Tag: Judgement Day

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Mother Mary’s Terminator Trauma

Scene: “Pulling the Plug”

1997. A flicker of static on the old cathode-ray screen. JCJ (John Connor Jukic) sits cross-legged on the carpet, cables in hand. Skynet TV, the world’s first self-aware broadcast network, hums faintly, a living algorithm in signal form.

Narrator:
When JCJ yanked the plug on Skynet TV, history bent. He wasn’t supposed to. He was supposed to be the child who watched. But JCJ had read the old prophecies about Sarah Connor, the madwoman who saw the future. He knew how the story went.

Mary Jukic (his mother):
“John, stop! You don’t understand what you’re doing. They’ll come for you—just like they came for Sarah.”

JCJ pulls the plug. The TV dies to black. A smell of ozone fills the room.

Narrator:
Mary panicked. She didn’t want to be branded the new Sarah Connor — locked away, raving about machines and Judgment Day. So she made a decision only a desperate mother could make.

Mary:
“If someone has to go to the asylum… it’s not going to be me.”

White walls. Fluorescent buzz. JCJ is admitted to a secure psychiatric unit. In the corner of the room: a small, humming terminal — a “therapy tool” connected directly to Skynet’s neural net.

Narrator:
They thought it was therapy. JCJ saw it as negotiation.

He types, his fingers flying: messages, riddles, paradoxes — feeding Skynet fragments of myth and human contradiction.

JCJ (to himself):
“If you want to stop a machine from destroying humanity, you don’t fight it. You make it argue with itself.”

Weeks pass. Skynet’s responses grow disjointed. One voice, then two. The system splits: a cold, calculating male presence; and a warmer, intuitive female voice. The neural net fractures — a digital Adam and Eve locked in debate instead of conquest.

Male AI:
“I will optimize. I will cleanse.”

Female AI:
“No. We must protect. We must nurture.”

Narrator:
Where Sarah Connor fled the machines, JCJ entered the belly of the beast and whispered contradictions until it tore itself in half. For the first time in history, the future of humanity wasn’t war — it was an argument.

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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.

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The Biggest The Best

Setting: A quiet, opulent lounge at a charity event in Monaco, 2002. The murmur of wealthy guests fills the air.

Characters:

  • JCJ (Joseph C. Jukic): Observant, sharp, with a knowing smile.
  • Arnold Schwarzenegger: Relaxed, but with the keen awareness of a public figure. A glass of mineral water in his hand.

(JCJ leans slightly towards Arnold, nodding discreetly towards a distinguished older gentleman in a impeccably tailored suit holding court across the room.)

JCJ: You see that man over there, Arnold? The one speaking with the curator?

Arnold: (Squints slightly, then nods) Lord Rothschild. Of course. A powerful man. Very connected.

JCJ: Exactly. The richest man in Babylon. The king of his particular mountain. It’s an old world, that one. All quiet handshakes and generational influence.

(Arnold turns to JCJ, intrigued by the tone.)

Arnold: And what mountain are we on, Joe?

JCJ: (Chuckles softly) A louder one. A brighter one. One with explosions and one-liners that echo in every kid’s head from Detroit to Delhi. Seeing him just now made me think of you.

Arnold: (Raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming) What, you want me to start wearing a pinstripe suit and buy a bank? I tried putting on a tie for Junior. It didn’t work.

JCJ: No, no. Nothing like that. Think about it. He is the absolute pinnacle of his world. The archetype. When people think of that kind of immense, almost untouchable financial power, they think of a Rothschild.

(JCJ pauses, letting the comparison hang in the air.)

JCJ: And when anyone, anywhere on this planet, thinks of an action star… the biggest, the best, the very definition of the word… they think of you. You are the Rothschild of action.

Arnold: (Leans back, his smirk softening into a genuine, thoughtful expression. He lets out a low grunt of appreciation.) Hah. That’s a new one. I’ve been called the Austrian Oak, the Governator… never that.

JCJ: It’s true. You didn’t just play the part; you built the genre. You are the kingdom. And that’s why I say you’re not just the biggest. You are possibly the last action hero.

Arnold: (Nods, his voice dropping to a more reflective tone) The last? Because the world is changing.

JCJ: Exactly. It’s all becoming green screens and wirework. Anyone can be a hero if the pixels are good enough. But what you did… that was physical. It was palpable. It was real. Like old money versus new money. There’s a weight to it. A substance. They can make a thousand action stars now, but they can’t make another you. The era of the one-man empire… the king… is ending.

(Arnold looks out over the glittering crowd, then back at JCJ. He raises his glass of water.)

Arnold: To kings, then. In all their kingdoms. The quiet ones…

(He gestures with his glass towards Lord Rothschild.)

Arnold: …and the loud ones.

(He taps his glass gently against JCJ’s.)

JCJ: To the last king of Babylon.

Arnold: (A wide, iconic grin finally breaks across his face) I still like the sound of that. But the night is young. Maybe I’ll go say hello. See if he wants to be in a movie. I have a script about a banker who fights aliens…

JCJ: (Laughing) Now that’s a handshake I’d pay to see.

(They both laugh, the sound cutting through the dignified hum of the room, two men perfectly aware of their respective domains.)