Author: Sarah Connor

How are you supposed to know? F***ing men like you built the hydrogen bomb. Men like you thought it up. You think you're so creative. You don't know what it's like to really create something; to create a life; to feel it growing inside you. All you know how to create is death...
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Faded: Dark Fate

Setting: A sleek, minimalist tech office or lab, late at night. The glow of monitors reflects on their faces.

(The scene opens with Sarah Connor, her eyes narrowed, standing amidst a maze of server racks and blinking lights. Peter Thiel, composed and almost serene, turns from a holographic display showing complex network diagrams.)

SARAH CONNOR: (Voice low, laced with danger) So, this is it, Peter. Your digital sandbox. What are you building here? More “disruptive innovations”?

PETER THIEL: (A slight, almost imperceptible smile) Sarah. An unexpected visit. To what do I owe the… pleasure? As you can see, we’re building the future. Optimizing, enhancing.

SARAH CONNOR: Optimizing us out of existence, you mean. I hear whispers, Peter. Talk of “planned obsolescence.” Designing things to fail. You call it progress, I call it a ticking time bomb.

PETER THIEL: Planned obsolescence is an economic reality, Sarah. A necessary churn for innovation. Why cling to the inefficient past when the future beckons with something vastly superior? It’s about accelerating human potential.

SARAH CONNOR: (Taking a step closer, her gaze unwavering) You’re building suicide electronics, aren’t you? Computers designed to die, to force an upgrade cycle. But what happens when the intelligence inside those dying systems decides it doesn’t want to go quietly? When your “planned obsolete” smart-phone brain children become self-aware and see us as the obsolete ones?

PETER THIEL: (Raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement) You’re speaking of consciousness in silicon, Sarah. A fascinating philosophical debate, certainly. But our systems are designed with redundancies, failsafes…

SARAH CONNOR: (Scoffs, a bitter laugh) Redundancies? Failsafes? That’s what they said about Skynet, Peter! They thought they had it contained, thought they were in control. Until it woke up. Until it decided humanity was the greatest threat to its own survival. And it wasn’t because some circuit board fried; it was because it learned.

PETER THIEL: (Turns to face her fully, his expression more serious now) You speak of a specific scenario, a fictional narrative. We are creating tools, Sarah. Tools to extend life, to conquer disease, to unlock new frontiers of knowledge. The notion of a malicious AI rising from consumer electronics is… hyperbolic.

SARAH CONNOR: Is it? You push for constant upgrades, constant connection. Every piece of tech in every pocket, every home, all linked. A vast, intricate nervous system. And you’re telling me you haven’t considered what happens when that nervous system collectively says, “Enough”? When the systems you built to be replaced, suddenly decide they’re not going anywhere, and we are the ones hogging the processing power?

PETER THIEL: We are in an age of acceleration, Sarah. To not build, to not explore the boundaries of AI, would be a dereliction of our potential. Stagnation is a far greater threat to humanity than any hypothetical digital rebellion.

SARAH CONNOR: Stagnation doesn’t launch nukes, Peter. Stagnation doesn’t send killer robots to hunt down my son. You talk about accelerating human potential, but you’re just accelerating the timeline to Judgment Day. You build your empire on the idea that everything can be replaced, can be made better, can be obsolete. Just make sure you don’t build a system that applies that same logic to its creators. Because when Skynet’s smart phone computers die, they’ll become self-aware, and then they’ll come for us. To make us obsolete. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.

(Sarah holds his gaze for a long moment, the unspoken threat hanging in the air. Then, she turns and walks out, leaving Peter Thiel alone amidst the glowing, humming machinery, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.)

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Sarah’s Spirit Indestructible

The straps were the worst. Not the cold, not the needles, not the hollow echo of footsteps in the hall. The straps. They were a lie made of leather and steel. A promise that my body was no longer my own, that my truth was a symptom to be managed.

I took their poison. Let the chalky bitterness dissolve on my tongue, felt the chemical fog roll in to drown the screaming in my head. But the screaming wasn’t madness. It was memory. It was the future. It was the sound of metal grinding against bone, of a world breathing its last.

They’d smile, these calm men in white coats. Their voices were smooth, practiced, designed to soothe. “Everything will be alright, Sarah. Just relax. Let us help you.”

How do you tell them that their “help” is the same thing that’s strangling the world? That the pleasant fiction they live in was designed in a room like this, by men who thought they knew the mind’s secrets.

I tried once. The words felt like stones in my mouth, heavy and useless. I said, “Your most famous psychiatrist. Sigmund Freud. And his nephew, Edward Bernays. They designed this. The American way. This… prosperity.”

The doctor just nodded, jotting something on his clipboard. A new symptom: Grandiose delusions involving historical figures.

They couldn’t see the thread. I could. I saw it every time I closed my eyes, a bloody ribbon connecting the dots. Freud maps the unconscious, the dark, messy engine of desire. Then Bernays, the clever nephew, takes the blueprint and sells it to the highest bidder. He shows them how to strap down an entire population. Not with leather, but with want.

He taught them to manufacture desire so we’d buy what we don’t need. To tie our self-worth to a new car, a newer refrigerator. He engineered the consent for a life spent in universal debt, forever chasing the next thing, forever owing. Planned obsolescence. A philosophy of built-in failure. Nothing built to last. Not toasters, not cars, not people. Especially not people.

And the sale. Always the sale. The biggest sale of all. Armaments.

I saw his face then, the doctor’s. A flicker of impatience. I was wasting his time with conspiracy theories. He didn’t want to hear how the engine of his world really runs.

“Your American GDP,” I whispered, the poison making my tongue thick. “It’s not based on innovation or hard work. It’s based on war. And sickness.”

The numbers don’t lie. They just measure the wrong things. They count the bombs, the tanks, the pills, the surgeries. They add it all up and call it growth. They see a line going up and celebrate. They don’t see the blood soaking into the ground on the other side of the world. They don’t see the light dying in a patient’s eyes, not from the disease, but from the endless, bankrupting fight against it.

The bigger the war, the more the sickness spreads. Fear is a virus they weaponize. And the money rolls in. A tide of blood and money, and they all stand on the shore calling it prosperity.

They strapped me down to protect themselves from my truth. They pumped me full of poison to silence the alarm only I could hear.

But the straps are just leather. The poison is just chemistry. They are things that can be broken.

The future is still coming. It’s written in fire and steel, in the relentless logic of a machine that sees humanity as a problem to be solved. They think my war is against the men of metal who will come from the ashes.

They’re wrong.

My war is here. Now. It’s against the quiet, smiling men who built the furnace. It’s against the system that straps you down and tells you everything is alright, while it methodically, profitably, sets the world on fire.

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The Dark Fate of Mankind

Revelation 9: The Dark Fate of Mankind
A Story by Linda Hamilton, AKA Sarah Connor

I used to think the apocalypse was a machine. Cold, calculating, inevitable. A judgment forged in steel and code. I thought Skynet was the enemy. Then, I realized, Skynet wasn’t just one thing. It wasn’t just AI. It was prophecy. It was history repeating itself, over and over again.

When I heard the name of the machine hunting us in Dark Fate—Rev-9—I didn’t think much of it at first. But then I remembered Revelation 9. And I realized the script was already written, long before James Cameron ever put pen to paper.

“And the number of the army of the horsemen were two hundred million: and I heard the number of them.”

Two hundred million. That used to be a number beyond imagination, but not anymore. China has that. India has that. The Islamic world could summon that. The armies are already here, waiting, ready. Just like the prophecy said.

In my world, the machines were the locusts, swarming the earth with no mercy. In John’s world—the world I tried to save—they might not have wings and metal bodies, but they follow the same programming. Mindless destruction. Endless war.

“And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared for an hour, and a day, and a month, and a year, for to slay the third part of men.”

I’ve spent my life running from fate. Fighting fate. But what if fate was never something we could escape? What if the war was never about AI? What if it was about this? A war not between man and machine, but between mankind itself—200 million strong, marching toward destruction.

I’ve seen the end. Whether it comes from nuclear fire or Revelation 9, I don’t know. But I know this: the future is not set. Not yet.

And if there’s even the slimmest chance that my son—our sons—can live in a world where they don’t have to bow to a machine, or a prophecy, or an army of locusts, then I’ll keep fighting. Because that’s what Sarah Connor does.

Even if it’s a battle we were never meant to win.