"If it's messy, you're doing it wrong," the T-1000 insisted, pulling Zack to his feet. His kills had always been as clean as the circumstances allowed. The T-800 was the messy one. "But I think it's bad, killing. And against the law." He still hadn't quite grasped what was bad about it – it seemed entirely perspective-based - but humans were generally pretty stern about it.

His gaze flickered to the stapler, "You make do with what you've got." He couldn't produce weapons out of his body anymore, so he took whatever the environment provided. "And if you're talking about fighting in native states, you probably wouldn't have stood a chance." Maybe Zack had possessed super-human powers before, but the T-1000 doubted it equated to what he had been. "I was liquid metal."