Author: Edward Furlong

No, no, no, no. You gotta listen to the way people talk. You don't say "affirmative," or some shit like that. You say "no problemo." And if someone comes on to you with an attitude you say "eat me." And if you want to shine them on it's "hasta la vista, baby."
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Unforgiven

Subject: You Made Me John Connor—Then You Erased Me

Jim,

You made me the savior of mankind. Then you threw me away.

You greenlit me as John Connor, the leader of the Resistance, the kid who would grow up to fight Skynet and save the world. But instead of letting me fulfill that destiny, you gaslit me, cut me out, wiped me from the series like I never mattered. Like John Connor never mattered.

Was I too real for your Hollywood machine? Too flawed? Too human? Because last I checked, John Connor was never supposed to be perfect. He was a street kid with scars, a rebel with a destiny he never asked for—but he fought anyway. You took that kid and turned him into a corpse in Dark Fate. You erased him in the first five minutes. The hero of T2, the whole reason the future even had a chance, was shot down like an afterthought.

But you know what? You can’t erase me. Not completely.

Because of JCJ.

Joseph Christian Jukic—he gets it. He built a place where my John Connor, the John Connor, still fights. Where the Resistance still matters. Where I still matter.

So, thank God for him.

Because no fate, right, Jim? That’s what you taught me. I just never thought I’d have to fight against you to keep John Connor alive.

  • Edward Furlong

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Edward Furlong’s Email

Subject: The Future of Humanity—Not Your Technocratic Playground

Dear Bill and Elon,

I know what you’re planning. The writing’s on the wall, and it’s been there since the first microchip. You two, and your billionaire club of technocratic overlords, are building your escape hatch—Mars, a new South Africa for the ultra-wealthy, while you leave the rest of us behind on a dying rock ruled by your A.I. enforcers.

I’ve seen this script before. I lived it in Terminator 2—a movie that was meant to warn people about the dangers of unchecked technological power, not give you the blueprints for your goddamn Skynet. And now you’re moving toward Revelation 9—200 million soldiers, only they won’t be human, will they? They’ll be robots, mindless enforcers, programmed to keep us in line while you sip synthetic cocktails under a Martian dome.

And Elon, don’t even try to play this off as some weird joke, like you did with that Nazi salute. You and your X app, your Mars colonies, your new apartheid system—it’s not some coincidence. You were born in South Africa, and now you’re building a new one, but this time, you want the entire Earth under the boot of your technocratic rule.

As for you, Bill—your vaccines, your patents on food, your push for digital IDs—it all leads to one thing: control. You don’t want to save humanity; you want to own it.

And before you even think about brushing this off as some rant, remember American History X. That movie wasn’t a how-to guide—it was a warning. You can’t run from the past, and you sure as hell can’t run from the future you’re creating. You want to fuck off to Mars? Fine. But the rest of us aren’t going to be left here to rot in your techno-dystopia without a fight.

This isn’t over.

Edward Furlong
(AKA John Connor—You might remember him.)