Out to Save the World

Sarah Connor: My Friend of Misery

Dr. Silberman sat across from her, clipboard in hand, that same condescending smirk stretched across his face. He had heard it all before—the paranoia, the doomsday warnings, the rantings of a woman convinced she was humanity’s last hope. But today, Sarah Connor wasn’t playing the role of a patient.

She leaned forward, arms resting on the cold metal table of her confinement cell. Her eyes, sharp as ever, locked onto Silberman’s with unshakable resolve.

“You think I’m crazy, Doc? Fine. But tell me this—who’s crazier? The person who warns of a storm before it hits, or the ones who refuse to build shelter?”

Silberman sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Sarah, we’ve been through this. The machines, Skynet, Judgment Day—it’s a delusion. Your mind is protecting itself from trauma, creating a grandiose narrative where you’re the hero.”

Sarah smirked. “That’s funny. You know who else was called crazy for telling the truth?” She tapped a finger against her temple. “John Lennon. You remember what he said?”

Silberman didn’t respond, so she said it for him.

“Our society is run by insane people for insane objectives. I think we’re being run by maniacs for maniacal ends and I think I’m liable to be put away as insane for expressing that. That’s what’s insane about it.”

She let the words settle, watching as the doctor’s smug demeanor wavered for just a second.

“That’s what this is, Silberman. The whole world is walking toward a cliff, smiling, pretending everything’s fine. And when someone stands up and screams ‘STOP!’—they get locked up, drugged, silenced. The insane running the asylum.”

Silberman scribbled something on his clipboard. “And yet, here you are, in my asylum.”

Sarah let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, Jesus got crucified, Galileo got locked up, and John Lennon got shot. The truth has a bad habit of getting people killed.”

She stood up, the chains around her wrists clinking. “You call this delusions of grandeur? Fine. I am here to save the world, Dr. Silberman. And if that makes me crazy, so be it.”

She walked to the window, staring out at the Los Angeles skyline. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the city. For now, the buildings still stood. The cars still moved. People still laughed, still lived in blissful ignorance.

But she knew better.

Somewhere, in the heart of a military lab, a computer was waking up. It wouldn’t be long now.

Sarah sighed. “Enjoy your sunsets while they last, Doc.”

She turned back, fire in her eyes.

“Because when the sky burns, you’ll be the one who was insane for not believing me.”

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.

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.