REESE: There was a nuclear war. All this, this whole place, everything, it's gone. Just gone. There were survivors. Here, there. Nobody even knew who started it.

SARAH: You saw the war?

REESE: No. I grew up after. In the ruins. Starving. Hiding from H-K's.

SARAH: H-K's?

REESE: Hunter-Killers. Aerial and ground patrol machines built in automated factories.

SARAH: I thought they were called Terminators.

REESE: No, no, Terminators are...well, they're a sub-category of Hunter-Killer.

SARAH: The sub-category typified by what characteristic? The human shape?

REESE: Well, no, because, there's also moto-terminators, those are like motorcycles -

SARAH: I'm sorry, "moto-terminators?" Please tell me the computer named them.

REESE: Can I finish?

SARAH: Yeah, and just so you know, if I ask questions, it's BECAUSE I'm engaged, because the story you're telling me has a primal resonance. Except for the moto-terminators, that threw me. But before that, I was picturing the last of our species taking cover behind hills of charred skulls from armies of bullet-proof metal skeletons -

REESE: Yeah, and snakes, metal snakes in the water.

SARAH: Um. Sure. Okay. What are those called, boat-bots?

REESE: Hydro...bots, but it's -

SARAH: God, it's so weird, parts of what you're describing are so elegantly simple and confident and then other parts make me feel like I'm locked in an elevator with a spoiled, unimaginative child.

REESE: I'm sorry the HOLOCAUST of our species isn't entertaining you!

SARAH: See, get back to THAT energy. The mythical energies. Metal skeletons. I know it must feel like you need more than that, but I'm sitting here telling you, you don't. Nuclear devastation, then the computer that caused it trying to root out the last of humanity. And metal skeletons makes sense, because after the bombs don't kill everyone, the first thing the computer's going to say is, "well, I need to be able to climb stairs and crawl through fox holes." Shit like that. Which leads to these amazing, unintentionally symbolic skeletons made of bullet proof metal marching across a wasteland, batting clean-up. And it's still not working, because human beings find their weaknesses, maybe even reprogram them and send them back with bombs in their chests, and so, the chess game continues, it escalates, and the computer starts trying to find ways to study and infiltrate humanity.

REESE: That's what happened!

SARAH: Okay, good, then we're on the same page. Did they try using rubber skin, but you could spot them right away? Oh my God, just picturing that, the hair on my neck is -

REESE: I never really saw one with rubber skin. The first terminator I ever met was a death row inmate who had donated his body to science, and whose memories and feelings were so intact, he didn't even know he was a robot, and when he found out, he cried and screamed in anguish. Then he saved my life. He was a hero and a friend.

SARAH: I'm sorry, what?

REESE: Yes, that's right, ironically, it was the first terminator ever that was the most human, and that saved our entire species.

SARAH: That's not ironic, that's distracting and confusing. Why the fuck? What?

REESE: He had a human heart. And, in the end, he donated that heart to the leader of the resistance, who was YOUR SON, SARAH. Your SON!

SARAH: Uh, huh. Well, the son thing sounds neat. Um. But then there's an army of metal skeletons, right?

REESE: No! I mean, listen, stuff like that may sound "cool" to you, and I guess it would be for a minute or two, but believe me, that's it.

SARAH: Yeah. But add some moto-bots and boat-bots and you've got the new Huck Finn. Sorry, maybe we come from two different schools of thought. I'd rather hear about the war between the people and the robot skeletons for ninety minutes. If I found it lacked something, I'd have you add layers of conflict between the human characters, or you could get specific about the weapons, but all this other nonsense just sounds like "Blade Runner for Kids." It sounds like a writer that doesn't know he's not smart teamed up with a director that doesn't know he's not cool.

REESE: He's your SON, Sarah! John Conner is your son!

SARAH: I just hope you're not supposed to turn out to be the father, because even though that would be neat, after this conversation, I wouldn't fuck you with my roommate's pussy.