a gun. Showed her how to check the rounds, the safety, and told her to be careful. Told her to stay away from the police and places with lots of cameras. She'd blinked and stared and caught him when he fell, when the programming clashed with the idea of just letting her go for once and hoping for the best and when he woke up nearly an hour later back at home neither of them could remember what happened.
By the time he was twenty-two he was half convinced that his mother was fucking insane, above and beyond the Judgment Day idea. More convinced when things hurt, when everything hurt, when doctors and staff psychologists kept trying to get him to talk about what happened, why he wouldn't sleep, the drugs in his system, the nightmares he woke half the floor with once he started screaming. What he was supposed to do was get online, post proxies and codes, find his mother. Find Allison. Find Allison before Sarah found her. Which was impossible from the hospital, with another week to go before he was released.
By the time Sunday comes around and now John knows the extent of programming and the source of the repetitive scars, the true meaning behind his mother's dismissive reaction when he told her years ago "You're hurting her" and he hadn't even known what he meant, entirely, John is not interested in saving the world. He doesn't want to be a hero. He wants to make amends, fix the impossibly broken things in their life and relationship. He wants to see Allison smile more, make jokes, look at him like he is the most foolish man on the face of the planet.
But he doesn't want anyone to know that's what he's doing. He doesn't want anyone to really have enough of an idea of the scope of what's wrong that he's trying to put right. He doesn't want recognition or praise. He just wants them to be safe.