What is it that makes us human? It’s not something you can program. You can’t put it into a chip. It’s the strength of the human heart. The difference between us and machines.
Watching John with the machine, it was suddenly so clear. The Terminator would never stop. It would never leave him. It would never hurt him, never shout at him, or get drunk and hit him, or say it was too busy to spend time with him. It would always be there. And it would die to protect him. Of all the would-be fathers who came and went over the years, this thing, this machine was the only one who measured up. In an insane world, it was the sanest choice.
There is a storm on the horizon. A time of hardship and pain. This battle has been won, but the war against the machines rages on. Skynet’s global network remains strong. But we will not quit until all of it is destroyed. This is John Connor. There is no fate but what we make.
The future has not been written. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves. I wish I could believe that. My name is John Connor. They tried to murder me before I was born. When I was 13, they tried again. Machines from the future. Terminators. All my life my mother told me the storm was coming – Judgment Day, the beginning of a war between man and machines. Three billion lives were vanished in an instant. And I would lead what was left of the human race to ultimate victory. It hasn’t happened, no bombs fell, computers didn’t take control. We stopped Judgment Day. I should feel safe. But I don’t. So I live off the grid, no phone, no address. No one and nothing can find me. I’ve erased all connections to the past. But as hard as I try, I can’t erase my dreams. My nightmares.
Maybe that’s why a broken machine always makes me a little sad, because it isn’t able to do what it was meant to do… Maybe it’s the same with people. If you lose your purpose… it’s like you’re broken.
I spent my life trying to reduce the brain to a series of electrical impulses. I failed. Human emotion, it can contain illogical conflict. Can love someone, and yet hate the things that they’ve done. A machine can’t reconcile that.
A machine can’t lead, it can only follow orders. A machine can’t imagine or care or intuit. But as a human mind in a cybernetic frame, Mira can do all those things, and more.
What is the point of different tastes, different preferences, if not to say that our brains work differently, that we think differently? And if we can say that about one another, then why can’t we say the same thing for brains built of copper and wire, steel?[to Detective Robert Nock]