Arnold at the United Nations

At the United Nations, Arnold takes the podium a second time, his voice booming with the mix of urgency and charisma only he can deliver. The chamber is hushed—world leaders, ambassadors, and scientists lean forward, sensing something historic.


Arnold’s Second UN Speech

“Excellencies, brothers and sisters of Earth,

Last time I stood here, I told you that our greatest enemy is not each other, but the fear and weapons we point at one another. Today, I come with a vision, and this vision is bigger than any one nation.

For decades, we have built thousands of nuclear missiles—not for exploration, not for creation, but for destruction. They sit in silos, pointed at shadows of enemies, waiting to burn our world. This is madness. But listen to me now: we can turn this madness into greatness.

I propose that we dismantle these missiles—not to throw them away, but to transform them. Their titanium, their alloys, their engines—these can become the bones and muscles of something far greater: a starship. Not a ship of war, but a ship of peace. A vessel built by all nations together, to leave Earth not in conquest, but in unity.

Our destination: Alpha Centauri, our nearest star system. It is 4.37 light-years away. For the first time in history, humanity will not just look at the stars, but reach for them.

And this ship must be powerful, resilient, and visionary. We will give it multiple forms of propulsion. Nuclear thermal engines, plasma drives, ion propulsion—but also, a solar sail: a great mirror spanning kilometers, catching the light of our Sun like a wind in the cosmic sea. This sail will push us, slowly at first, but steadily, with the power of the universe itself.

Imagine it: what was once a warhead, meant to destroy cities, now becomes part of a great silver sail, catching starlight. What was once meant to split atoms in rage, now carries us forward in hope.

I am not naïve. This mission will take decades, perhaps generations. But listen carefully—when nations build weapons, they do so with infinite budgets, urgency, and secrecy. Let us apply that same urgency to peace. To exploration. To survival.

We can be remembered as the first species to escape its cradle, not the last species to die in it.

So I say to you, leaders of Earth: Come with me if you want to live. Not just live, but thrive. Let us build this ship together. Let us sail to Alpha Centauri. Let us unite not in fear, but in destiny.

Thank you.”


The chamber erupts in applause—some stunned, some skeptical, some inspired. But Arnold has planted the vision: humanity’s nukes reforged into the wings of a starship.

The Small Hours

Arnold Schwarzenegger, sitting with a rare moment of reflection, taps his fingers on the table. His mind drifts back to the T-800, the character that made him iconic. He thinks of the neural net processor, the “brain” of the Terminator—a marvel of artificial intelligence, designed to learn, adapt, and calculate at speeds no human brain could match. But today, Arnold’s thoughts are drifting in a new direction.

“Yeah, I’ve been part of those futuristic models, right?” he begins, his voice steady, as if musing aloud to himself. “The T-800 had its neural net processor, a brain chip that allowed it to make decisions in real-time, to process data faster than any human could. But there’s something even more powerful out there… something even more advanced than the machines we’ve built.”

He leans back, looking off into the distance. “DNA computing. It’s the next frontier. Think about it—one gram of DNA can hold 250 million gigabytes of information. That’s like a storage system that can fit the entire world’s data into a single cell. It’s mind-boggling.”

Arnold’s face softens, a hint of curiosity creeping in. “Maybe it’s time we stop thinking of humans as obsolete designs. Maybe we’re not as outdated as we think. We’re made of this incredible genetic code that can store, process, and adapt just like any computer—only it’s more efficient. We don’t need to upload ourselves into a machine or enhance our bodies with metal and chips. We’ve got the most powerful computer system already built into us: our own DNA.”

He pauses, as though mulling over the deeper implications of this revelation. “For years, people talked about how machines would make humans obsolete, how artificial intelligence would surpass human intelligence. But if we really dig into it, maybe the human design is more complex, more powerful than we ever realized. Maybe the future isn’t about replacing us with machines—it’s about unlocking the full potential of what we already are.”

Arnold’s gaze hardens with conviction. “I’ve always believed in human strength, in the ability to push beyond limitations. And now, I think that strength might lie in our biology, in our natural capacity to adapt, evolve, and transcend the designs we’ve made for ourselves.”

He smirks slightly, as if reassured by the thought. “Maybe it’s time to rethink the whole machine versus man thing. Perhaps humanity’s greatest potential isn’t about fighting against technology… It’s about embracing it with us.”

The Passing of the Torch

Arnold Schwarzenegger Passes the Last Action Hero Torch to Jelly at the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics

The 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics were in full swing, a spectacle of ice, fire, and international unity. But behind the scenes, a different kind of torch was being passed—not the Olympic flame, but the torch of action cinema itself.

Arnold Schwarzenegger stood in a VIP lounge overlooking the Olympic cauldron, dressed in a crisp black suit, a cigar in hand. He had seen many legends rise and fall in Hollywood, but now, he was looking for something different. The future of action films needed fresh faces, a new breed of hero. And he had his eye on two unlikely candidates: Joe Jukic and Nelly Furtado—better known as Jelly.

As they entered the lounge, Arnold turned to greet them with his signature smirk.

“Ah, there they are—Canada’s finest,” he said, extending a hand. “Welcome, Jelly.”

Joe grinned as he shook Arnold’s hand. “We heard you were looking for the next Last Action Heroes.

Nelly raised an eyebrow. “Or is this about Terminator?”

Arnold chuckled. “A little of both. You see, I am always thinking ahead. A franchise like Terminator needs a new John Connor… a new Katherine Brewster. And not just actors—we need warriors, people who understand the real fight ahead.”

Joe leaned in, intrigued. “You mean AI?”

Arnold nodded, his expression turning serious. “The machines are getting smarter, Joe. I don’t have to tell you that. But this is not just about making another movie—it’s about sending a message. People need heroes who fight for something real. And you and Nelly? You have that fire. You don’t just act—you believe.

Nelly smirked. “So, you’re saying we’re the resistance?”

Arnold took a puff of his cigar and exhaled. “I am saying I see something in you both. Something I saw in the young Linda Hamilton, in the young Edward Furlong… but also something new. You understand the people—not just the Hollywood machine.”

Joe crossed his arms. “But why now? Why us?”

Arnold’s smirk returned. “Because timing is everything. You think I named my pet pig Schnelly for no reason?”

Nelly burst out laughing. “Wait—your pet pig is named Schnelly?”

Arnold nodded proudly. “Yes! Schnelly, as in Schwarzenegger + Jelly. A sign of destiny. When I was Governor of California, I knew I needed to find the next generation before it was too late. So, I trained Schnelly—and now, I train you.”

Joe shook his head, laughing. “I can’t believe we’re being recruited by the Terminator himself… because of a pig.”

Arnold patted Joe’s shoulder. “Destiny comes in many forms, my friend. And if you accept, the future of action cinema—and maybe even the resistance—will rest in your hands.”

Nelly and Joe exchanged glances. This was no ordinary Hollywood pitch.

“You in?” Arnold asked.

Jelly grinned.

“Hasta la vista, baby,” Joe said.

“We’re in,” Nelly added.

And just like that, the torch was passed.