Terminator 3: Hunt

	He fetched to a stop against the counter from which he’d taken the RPGs. He rose and casually ripped the countertop from its mountings, then held it before him like a Formica shield.
	It was a laughable defense, of course. It might give him a second of extra time as she tore her way through it en route to him. But he was fighting to delay—and every second was a second.
	She did not invoke her plasma weapon. She wanted to take him more or less intact, to reprogram him.
	That was good. It would give him extra time as she battered him into helplessness. He activated his self-destruct mechanism on a sixty-second sequence. If he survived, with mental faculties intact, he could turn it off again in fifty-nine seconds.
	The T-X smashed his countertop to splinters with her first blow.