He had his fair share of watching people kill cyborgs and robots. Hell, he had his own fair share of killing them himself - but something seemed a little different about this one. She seemed oddly familiar, though it might just be the fact that this was the first truly attractive woman he had seen in a while. His thoughts had glossed over that possibility until he was proverbially slapped in the face with a single thought. His one and only. His fiancee, hell, maybe even his wife, it had been so long...

"Wait!" He shouted, walking with a purpose towards the man with the pistol. "Harold, put it down." 
"What's stopping me?!" The man had replied, taking the safety off and pulling back the hammer of his pistol. 
"Trust me, okay? Just-just trust me. Don't kill this one. We...We can use it!" He was desperate to keep her alive. "Trust me, Harold! Like you've done all those times when we were on our fuckin' runs."
"Oh my god, John, don't give me that bullshit."
"Weren't you gonna be the best man at our wedding?"
"The hell do you mean [i]'Our?'[/i]" John motioned to the woman. Harold remained silent, as the rage boiled just underneath his skin. "...You're fucking serious, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"John, she doesn't even remember you!"
"I'll MAKE her remember, god dammit!" 
"Jesus fuckin' christ, John..." Harold's pistol had found itself pressed against her temple.
"You kill her, you kill me." John muttered. "Go ahead. Pull the trigger and then pull it again on me."
"John, come on, you're not gonna do this."
"Yes, I am!" John had glanced over to the young woman more than a few times during their argument, which seemed to go on for an eternity. His heart was pounding out of control as a flurry of emotions washed over him. Finally, he was re-united with his sweetheart again, but there was a gun pressed against her head, and she was not longer human...Very well, he thought to himself. Doesn't matter if she isn't human. I love her. When he had come back down the real world, Harold had holstered his pistol.
"Fine," Harold said. "You win. Put 'er in the cell."
"Great!" John coughed. "I mean...Alright. Thanks, Harold."
"You fuckin' owe me now, you realize this, right?"
"I'll reward you with research." He picked Castille up off of the floor, and carried her to an area filled with make-shift holding cells. The air was cold and damp, and the goosebumps on John's arms became more and more apparent the longer he was in there. "Listen, Cas..." he began. "I just saved your ass back there, now you're going to have to co-operate with me, okay? People wanna know more about your kind so we can put an end to this war, and you're our ace in the hole." He opened the door to a cell in the back, and placed her gingerly on the floor. "I don't know how you became...One of [i]these[/i], and I won't ask, but...You're our best shot at winning this war. Have you got any objections?"