INT. ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER’S HOME GYM – NIGHT

The room is a temple of iron and nostalgia. Polished chrome dumbbells sit in ordered racks. Faded posters from the Golden Era of bodybuilding adorn the walls. The hum of a large-screen TV is the only sound.

On the screen, a young ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER, impossibly wide and sleek, stares down a competitor in Pumping Iron.

Watching from a worn leather couch are ARNOLD (present day), JOE JUKIC, and his brother BRUNO JUKIC. Bruno’s eyes are wide, fixated on the screen.

JOE
(Shaking his head with a smile)
Every time. I see this and I want to go do curls right in the living room.

ARNOLD
(Chuckling)
That was the point. We were not just building bodies, we were selling a dream. The dream that you can create yourself from nothing.

Bruno doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. He gestures with a protein-shaker bottle.

BRUNO
See? That. That’s what I’m talking about. That’s real. No tricks.

On screen, Arnold flexes a monstrous lat spread.

**BRUNO (CONT’D)
If I had the money for the food… the good food, you know? The steak, the salmon, the sweet potatoes by the truckload… I would have a natural terminator chassis. A real one.

Joe pats his brother’s lean shoulder.

JOE
You and about ten million other guys, Bruno.

BRUNO
No, listen. I don’t want to cheat. I see these guys today, all puffed up like balloons with growth hormones and… what’s the other one?

ARNOLD
Steroids.

BRUNO
Yes! Steroids. To get a physique like that? To be a terminator? It would be a lie. A chemical lie. What’s the point of being a machine if you’re built with faulty parts?

Arnold looks intrigued, a faint smile playing on his lips. He pauses the film. The screen freezes on his own youthful, granite face.

ARNOLD
This is a good point. The Terminator is a machine. It is efficient. It is built for a purpose. It does not need to cheat. It is perfect as it is.

Bruno finally turns from the screen, his expression earnest. He points a finger at Arnold.

BRUNO
Exactly! And that’s why your physique—this one—

He jabs his finger towards the frozen image on the screen.

**BRUNO (CONT’D)
—would make a much more convincing terminator than that new one! That… Rev-9 thing.

Joe snorts into his drink.

JOE
Oh, here we go.

BRUNO
I’m serious! It has these… these mediocre muscles. It looks like it did a hard six months of training and then gave up. It’s all liquid metal and no foundation! How is anyone supposed to believe it’s the ultimate killing machine? It doesn’t look like it could even squat a car.

Arnold throws his head back and lets out a full, booming laugh that echoes in the gym.

ARNOLD
A machine should inspire fear! It should have a presence! You cannot have a presence with mediocre muscles. This is true.

He stands up, a massive silhouette against the weight racks. He strikes a playful, yet still devastating, side chest pose. The decades have softened him, but the blueprint of a legend is undeniable.

**ARNOLD (CONT’D)
The T-800 was convincing because it was built to last. Not just with metal, but with discipline. With repetition. No shortcuts.

Bruno nods vigorously, his point made.

BRUNO
No shortcuts. Just hard work, good food, and the iron. That’s the real terminator chassis.

Arnold smiles, a look of genuine appreciation in his eyes.

ARNOLD
Next time I talk to Jim Cameron, Bruno, I will tell him we have a new design consultant. One with principles.

He clinks his shaker bottle against Bruno’s. The sound is a quiet, solid clink of agreement.