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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Elon Musk the Savior of Humanity

INT. TESLA GIGAFACTORY – NIGHT

The cavernous factory hums with robotic arms assembling electric vehicles. A lone figure moves through the dimly lit space—SARAH CONNOR. Her boots echo against the polished floor. She stops in front of a workstation where ELON MUSK, clad in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, inspects a prototype AI humanoid.

SARAH CONNOR

(arms crossed, voice sharp)
So, you’re the new savior of humanity now?

ELON MUSK

(grinning, not looking up from his work)
Hardly. Just trying to push the species forward before we wipe ourselves out.

SARAH CONNOR

Push forward? You sound just like them. The men in suits, in bunkers, who thought they were so damn creative when they built the hydrogen bomb. The ones who sat in air-conditioned rooms and calculated megadeaths like they were running a damn spreadsheet.

(leans in, voice thick with disgust)
You think you’re different because your bomb runs on algorithms instead of plutonium?

ELON MUSK

(scoffs, finally looking at her)
Sarah, I’m not building bombs. I’m building solutions. Energy, space travel, AI—

SARAH CONNOR

(interrupting, fury rising)
You don’t get it, do you? You don’t know what it means to truly create. To create life. To feel it growing inside you, knowing the world outside is designed to take it away.

(steps forward, jabbing a finger at his chest)
You think innovation is about making things “better”? Better for who? For the billionaires? For the elites who play God while the rest of us get crushed under their progress?

ELON MUSK

(calm, but firm)
I get it. I really do. The fear. The paranoia. You’ve seen the worst of what humans can do. But Sarah, if we don’t innovate, we stagnate. If we stagnate, we die.

SARAH CONNOR

(sarcastic laugh)
Die? That’s rich coming from a guy trying to upload his consciousness into a computer so he never has to.

ELON MUSK

Look, I agree AI is dangerous. I’ve warned about it for years. But shutting it down isn’t the answer. We have to guide it, control it—

SARAH CONNOR

(laughs bitterly)
Control it? Just like they controlled nukes, right? Just like they controlled Skynet?

(steps back, shaking her head)
I’ve seen where your road leads, Elon. I’ve seen the ashes. I’ve walked through the ruins of a world built by men who thought they were making it “better.” And I’ll be damned if I let that happen again.

ELON MUSK

(softens, voice almost pleading)
Then help me. You don’t have to fight alone. We can build something different, something that doesn’t end in fire and metal skulls.

SARAH CONNOR

(eyes narrowing, considering him)
The only way to win is to stop playing their game.

(turns to leave, then pauses, looking back at him one last time)
And if you ever build something you can’t control… pray I don’t come back.

She walks off into the darkness. The hum of the factory continues, but Elon Musk stands still, staring after her, deep in thought.

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Mad World

Sarah Connor’s Plea: “I Am Not Insane!”

A lone spotlight flickers in the dimly lit bunker. The air is thick with dust, the walls covered in blueprints of robotic police forces, AI surveillance grids, and private space colonies for the elite. Sarah Connor grips the edges of a rusted podium, her face lined with battle scars, her voice trembling with rage.

The camera feed is shaky, broadcasting her message to anyone still listening, to anyone who still had a shred of fight left in them.

Sarah Connor: (panting, desperate)
“I am not insane! Don’t you see what’s happening?! This is madness! Pure, calculated, systematic madness!”

She slams her fist onto the podium. Papers scatter. The Resistance soldiers in the room exchange worried glances, but no one dares to interrupt her.

Sarah Connor: (voice rising, eyes burning with fury)
“You think Skynet was a nightmare? Look around you! The big tech oligarchs—the real machine overlords—are building their robot police right here, right now! Not to protect you. Not to serve you. To control you. To keep the proles in line while they fuck off to Mars!”

She pulls a classified dossier from the table, flipping it open to reveal images of AI-driven riot cops, facial recognition towers, and autonomous attack drones.

Sarah Connor: (pointing to the images)
“This isn’t science fiction! This isn’t some conspiracy theory! These machines—these cold, unfeeling enforcers of their new world order—are already here! Marching through our streets, tracking us, herding us like cattle!”

The feed glitches, briefly flashing a corporate logo—the mark of one of the Silicon Valley elites funding the robotic police force. The screen distorts, but Sarah doesn’t stop.

Sarah Connor: (breathing heavily, voice raw with emotion)
“They aren’t even hiding it anymore. The rich have their exit plans. Underground bunkers, orbital stations, entire cities being built on Mars. And what do they leave for us? Servitude. Surveillance. And slaughter.“

She wipes the sweat from her forehead, her eyes flickering between the camera and the soldiers watching her.

Sarah Connor: (gritted teeth)
“You all called me crazy. You locked me up. You drugged me. You said I was paranoid. But I was right. And now, the question is—what the hell are we gonna do about it?!”

Silence.

Then, from the back of the room, a voice rises.

John Connor: (calm, steady)
“We fight.”

A murmur spreads through the crowd. The soldiers nod. The time for warnings is over. The time for war has begun.

The camera feed cuts to black.

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Fight Fire With Fire

Sarah Connor: Fight Fire with Fire

The night air was thick with the scent of gasoline and desperation. Sarah Connor sat alone in an abandoned gas station, her back against the cold steel of a rusted-out payphone. The boom of Metallica’s Fight Fire with Fire rattled through her earpiece, the song’s frantic opening—soft, deceptive, like the calm before a nuclear blast—building into an explosion of rage.

“Do unto others as they’ve done to you…”

She closed her eyes.

They called her crazy. A paranoid lunatic. A delusional woman obsessed with a future that no one else could see.

But she wasn’t crazy.

She wasn’t bipolar.

She wasn’t delusional.

She was a concerned, vigilant citizen.

The government had a file on her. She knew that much. The shrinks tried to medicate her, the cops tried to silence her, and the media called her a doomsday prophet. But none of them had seen what she had seen.

None of them had looked into the cold, dead eyes of a Terminator and lived.

“You may not share my belief, but you will share my fate,” she muttered under her breath, gripping the pistol in her lap.

The song raged on.

“Fight fire with fire… ending is near…”

Sarah exhaled. No. Not if she could help it.

She checked her watch. If her intel was right, a Skynet operative was scheduled to pass through this gas station in twenty minutes. A tech developer, unknowingly working for the machine. One step closer to Judgment Day.

They’d say she was hunting ghosts. That she was chasing shadows.

Let them talk.

She wasn’t waiting for the apocalypse.

She was here to stop it.

Sarah Connor cocked the gun, Metallica’s furious riffs fueling her resolve. The world thought she was crazy?

Good.

Because crazy people were the only ones willing to do what needed to be done.