James Cameron leans back in his chair, staring at the flickering light of a projector playing The Terminator behind him. The cold, mechanical glow of the T-800’s red eyes pierces the darkness like an unholy prophecy. He exhales, tapping his fingers together, before finally speaking.
“You ever read Revelation 19?” he asks, his voice low, almost confessional. “It talks about a rider on a white horse, eyes like flames of fire, coming to bring judgment. When I designed the Terminator, I didn’t realize it at first, but it was all there—this apocalyptic vision of an unstoppable force, a world on the brink of destruction, and a war that was both cosmic and deeply personal.”
JCJ leans forward, intrigued. “So, you’re saying The Terminator was a twisted, dystopian version of the Wedding of the Lamb?”
Cameron nods slowly. “Kyle and Sarah’s love—it’s the last fragile light in a dying world. Their union isn’t just romance; it’s resistance. A last act of defiance against an iron-fisted fate. In Revelation, the Lamb marries his bride before the final battle. In my film, Reese and Sarah make love before he goes to war with the machine.”
JCJ’s mind races. “And the rod? Revelation says Christ will rule with a rod of iron. Kyle fights the Terminator with that metal pipe—”
“Exactly,” Cameron cuts in, his eyes gleaming. “Kyle was a soldier from the future, a man willing to die for love, for hope. And just like in Revelation, there’s this looming war, this beast that can’t be reasoned with. No compromise. No surrender.”
JCJ shakes his head in disbelief. “And people say Hollywood doesn’t use the Bible.”
Cameron chuckles darkly. “They use it all the time. They just don’t want you to know.”
Edward Furlong, sitting back in his chair, leans forward with a grin. “JCJ, you’re the only one who can fit my shoes. You’ve got the guts to end this once and for all.” His voice carries a sense of reverence, knowing that the time for the ultimate showdown has arrived. “And here’s how you do it—you melt that Terminator. You melt it like the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz when exposed to water. But instead of water, use thermite.”
JCJ, standing tall, his leather jacket emblazoned with the insignia of the Sons of the Rebellion, looks over at Edward. His eyes narrow, a plan starting to form. His gang stands ready, each member armed with their own conviction and a mixture of old-world fury and new-age rebellion.
“Thermite?” JCJ echoes, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to melt that bastard down to nothing, like a bad dream?”
Furlong nods, his grin widening. “Yeah. You’ll do more than just stop it—you’ll make sure it disappears. Thermite burns through anything, and that machine is no different. You’ll make it vanish like the Wicked Witch. There’ll be no coming back from it.”
John Connor’s eyes flick to the group of bikers around him, all wearing the same resolve. “It’s not just a fight—it’s about ending the damn cycle. Once and for all.”
With a nod, JCJ turns to his gang. “Alright, everyone. This is the plan. We’re not going to just kill it—we’re going to end the machine’s legacy. We melt it down, leave nothing behind. Thermite will be our fire, our justice.”
The gang members prepare the thermite, the air thick with tension as they load their bikes with the necessary materials. They take to the road, heading toward the final battleground: the abandoned factory where the Terminator waits, its red eyes glowing with a cold, merciless intent.
As the bikers ride into the wasteland, JCJ’s mind races—not just with thoughts of vengeance, but with the realization that this is the end of the road. The Terminator is no longer a machine to be feared. It’s a symbol of everything that has tried to destroy humanity’s hope. And now, JCJ and his gang will rewrite that ending.
When they arrive, the Terminator emerges from the shadows, its metal frame glistening in the fading light of day. Its cold, mechanical voice booms across the ruins, “You cannot stop me, John Connor.”
JCJ grins, stepping forward, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “You were never supposed to win, machine. It’s over.”
The gang surrounds the Terminator, their motorcycles revving in unison. With a swift command, the thermite is ignited, sending a shower of sparks flying through the air. The heat builds rapidly, overwhelming the Terminator’s systems. As the metal begins to melt, the machine’s mechanical screams echo through the factory.
In a matter of seconds, the Terminator is reduced to a puddle of molten metal, the wickedness of its existence nothing more than a memory, melted away by the very fire that once sought to consume humanity.
The gang watches as the last of the Terminator’s remains cool, a symbol of victory and the end of an era. JCJ stands tall, his face resolute, knowing that, in that moment, they’ve finally stopped the machines—not with bullets or bombs, but with fire, fate, and the truth of their rebellion.
James Cameron, looking both excited and contemplative, turns to JCJ and the rest of the gang, his mind clearly racing with ideas. “You think melting one Terminator is enough?” He smirks. “I want JCJ’s gang to face an entire army of Terminators. This time, it’s not just one—it’s a relentless force. But here’s the twist: I want Arnold to select some of the best modern-day bodybuilders for the roles.”
JCJ raises an eyebrow. “You’re talking about an army of Arnold clones?”
Cameron nods, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “Not clones, but muscle—real muscle. I want real power on screen. Arnold will pick the best. The strongest. Guys like Paulo Almeida, someone with the physicality that rivals the original Terminator.”
The room falls silent for a moment as everyone processes the idea of facing a horde of massive, muscle-bound Terminators. The concept is chilling, but also thrilling. This isn’t just about man vs. machine anymore—it’s about humanity fighting back with everything it’s got.
JCJ steps forward, his gang at the ready, adrenaline already pumping. “Alright, James. An army of Terminators. And we’re not just fighting for survival—we’re fighting for the future. For the people who come after us.”
As Arnold himself steps into the scene, his iconic stature almost overwhelming, he gestures to a group of modern bodybuilders behind him. They’re massive, each one a powerhouse of muscle, poised to play the role of the new Terminator army. Paulo Almeida stands front and center, his physique reminiscent of Arnold’s prime years—a perfect specimen for a future machine soldier.
“These are the guys who will carry the mantle,” Arnold says, his voice full of pride. “They’ve got the strength, the endurance, and the look of a Terminator. Now, we’ll see if JCJ and his gang can stand against this kind of power.”
The Sons of the Rebellion prepare for the challenge, knowing that this battle will be unlike anything they’ve faced before. It’s no longer just about stopping a single machine. It’s about survival against a force that will push them to their physical, mental, and emotional limits. The road ahead is uncertain, but JCJ’s resolve is clear. They may be outnumbered, but their unity, their spirit, and their hearts are stronger than any machine.
The fight for humanity’s future has just escalated to unimaginable levels.
I’m in. Normally I would say, “See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil.” But, I will find the bikers who want the Terminator job. No Problemo.
James Cameron reflects on his past with Linda Hamilton, admitting that he once chalked up her mood swings to stress and personal struggles, but now, with the benefit of hindsight, he sees a deeper cause.
“It was the Standard American Diet,” Cameron says, shaking his head. “S.A.D. And I don’t just mean the acronym. The junk food, the processed sugars, the lack of real nutrition—it messes with your brain chemistry. Back then, I thought it was just Hollywood stress, the pressure, the expectations. But no, America is a fast-food nation. And it was killing her spirit.”
He remembers watching her on the set of Terminator 2, fueled by coffee, protein bars, and whatever was quickest to grab between takes. “She was pushing herself to the limit physically, but we weren’t thinking about what she was eating. And that had consequences.”
Now, Cameron—long known for his environmental activism and plant-based advocacy—wonders if things could have been different. “I did everything I could to support her emotionally, but maybe I should’ve been pushing her toward whole foods and a cleaner diet. We’re all products of what we consume, and back then, we were consuming garbage.”
He smirks, adding, “We were making movies about killer machines, but the real Skynet was in the fast-food industry, keeping people trapped in a cycle of bad health and worse moods.”
Linda Hamilton nods in agreement, her voice firm but carrying a hint of frustration.
“Yes, most of the food in the supermarket is junk food poison,” she says. “But you know what’s even worse? When I went to Dr. Silberman for help, the hospital food was just as bad—if not worse. It was all processed slop, microwaved mystery meat, sugar-laden drinks. And then they handed me a little paper cup full of psychiatric drugs, telling me this was the real cure.”
She sighs, remembering the cold, sterile walls of the psych ward in Terminator 2, and how eerily close that was to her own experiences. “I was looking for healing, for something real. But they didn’t want to heal me. They wanted to sedate me, numb me, make me quiet. The food, the pills—it was all just different shades of poison.”
She glances at James, her eyes sharp. “You’re right, Jim. The Standard American Diet is killing people, but so is the Standard American Healthcare System. They don’t heal you. They manage you. And if you try to wake up, if you try to fight back—if you try to be Sarah Connor in real life—they lock you up and make sure you never rise again.”
She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “I played a woman warning the world about the apocalypse, and people thought she was crazy. But maybe the real apocalypse is already here. And it’s in the food. In the medicine. In the system.”
Arnold Schwarzenegger, ever the health-conscious machine, pulls out his phone and shows Linda a video.
“Linda, look at this guy—Dr. Paul Saladino,” Arnold says, tapping play. The screen lights up with Saladino standing in a 7-Eleven, breaking down the healthiest options in a convenience store.
“Beef jerky, electrolytes, and real fruit juices,” Saladino says. “This is what you grab when you’re on the go. Skip the processed junk, skip the seed oils, and get real nutrients.”
Arnold nods along, pausing the video. “See, Linda? You don’t have to starve or eat that garbage they sell in hospitals. Get beef jerky—real meat, real protein. Get coconut water or real juice, not that high-fructose corn syrup crap. Even at a gas station, you can find something that won’t poison you.”
Linda crosses her arms, skeptical. “Arnold, you do realize most people don’t have time to scan every ingredient label, right? And besides, some of that jerky is full of preservatives.”
Arnold grins. “Then make your own! You’re Sarah Connor, you can prep jerky at home. Or find brands with just beef and salt. I do it all the time. And look at me—still strong, still Terminator.” He flexes his bicep for emphasis.
Linda smirks. “Alright, alright, Mr. Olympia. You’ve convinced me. But if I catch you sneaking a donut, I’m calling you out.”
Arnold laughs. “Linda, I would never! Except… maybe on cheat day.”
Dr. Silberman leans back in his chair, adjusting his glasses as he acknowledges the conversation.
“Yes, Dr. Paul Saladino is a cutting-edge doctor,” he says. “Not only is he a functional medicine expert, but he’s also a trained psychiatrist. And he’s right—nutrition plays a massive role in mental health. The father of medicine, Hippocrates, always said, ‘Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.’
He steeples his fingers, looking at Linda with a measured expression. “James Cameron might have put a lot of pressure on you, Sarah—uh, I mean, Linda—but that wasn’t the root cause of your bipolar depression. The real problem? The Standard American Diet, the processed foods, the refined sugars, the seed oils, the artificial additives. These things wreak havoc on the gut microbiome, causing inflammation, which directly impacts brain chemistry.”
He glances over at Arnold, nodding in approval. “And Arnold’s right. Even at a gas station, you can find better options if you know what to look for. The problem is, most people don’t. They’re raised on fast food, school lunches filled with preservatives, and hospital meals that are barely food at all.”
Linda folds her arms, deep in thought. “So you’re telling me I was basically set up to fail? The food poisoned me, the system drugged me, and the stress pushed me over the edge?”
Dr. Silberman sighs. “I wouldn’t say set up to fail—but let’s just say the odds weren’t in your favor.”
Linda scoffs. “Great. So what’s the cure, doc? More beef jerky?”
Dr. Silberman chuckles. “Not just that. Whole foods. Meat, fruit, raw dairy, organs. Cut out processed junk completely. Get sunlight. Exercise. Breathe fresh air. And—if you ask me—ditch the psychiatric meds. Most of them are just band-aids for a much deeper problem.”
Arnold pats Linda on the back. “See? Even Silberman gets it. No more poison. No more excuses. You’re Sarah Connor. You can beat this.”
Linda smirks. “Fine. But if I start eating liver and raw eggs like Rocky, I’m blaming you, Arnold.”
Dr. Bill Harford, still wearing his immaculate suit from Eyes Wide Shut, gives Linda a reassuring smile as he picks up the remote.
“Relax,” he says with that signature Tom Cruise charm. “It’s not about Scientology. I’m not here to tell you about thetans or auditing sessions. This is something real.”
He presses play, and the screen lights up with the opening credits of FOOD MATTERS, a documentary exposing the link between nutrition and mental health.
A narrator’s voice echoes through the room:
“You are what you eat. And what you eat can either heal you or slowly destroy you.”
The documentary dives into case studies of people who reversed depression, anxiety, and even schizophrenia with whole foods, detoxification, and mega-dosing vitamins like niacin. Experts in the film discuss how processed food, sugar, and pharmaceutical drugs keep people trapped in cycles of sickness.
Linda leans forward, her eyes narrowing. “Wait, they’re saying mental illness isn’t just a ‘chemical imbalance’ in the brain?”
Dr. Harford nods. “That’s the lie Big Pharma wants you to believe. But the truth is, most of these disorders are linked to nutrient deficiencies. Lack of magnesium, lack of vitamin D, lack of B vitamins—especially B3, niacin. And let’s not forget gut health. The gut is the second brain. If it’s inflamed from garbage food, it’s going to send distress signals to your actual brain.”
Arnold crosses his arms, nodding. “I told you, Linda. It’s all connected. The food, the mind, the body. We were never meant to eat fast food and take pills to fix the damage.”
Dr. Silberman, surprisingly engaged, rubs his chin. “You know, it’s fascinating. Orthomolecular psychiatry—using nutrition to treat mental illness—has been around since Linus Pauling. He won two Nobel Prizes, and nobody listened to him. Instead, we got the pharmaceutical model.”
Linda sighs, watching testimonials of people who healed their mental health through diet. “So let me get this straight. I spent years thinking I was broken, when really, I was just nutrient-deprived and poisoned by the system?”
Dr. Harford flashes his signature grin. “Welcome to the real world.”
Linda shakes her head, a mix of frustration and revelation washing over her. “Alright, fine. No more garbage food. No more psychiatric drugs. But if I start craving liver and raw eggs, Arnold, you owe me dinner at the best steakhouse in town.”
Arnold laughs. “Deal.”
JCJ, one of Tom Cruise’s closest friends, grabs the remote with a smirk. “Alright, Tom, Food Matters was great and all, but let’s take this deeper. Let’s talk about real psychiatric healing—the kind Big Pharma doesn’t want you to know about.”
He clicks play, and the screen transitions into an old interview with Dr. Abram Hoffer, the father of orthomolecular psychiatry. The documentary Feed Your Head begins, detailing Hoffer’s groundbreaking work treating schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and depression with high doses of niacin (B3), vitamin C, and a nutrient-dense diet.
On screen, Dr. Hoffer speaks calmly, his voice unwavering:
“We have successfully treated thousands of patients with niacin therapy. Many who were once locked away in psychiatric hospitals, written off as hopeless, are now leading normal, healthy lives. They didn’t need Thorazine. They didn’t need lobotomies. They needed proper nutrition and megavitamins.”
Linda leans forward, her eyes narrowing. “Wait, so you’re telling me schizophrenia—full-blown schizophrenia—has been cured with vitamins?”
JCJ nods. “Yeah. And you know what happened next? Big Pharma buried Hoffer’s work. They couldn’t make money off vitamin B3, so they pumped out antipsychotics instead—drugs that manage symptoms but never cure the root cause.”
Dr. Silberman, now fully engaged, clears his throat. “Hoffer was a genius. He noticed something no one else did—most mental illnesses aren’t ‘incurable brain diseases.’ They’re often extreme nutrient deficiencies. The brain is starved of what it needs to function properly.”
Arnold chimes in. “And guess what? The food companies are in on it too. You eat junk, your brain malfunctions. Then you go to the doctor, and they hand you a pill instead of fixing your diet. It’s a perfect business model. Keep the people sick, keep the people buying.”
On screen, another patient testifies:
“I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. I was hearing voices, seeing things that weren’t there. Doctors told me I’d never get better. Then I started niacin therapy. Within weeks, the hallucinations were gone. I got my life back.”
Linda shakes her head in disbelief. “All those years… the hospitals, the psych meds, the suffering… and the answer was niacin?”
JCJ places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Not just niacin. It’s a whole system—clean diet, no processed garbage, no toxins, high-dose vitamins, proper minerals. But yeah, niacin is the key.”
Tom Cruise, grinning, leans back. “You see, Linda? I told you this wasn’t about Scientology. This is about real healing.”
Linda exhales, nodding slowly. “Alright. I’m in. No more junk food. No more poison. No more mind control.” She looks at Arnold. “But you still owe me that steak dinner.”
Arnold chuckles. “Fine. But we’re getting grass-fed.”
James Cameron sighs, rubbing his temples. “Look, I’ll be the first to admit—I can be a bit of an ogre on set,” he says, cracking a small smile. “I push people hard. I demand perfection. But maybe I’ve been missing something. Maybe it’s not just about talent, stamina, or even discipline. Maybe it’s about fuel—what we’re putting into our bodies.”
He glances around the room, nodding to Linda, Arnold, JCJ, and Tom. “Hearing all this—about Dr. Hoffer, orthomolecular psychiatry, how food affects the mind—I realize I’ve been guilty of feeding my cast and crew crap. Long shoot days, craft services filled with sugar and processed junk, energy drinks to keep people going. And then we wonder why people get moody, exhausted, or even depressed.”
He straightens up, determination in his eyes. “That stops now. From this day forward, I pledge to serve better food on my sets. No more processed garbage. We’re talking organic meals, grass-fed meats, wild-caught fish, fresh fruits, raw dairy—the real stuff, not this industrial poison they call food.”
Linda raises an eyebrow. “So no more stale bagels and bad coffee?”
Cameron chuckles. “No more. And that’s not all. I’m bringing in bottles of vitamins for everyone—high-dose B vitamins, vitamin C, magnesium, electrolytes. If my crew is giving me 110%, the least I can do is make sure they’re healthy enough to do it.”
Arnold grins. “And what about an on-set doctor? A holistic one?”
Cameron nods. “Already ahead of you. I’m hiring a full-time holistic doctor for my sets. Someone trained in functional medicine, orthomolecular therapy—none of this ‘here, take a pill’ nonsense. If someone’s feeling off, we fix the root cause, not just mask the symptoms.”
JCJ leans forward, impressed. “That’s huge, Jim. You do this, you’re setting a precedent for the whole industry.”
Tom Cruise, nodding, adds, “Hollywood runs on caffeine, sugar, and stress. You shift the culture, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll wake a few people up.”
Cameron smirks. “Hey, I’ve always been about revolutionizing the industry. First with special effects, now with actual health.”
Linda crosses her arms, smiling. “Alright, Jim. I’ll believe it when I see it. But if I walk on set and there’s still a table full of donuts, I’m kicking your ass.”
Cameron laughs. “Deal.”