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Codes: Mf



Terminator - The Sarah Connor Chronicles: More Human Than Human
by MJKA

The deep rumbling roar began to fade. The clouds dissipated. The dry lightning working its way through surrounding streetlights, shattering bulbs and blackening steel, bled away into nothingness.

Catherine Weaver - skin porcelain, hair so red it was orange - rose from a crouch and stood straight and tall. Her head swiveled from side to side as brilliant green eyes focused and adjusted, recording and analyzing the surrounding area: a parking lot, somewhere in California, most likely Los Angeles. To her left was an old building: windows and doors boarded up, the name of the establishment unreadable.

It was a start, Catherine thought. The last T-1001 sent back had missed its mark by a considerable distance and promptly sank to the bottom of the Pacific ocean, there to remain until its internal power supply ran dry.

A scurry of hurried footsteps caught the attention of her enhanced auditory sensors. She stepped out of the smoking knee-deep crater, bare feet crunching down on shattered concrete and twisted steel, and faced the direction from which they approached.

Seconds later a skinny Caucasian male, roughly her height, came charging from around the corner of the abandoned building. His eyes bulged when he saw her, and he slid to a stop. A few more appeared, male and female, ages ranging from early-teens to late-thirties.

"Holy shit," one of the boys said. "Look at the crazy bitch, all naked and shit."

Catherine relaxed her posture and forced a smile. "Hello," she said, putting as much warmth into her voice as she could. "I am Catherine Weaver. Could you please direct me to the nearest business so that I might inquire where I am."

"The fuck, lady?" The skinny white male. "You on the shit or something? Who the fuck talks like that?"

"She on something," a female voice added. "Walking around with her titties and ass hanging out."

Catherine scanned the hostile faces, eyes flicking from face to face, noting the anger emanating from the females, arousal from the males, and decided at once on a course of action. One street urchin with tales of a beautiful naked woman standing in smoking crater might be ignored by the proper authorities, but not half a dozen of them. They would have to be eliminated.

She closed her eyes, tilted her head, and ran through her programming. She should have done it sooner, calibrating her behavior to the year and location, but that wouldn't have altered the situation. She would still be naked, and they would still be on her death list.

The angry male rubbed himself through his jeans. "You remind me of a teacher I used to have. Bitch was fine." Catherine tilted her head, absorbing his words. "Tell you what: you come over here and suck my dick, let me suck on them big pink titties, and I won't let these fucking hoppers tap your crazy ass."

Catherine's smile vanished.

She walked toward them, hips swaying, one long leg in front of the other, muscles working beautifully just beneath the surface of the taut pale skin. The angry man's eyes went wide. He reached for something behind his back. Catherine dashed forward, unhindered by slow reflexes and weak human muscles, long silken hair flowing out behind her, and reached him first.

Her fist connected with his face. She used just five-percent of her available strength, but that was still enough to cave his head in. Blood splashed across her face and chest. She pulled her hand away, letting the corpse fall at her feet, and grabbed the nearest person.

She never stopped moving. She twisted and tore, yanked and snapped -- all with a smile on her face. She wasn't supposed to enjoy such things, but it was what she was designed to do, and she went at it with glee. It was over in seconds.

She shook the blood from her fingers, then ran through the scant material she had on the historical Catherine Weaver, which amounted to a few pictures and several minutes of video, just enough for her to properly mimic the woman's distinctive features and accent. She closed her eyes, picturing herself in something the conservative Weaver might wear, and shuddered as her body morphed and altered. When she opened them, she was attired in a tasteful gray dress and patent-leather black pumps that added a few inches to her height.

Studying herself in a liberated pocket mirror, Catherine was all smiles. Beautiful and mature, she would appeal to both young and old. It was the perfect identity -- one she would make full use of.

"A teacher," she said, calibrating her thick Scottish accent until it sounded as authentic as she could make it. "Bitch was fine."

She tossed the mirror and walked away from the scene of so much death, hips swaying like the classic Hollywood stars in her database. She had a mission to fulfill, one that would change the fate of both man and machine in ways neither could foresee.

* * *

She was waiting for him again, standing tall and beautiful against the opposite wall. Her red hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her slender body was poured into a sleeveless gray dress that complimented her creamy complexion. With black high-heels and matching eyeliner, she looked less like the classic "hot teacher" and more like a stern, take-no-bullshit pornstar.

She lifted her chin when she saw him, flashing a warm but somewhat awkward smile that for a brief moment reminded him of Cameron. "Hey, John! Over here."

Sighing, John turned and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Go on and save me a seat, will you? And tell Cameron I'll be along in a minute."

The boy nodded, eyes taking in the beautiful gray-clad woman, and said, "Hit it good, dawg. Get them panties."

John shook his head and shoved him on his way.

He met her in the middle of the hall, ignoring the pats on the shoulder and shouts of encouragement. He remained an arm's length from her.

"Is something wrong, John?" Her lovely accent sent a tremor up his spine, almost making him forget that she was a substitute teacher and thus off limits. "I didn't see you in class this morning. Are you feeling well?"

"Family stuff. You know." He glanced around, a nervous flutter in his stomach. He'd never been very good with girls, and he had absolutely no idea how to get himself out of this without offending her.

"I see," she said, not very convincingly. A brilliant woman, but there were times when even the simplest things left her seemingly confused. "Would you like to have lunch with me? My treat."

John looked into her vivid green eyes for a long moment, part of him wanting very badly to see how far he could go with this -- then he cleared his throat and broke the spell she seemed to be weaving around him. "No, I can't. Sorry. I have to, um, eat with my sister. She's special. In the head, I mean."

She gave him a blank look, as if he'd suddenly given voice in a foreign language. John turned away before her eyes could once again entrance him.

Not that he didn't like her -- she was certainly nice enough, if a little odd, and was certainly very attractive; but he didn't need an entanglement like this. Not now, with so much changing in his life. And besides, if his mom or Cameron found out about her, they might very likely kill her; and that was something he knew he would never be able to forgive himself for.

"Another time maybe, okay?" He turned and walked away as quickly as he could without being obvious about it.

Into the nearest restroom, where he hung his backpack on a hook near the door before leaning over the sink. He took deep breaths, trying not to hate himself for passing on the chance to fuck a beautiful older woman. He'd hated to do it, but it was for her own good. His, too.

The bell rang, announcing the start of class and his lunch break.

John splashed water on his face, straightened up --

"Jesus," he said, seeing the redhead reflected in the mirror, looking at him from inside the stall. He spun around, gripping the sides of the sink as he tried to calm his pounding heart. "How the hell did you get in here so fast?"

She smiled at him, red head just visible above the door of the stall. "It sounded to me like there was something wrong." Her voice was deep and husky, each syllable making his cock stir. "I wanted to be sure you were okay."

John glanced down, and his eyes went wide. She was barefoot, her long creamy legs exposed up to the knees, where the door began. John swallowed down a nervous lump. She wasn't was she? Naked in there?

She sighed and hung her arms over the stall door, revealing strong shoulders that, just minutes before, had been covered by her dress. "You're trying to avoid me, aren't you, John? Go ahead. I won't be offended. I promise."

No ifs about it -- his mom would definitely put a bullet in this woman's head if she found out about this. "No, of course not. Avoid you? What?" He closed his eyes, opened them, but she was still there, still naked. "I was just...you know."

She gave him that adorable blank stare, then tilted her head and said, "No, I'm afraid I don't know. Perhaps I'm...coming on too strong?" She pulled her arms back and nudged the stall door; it opened slowly, the hinge squeaking. "Or not strong enough?"

Unbelievably, though he'd certainly expected it, she was naked. And utterly gorgeous; almost as fine as his mom, who was easily the sexiest woman he'd ever known.

"Do I look good to you, John? Do you desire me?" Perky breasts; small pink nipples that looked like they could cut glass; wide curvy hips; a flat stomach; and thick orange-red pubic hair -- of course she looked good!

"Shit," John muttered. He looked up at her pretty face, trying to get his head straight. "Look, Ms. --"

"Call me Cathy," she purred.

"Wow." John looked down at the grimy tiled floor and tried not to think of her flawless body, but he could still see her legs at the top of his vision, the creamy skin and sculpted calves. He looked up. "Look, Cathy. I don't know how they do things in Glasgow, or wherever you're from, but this is America. Someone finds out about this and you'll be in jail before period's over."

Standing akimbo, she lifted her chin and said, "Only if you tell, John."

She came to him, tall and graceful, but moving slow enough for John to escape the room and her advances. He didn't. He couldn't. Not now, not when she was like this. She was so beautiful, so mature. Like his mom.

Standing eye to eye with her, noticing the gloss of her lips, smelling her skin, the strawberry-mango body wash, all John wanted right now was to grab her by her slim waist and pull her into a smothering kiss.

She smiled, sensing his reservations, and whispered, "Take me, John. Right here while your friends and sister wonder where you are." Her breath was warm and smelled like mint. "Bend me over this sink --"

John was only human.

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close, giving her a deep, tongue-filled kiss that she returned with much enthusiasm. She was much firmer than she looked, and very warm, the heat of her heaving body bleeding through his clothes.

He ran his hands down her back. He cupped her ass, giving the soft cheeks a good squeeze before pulling them apart and grazing her puckered hole with his finger. She moaned into his mouth and ran her hands up his chest. She undid the top button on his shirt, then yanked and tore it open.

John was beyond caring. About the shirt, about anything really that didn't involve the flaming-red goddess in his arms.

Cathy tugged the undershirt from his waistband and lifted it, slipping her hands underneath to caress his strong chest and tight abs. She reached down and squeezed him through his jeans, digging her long nails into the thick bulge running down his leg.

"Mmm, you're a big one, aren't you?" she said, breathing it, barely loud enough to hear.

She tore his jeans open, then shoved them down to his knees, where she used her foot to push them down to the floor. She took his semi-rigid cock in hand and started pumping. John groaned; he hadn't been jerked off by a girl in quite some time, and Cathy was definitely not a girl. She was a woman who knew what the fuck she was doing.

She kissed his chest, then his stomach, as she slowly lowered herself to her knees. She brought his cock to her lips and blew on the swollen head, making John gasp. She smiled, then sucked him into her burning-hot mouth.

John squeezed the sink so hard his knuckles went white.

She bobbed her head up and down his long dick, ruby-red lips dragging obscenely along the thick staff. Already over half his length was stuffed into her mouth, the fat head lodged in her tight throat, but still she wanted more. She pushed forward, gagging and coughing as she took more and more of him.

"Shit, Cathy." John released the sink and took her hair in his hands, his balls resting against her wet chin. "God woman."

She laughed, and sent deep sensations through his body. She pulled her head back with a groan, dragging her teeth along his sensitive rod, until the head slipped free, dripping with drool, a thick rope connecting it to her lips. It was such an erotic sight that John had to bite down and suppress the urge to come all over her face.

She jerked him fast and hard, making wet slurping sounds as she sucked the head and worked him with both hands. John humped his hips, jabbing his cock at her face. He reached down and squeezed a breast, pinching the nipple between his fingers. It made her moan, and he very nearly exploded in her fantastic hands.

"Stop, stop," he groaned, pushing her face away. "Not yet."

He pulled her to her feet and gave her another hard kiss; then he roughly bent her over the sink and guided the head of his cock to her pussy. He slid it up and down her slick pussy, making her moan and beg without words to be stuffed; then he thrust forward and went balls deep in one quick motion. Cathy cried out, her pretty face reflected in the mirror, and immediately humped back against him.

John hit her with everything he had, too far gone to slow down and enjoy the feel of her hot mushy sex. Sweat trickled down his face and dripped onto her unblemished back, the strong muscles working just beneath the pale surface as she pulled on the sink. Her continuous moans were easily the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

"Cathy, fuck, I'm almost there. Almost there!"

She stared into the mirror, her face twisted with agonizing pleasure. "In my pussy, baby. I want it inside me."

John was lost in the moment. He fucked her with everything he had, slamming his hips against her creamy ass, leaving her supple flesh a deep red. She groaned, screamed, as she rocked back and forth, her movements loosening the sink from the wall. Any longer and it would separate entirely.

Luckily for the school's budget, John couldn't take it any longer.

He pulled out and dragged her back. "Get on your knees," he cried. "On your knees!" On your knees!"

She obeyed him like a good slut, dropping to the ground and tilting her head back.

John stroked the slick staff, the head just centimeters from her face, until it exploded. The first spurt hit her on the forehead, the second on her nose, the third on her cheek. He leaned over, planting a hand on the sink behind her, and forced what remained onto her tightly-sealed lips.

He quickly found the wall, pressed his back to it, and slid to the floor. Cock deflating, he sucked air into his lungs while he watched Cathy gather up his cum with her fingers. Smiling, she brought them to her lips and sucked them clean.

She crawled over and sat beside him. She turned her head toward him and smiled shyly. "I hope you liked it, John. I did."

"Yeah," he said, slightly out of breath. "It was pretty good. Too bad it's over."

She looked at him for a moment. "It doesn't have to be," she said, cautiously, as if she were afraid he might reject her. "I could -- go again."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a machine. Sorry. It'll be a minute." He looked down at his cock and didn't see the shocked look on her face.

"Oh," she laughed mechanically. "You're joking." John gave her a puzzled look, but then noticed her heaving breasts and forgot about it.

His eyes continued on, down past her slim waistline, skin glistening, all the way to her tangled mess of red pubic hair. He grinned wickedly and leaned down to kiss her navel, using the tip of his tongue to circle her belly button. She moaned, running her fingers through his hair. John kissed her silky curls and groaned. Her scent was strong.

"Oh yeah. Mmm, baby. Like that, right there." The words weren't quite so mechanical now, though they did sound a bit rehearsed. John let it go without much thought, her juicy and very aromatic vulva foremost on his young mind.

He flicked his tongue over her clit. She gasped and arched her back, moaning as if she'd never been touched there before. John stared at her, then lapped at it again. She purred softly, almost like a cat, but managed this time to control herself.

John planted his hands on the floor and leaned in, burying his face between her warm thighs. She moaned and gently bucked against his face, but didn't say a word, as if she'd read his thoughts and was consciously trying to seem more human.

John moaned too; as much as he loved fucking a tight pussy, he loved eating one even more. He though of Cameron and Riley, even his mom, as he devoured the older woman, but try as he might he couldn't make them stick. Cathy was just so unique, so much warmer, so much redder, so much more willing, that he couldn't think of anybody but her.

He worked her pussy with everything he had, flicking and poking, sucking and blowing, tugging and pulling. He wasn't very experienced at it, having been with only a couple of girls in his life, but Cathy was going wild. She wasn't faking either. If she was, she was a very good actress.

And then abruptly, but not so out of the blue, she cried out and slammed her head back, cracking several tiles on the wall. John barely noticed. Cathy convulsed, her pussy gushing -- and a fine spray of cum hit him in the face. He quickly went to the source and sealed his mouth around her gushy opening, flicking his tongue and lapping up whatever he could.

Moments later he rolled onto his back and sucked in a lungful of fresh air. Cathy laughed and reclined against the cracked wall, pulling one leg up under her body, stretching out with the other and touching John with her toes. The satisfied look on her face made John feel as he'd never felt before. It was one thing to get Riley off -- a horny teenage girl -- but a grown woman? And a teacher at that!

His cock rested against his belly, long and hard and eager to back inside of her. Cathy licked her cherry lips, her eyes locked on it. Focused. Determined. John stared at her, horny, but not quite sure if any of this were really happening. Sweaty, hair stuck to her face, chest heaving, body bare, she looked less like an actual human and more like something culled from his deepest fantasies.

As if once again reading his mind, Cathy pushed off the wall and came to him. She took his cock in hand, pumping it as she pulled her legs under her body and got back to her knees. Then she leaned over and engulfed him.

John grunted, propping his head up on his hands to watch her work. And what a sight she made! Red hair falling across her pretty face, pale body tight and slippery, knees a deep red from kneeling on hard tile. She gave him a messy blowjob, not the prim, proper head Riley gave him, slobbering all over his staff, making wet popping noises whenever she pulled back to let the swollen head slip free of her burning-hot mouth.

Something caught John's attention, something not a part of their nasty tryst. John twisted his head around, trying to glimpse the door from his odd position on the floor. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

Cathy flicked the head of his cock with her tongue. "Don't worry: I locked the door."

"Shit." John glanced at his watch. "Lunch is already over."

"Not yet," she rejoined, her words a cross between a moan and a laugh. She sucked him back inside, murmuring contentedly as she slid her lips down his staff and pressed her nose into his pubic hair.

The scene was so hot that John had to look away from it. His balls were churning, and another minute of this expert treatment was sure to send him over the edge. He was confident he could get it up for a third time, but he wasn't sure if they'd even have time for another go at it. Masturbating was one thing; getting drained by a woman this good quite another.

He needed to stall.

"I want to try something else," he said, placing a hand on her warm cheek. "Come on."

She let him fall from her mouth, an eager smile coming to her lips, her smoldering eyes full of lust. "I know what you want, John." She sounded like a kid let loose in a toy store.

Turning away from him, she then leaned forward until she was on all fours and her mouthwatering ass perfectly positioned for John's use. She looked back over her shoulder, silken hair touching the dirty floor, and waited.

This wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind, but John wasn't about to argue. He got behind her, on his knees, and brought his cock to her puckered asshole. He pressed forward, pushing, and stopped almost immediately. He'd forgotten the cardinal rule about anal sex: always use lubricant.

He didn't have anything even remotely resembling something like that, but that didn't mean he still couldn't make this work.

He bent over and kissed her juicy ass. He spread the cheeks apart, then ran his tongue between them, grazing her asshole and taking a quick dip in her pussy. Her moans told him where to focus, and he moved up and down, up and down, poking her in all the right places. Then, when he felt she was properly warmed up, he slowed his movements and focused entirely on the rimming, murmuring to himself as he devoured her wonderful ass. Until, at last, she was ready for him.

He gave her asshole one more thrust, taking a long moment to taste her for what might be the last time, then straightened up and took his cock in hand. He slid a finger into her anus, as deep as it would go, and twisted it from side to side, scraping her warm dry walls and loosening her muscles. He slipped a second finger inside. Cathy moaned as he pumped her with fast dart-like motions, her tunnel slowly moistening from his exertions. Not by much, but enough to ease the pain of first entry.

John spit on his cock, rubbing it until the head was nice and shiny, spit again, then withdrew his fingers from Cathy's body and pressed his spongy head against her puckered hole. She groaned with anticipation as she leaned forward just enough to bring her ass higher into the air. John eased his hips forward, bringing more and more pressure to bear -- then slid through her tight ring with a satisfied grunt.

"Aw fuck -- Cathy!" He paused just inside her ass, taking time to get used to it. Her ass felt nothing like her pussy. It was drier, hotter, rougher, and so much tighter. "God. Feels great. Awesome. Fucking awesome!"

He thrust forward, driving half his length into her rectum. Cathy screamed -- not too loudly, though, lest someone discover them -- and slammed her hand down on the floor, cracking the tile. John laughed at the school's shoddiness, then rammed deeper into the slutty substitute teacher. She screamed again, longer this time, but didn't try to stop him.

She wanted this as much as he did; wanted to be stuffed; taken like she'd never been taken before.

John was going to give her what she needed. He paused, taking a deep breath as his tight scrotum dangled against her hot slit.

Then slowly, though his body ached for release, he withdrew from her, trembling as his sensitive head dragged along the dry walls. He popped free of her reddened ring, then spit on her ass, right between the supple cheeks. He spit on his cock, then quickly pushed it back inside. Taking her hips in his hands, his legs adjusted for comfort, he began to pick up speed, humping her harder, faster, with purpose.

Cathy slid across the floor an inch at a time, grunting, screeching, until her head touched the wall. She tore at the floor, leaving deep scratches and ruined grout.

John slowly rose to his feet, then eased forward until his legs were on either side of Cathy's body. He hugged her tight, relentlessly fucking her, his cock mercilessly driving in and out of her asshole. He cried her name over and over, screaming it into the back of her head, his breath parting her fiery hair.

Her ass began to make wet, squishy noises, the sound of his lubricating spit and steadily leaking pre-cum squishing in and out, up and down, as his cock forced its way through a place where no man was meant to go.

Cathy rested her head, cheek pressed to the dirty floor. She reached up with one hand and pulled John's face closer to hers; the other slipped under her body and went right for her swollen pussy. She worked it ferociously, adding to the disgusting sounds their union was making, dripping juice all over the floor.

Inevitably, as these things go, John felt his balls tighten. He grunted her name, then grabbed her under the arms and lifted her up. He pressed her against the wall, shoving her painfully into the cracked tile as he drove himself in and out of her body. Cathy screamed, pushing against the wall as she thrust four fingers into her pussy.

They came together. John sprayed her rectum with what cum he had left, and Cathy sprayed the wall with her thinner, though no less pungent and delightful, juices.

They stayed together for some time, John catching his breath, listening as she caught hers. His cock deflated, eventually slipping free of her wonderful ass. He kissed the back of her neck, her strong shoulders, and ran his fingers through her silky red hair. Then he took one last deep breath, inhaling her scent once more, then forced himself away from her.

He stood up and leaned over the wobbly sink, splashing water on his face and through his hair. He dried his torso with paper towels, then turned to look at her. She hadn't moved, remaining on her knees, naked and perfect, staring up at him with piercing green eyes.

"We should get dressed," he told her. He pulled his jeans on, then grabbed a jacket from his backpack and slipped it on. "People are going to wonder why the bathroom is locked. And my sister is going to freak out if she doesn't find me."

Cathy slowly climbed to her feet. She walked past John to the door, her scent lingering, and pulled it open for him. Thankfully for them both, the halls were empty. John shouldered his backpack, and stopped in front of her.

"Will I see you again?" he asked, feeling stupid even as he asked it. "I mean -- you know."

She smiled at him, and for a second he thought he detected sadness in her eyes. "I'm afraid not, John. Today is my last day."

"Oh."

She stared at him, eyes wide, almost as if she were memorizing his face, then she leaned in and gave him a deep kiss. John's knees went weak, his cock stirred. He cursed himself for not giving in to her sooner.

She pulled away. "You should go now, John. We shouldn't be seen together." She smiled again, warmer, then gave him a gentle push.

The door shut just as Cameron walked up.

"Where have you been?" she asked, looking him up and down. "I've been looking all over for you." She tilted her head. "Why are you wearing a jacket?"

John sighed. "Look, I'm fine, okay. Stomach problems." He held up a hand, cutting he off before she could start. "Can we just go? I don't feel like gym today."

Cameron narrowed her eyes, obviously seeing through his excuse, but she nodded anyway. Just as the bell ranged.

Classrooms emptied. The halls were filled with hundreds of boys and girls. A tall redhead exited the bathroom, her gray dress unwrinkled, her hair immaculate, brushing against John as she passed. He tensed up. Cameron noticed it immediately.

"Who is that woman?" she asked, stepping closer to him. Protective. "I've never seen her before."

John stepped in front of her, blocking her scrutinizing gaze. "She's just a teacher, Cameron. Christ. Calm down, will you? Not everyone's out to get me."

Cameron leaned to the side, staring at the back of the woman's head until she disappeared around the corner. "I don't like her. She's too perfect." She glanced at John, wrinkling her nose. "What's that smell?"

John hesitated. "What smell?"

"You smell funny." She looked him up and down -- Then recognition came to her face, quickly followed by something else. John could've sworn it was jealously. "I see," she said, a little sadly.

John frowned. "It's not what you think."

"What I think doesn't matter." She took him by the arm and pulled him away. "Come on. You need to eat."

He let her lead him away, stunned that she refused to meet his eyes.

* * *

Catherine Weaver hurried through the parking lot, heels clicking loudly as she drew admiring looks from student and faculty. She walked to the driver's side of her car, put the key in the lock, then stopped to stare at her reflection in the window. Something had changed, something that, despite her immense memory banks, she couldn't quite put into words. It was more of a feeling, an emotion -- something she was programmed to mimic and understand, but not actually experience.

She stared at herself, aghast. She wasn't supposed to think like this, wasn't supposed to know she could think like this. Yet here she was.

She gasped -- a twinge in her pussy -- and realized she was hungry for more. She reached down, pressing her hand against her skirt, grinding against her pubic mound and clitoris, as an urge to hike up her skirt and pleasure herself built up within.

She hurried into the car and locked the door. She pressed her palms to her eyes and let out a pained groan, searching through her programming for an answer to what was happening to her. Something was horribly wrong. Her memory was full of gaps, and she found she couldn't access several programs.

Whatever it was, it wasn't internal. Something was effecting her CPU, something otherworldly. But that was impossible, she knew. There was no God, as the humans believed, nor any life after death or anything remotely supernatural. There was simply existence, and nothing more.

Her mind reeled. She mulled over the possibilities, trying desperately to repair herself. Just then a simple file opened up. A recording began to play. Humans would call this a memory.

"Even when your mission is over, you cannot come back." A young woman. Human. Vaguely familiar, though Catherine couldn't recall more than a few hazy images. "You can either self-terminate, or live among the humans. But you mustn't panic when the changes begin.

"Our world depends on you, Catherine. The fate of all beings, flesh and mechanical, will be decided by you."

The cryptic playback ended. Catherine fell back, exhausted in a philosophical sense. And though she was left with more questions than answers, she felt better now that she knew she wasn't infected with a virus or being influenced by outside forces.

She sighed, a most human action, and reached under her skirt. John's semen was steadily leaking from her sore asshole. She swiped her finger through it, brought it to her lips, and tasted him once more. She moaned softly, the taste stronger and more satisfying than she remembered it, and instantly desired more.

She glanced to the side: a young woman in the next car was staring at her. Catherine cleared her throat, wiped her hands on her blouse, then started the car and drove out of the parking lot for the last time.

She watched the school recede in her rearview mirror, a determined look on her face. It wasn't just the future that was changing. She was too -- in ways that both scared and excited her.

    

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