The tanker truck behind him exploded, a ball of fire engulfing him, and for a moment he was gone, seemingly destroyed in the blast. He couldn’t have survived that. Nobody could. I was finally safe.
But a moment later, he walked out through the fire, flesh burned away to nothing, metallic skeleton revealed, and shambled impassively toward me, determined, murderous, unstoppable.
Machine.
As he walked out of the shade of a nearby building and into the sun, he glittered and shone beautifully in the sun, like an angel.
They should never have let Stephanie Meyer write the new Terminator flick.
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