My dear reader, If you're still here with me, I'm glad. I want to tell you something. Remember when I told you about time-travelling? Time is not linear. A butterfly can cause a hurricane. Every action creates a reaction. I had a lot of time to think about this. I had seven years to think about this, but I'll tell you about it later. It's past midnight again and I should try to get some sleep soon.
But I need to get this in paper first, to clear my thoughts. And when it's all in writing, maybe for a moment I can look at this and be objective. To see the options I have and the choices I have to make. Step outside myself and pretend this didn't happen to me. Then I can, maybe just for a second, make more sense in all of this.
For every chaos there's a pattern. My mother sometimes talked about patterns, dots and stars. Things falling into place like they were always meant to. There's that destiny again, but really, I should have paid more attention to her. You can look at the world, the events that occur as random, individual processes. But every process has a rule, an order and purpose. They weave a complex pattern. We can change the pattern but the universe always tries to go back to the original plan. Think of a terminator, a machine. We can rewrite its programming but every time it reloads it will first respond to its original coding. Our program will override it, but by its nature, it will always try to carry out the original pattern.
Is this confusing?
One day we died and went to Hell. Just bones and bodies in the darkness, the Century Work Camp. Only we really didn't die, death would have been a salvation. Each year in Hell felt literally like a century. But I stopped complaining. You stop complaining when you start surviving.
Martin Bedell saved us from Hell one day and he looked at me and the first thing he said was 'John Connor, we've been waiting for you'. This was before anyone really knew who I was.
No one had ever survived Hell. But we did. We lived to tell the tale. Us, the survivors. And that year we trained more soldiers than all the previous years combined. Volunteers willing to risk their life. Because we survived Hell. Before that day, no one knew me. Who I was. Except Martin Bedell. But he didn't live to tell the tale.
We were the musketeers – Athos, Porthos and Aramis. Kyle, Derek and me. But we were nothing but hands and teeth against the machines. We were at the gates of Thermopylae, eager to fight but doomed to lose.
I'm telling you this so that you would understand. I only started talking about allying with the machines to save us. Because I thought we were doomed. Maybe we really were, or then again, nothing is written in stone, right?
I know there are a lot of people who don't trust them. If you're one of those people, all I ask is to give me a chance to prove myself.
People cheated nature all the time. Atoms and molecules were ours to play. We could create anything. Remember, the machines are what we created. We gave them life. Our baby Frankensteins. When we figure out their pattern, the program, the ones and zeros, then they are ours again.
I'm not saying we couldn't win without the help of the machines. I'm just afraid that we don't. We can keep killing the machines one by one, but that just isn't enough. They will just keep coming, a new model after another till we're dead.