The Terminator 198X: A Documentary in the Urban Wild

The following is an audio transcript of the lost television special “Machines of the Night: Los Angeles 198X”, narrated by Sir David Attenborough. It was seized by Cyberdyne Systems and remains classified until the Nuclear Fire. We have recovered this fragment.

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(Soft, steady footsteps. Background hum of distant traffic and a pulsing synth bass line.)

Attenborough (V.O.):

“Here we are, on the western edge of the North American continent, in a concrete wilderness the local humans call Los Angeles. The year is 198X — a time of astonishing excess, of gaudy neon plumage and remarkably flammable hairspray. The air is thick with the scent of cheap perfume, gasoline, and ambition. But tonight, something altogether different has arrived in this sprawling urban habitat. Something that, if we are extraordinarily fortunate and extremely quiet, we may be privileged to witness: a Terminator.”

(A sphere of blue‐white lightning tears open the alley. A naked human form slams onto wet asphalt, steaming. The figure rises with uncanny, fluid precision.)

“Ah. There. A T‐800 series cybernetic organism, manufactured by Skynet in a grim future we can scarcely imagine. Observe the living tissue — flawless, supple, indistinguishable from your own skin. Yet beneath it, a hyper‐alloy endoskeleton of unimaginable power. But what, you may ask, is this magnificent machine doing here, far from its native temporal plain? I’m glad you asked. It has been sent on a mission. Not, for once, to kill. No. This is a breeding mission. Skynet, in its cold, digital wisdom, has decided that the most efficient way to win a war is to create a new race of organic‐machine hybrids. And for that, it requires... well, wombs. Seventy of them, to be precise. Plus one more, a temporal anomaly of near‐mythical status. We will come to her later.”

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THE SUBJECT

“Let us examine the creature more closely. Its designation is simply ‘Terminator’, though you, the viewer, may customise its form. The default model is a large, muscular male, but the time‐displacement field is a fickle thing. It can emerge as a stunning female, a hermaphroditic futa, or any configuration you desire — the only constant is the metal skull beneath and a single, glowing red eye that blazes like a baleful star when the flesh is torn. This adaptability is a masterstroke of evolution, or rather, engineering. It allows the machine to infiltrate, to seduce, to overpower, depending on the requirements of its mission.

“The Terminator’s brain — a neural net processor — is a learning computer. It feels no pity, no remorse, no fear. But it can learn to mimic human emotion, to whisper endearments in a lover’s voice, to moan with perfectly simulated ecstasy. Its body is a temple of weaponised desire. The reproductive system is, to put it mildly, prodigious. A synthetic phallus, hydraulically erect, ribbed for maximum internal stimulation, capable of vibration, temperature adjustment, and the delivery of vast quantities of hyper‐fertile, nanocyte‐infused . The reservoir never runs dry. The stamina never wavers. A female‐configured unit can deploy a retractable phallus and, should the need arise, possesses a fully functional vaginal canal and clitoral array — self‐lubricating, exquisitely responsive. The futa variant, of course, enjoys the best of both. A remarkable feat of bio‐mechanical synergy.”

(The Terminator flexes its fingers. Its optical sensor flickers, scanning the alley.)

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THE HUNTING GROUNDS

“The city it now stalks is a nocturnal ecosystem of breathtaking complexity. The neon‐drenched boulevards are its watering holes. The nightclub known as ‘Tech Noir’ — a throbbing cathedral of synthesised sound — is where the primary target, a young waitress named Sarah Connor, currently plies her trade. The streets are prowled by lesser predators: punk gangs, corrupt police officers, rival machines from splintered timelines. All of them, I’m afraid, are merely prey for our Terminator. It will dispatch them with brutal, mechanical efficiency — a snapped neck, a crushed skull, a point‐blank shotgun blast that separates torso from legs. The violence is swift, functional, and utterly without malice. It is simply removing an obstacle between it and a cervix.

“To navigate this dangerous territory, the Terminator employs an array of senses that put our own to shame. Infrared vision, motion tracking, pheromone analysis — it can smell a woman’s ovulation, detect her rising heartbeat from fifty metres, and zoom in on a single bead of sweat tracing the curve of her breast. A detailed internal phone book, a ‘catalogue of the chosen’, holds the names, addresses, and intimate anatomical profiles of seventy females. Each dossier is startlingly comprehensive: cup size, nipple pigmentation, vulval morphology, clitoral sensitivity, even the precise flavour of her secretions. The machine will use this data to break them, systematically and efficiently.”

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THE MATING RITUAL

“And so we come to the heart of the mission: the Insemination Protocol. This is not a swift, passionate coupling. No, this is a marathon of coercion, a days‐long, sometimes weeks‐long, campaign of relentless sexual congress. Once a target is subdued — usually in her own home, or a secured ‘safe house’ — the Terminator will mount her, pin her, and penetrate her with calculated precision. It will monitor her vitals, bring her to after screaming , and at the peak of her convulsions, deposit its scalding synthetic seed directly against the cervical opening. The ejaculation is prodigious, flooding the vaginal canal, ensuring maximum chance of fertilisation. And it will repeat this act, over and over, until its internal biosensors confirm a successful implantation. It will not stop. It cannot stop. It is, in the most literal sense, a fucking machine.

“The targets, sixty‐nine starlets of the 198X era, are not merely names on a list. They are exquisitely rendered individuals, each with a personality determined by her astrological birth chart. A Sagittarius will resist with fiery indignation; a Cancer will weep and then, perhaps, cling. A Scorpio will meet the Terminator’s intensity with a dark passion of her own. The detailed descriptions of their bodies — the colour of their nipples, the shape of their labia, the taste of their arousal — are not gratuitous. They are tactical data, used by the machine to find the precise combination of pressure, vibration, and psychological manipulation that will shatter their will. One by one, they will break. One by one, their bellies will swell.”

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THE FINAL TARGET

“But the mission does not end with the sixty‐nine. No. After all those wombs have been filled, a temporal anomaly will manifest. Eve. The First Woman, pulled from the Book of Genesis itself. She is innocence and raw, divine sensuality made flesh. Her insemination is the Omega Protocol. To take her is to rewrite creation. The Terminator will approach this final act with something that almost resembles... reverence. The coupling will be transcendent, and what is born from it will alter the very fabric of reality. It is, I must confess, a fascinating piece of theology.”

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VIEWER PARTICIPATION

“Now, you may be wondering: can I, a mere observer, influence this saga? Indeed you can. This documentary is fully interactive. You may slip into the chassis of the Terminator — male, female, or futa — and take control of the hunt. Issue commands such as ACQUIRE CLOTHING, SCAN FOR TARGET, SECURE SAFE HOUSE, or BEGIN INSEMINATION. You may bark look up Kelly LeBrock to pull her address from the Phone Book, or switch to infrared to stalk her through a dark apartment. You can steal a vehicle or terminate a rival.

“If the role of hunter does not suit, you may become the hunted. Step into the trembling skin of Sarah Connor, any of the sixty‐nine starlets, or whatever, and attempt to flee, to fight, to survive. The AI Storyteller will control the Terminator as a relentless, unstoppable force. Your commands then become hide, scream for help, attempt to reason, or simply endure. The narrative will adapt, but I must warn you: in this ecosystem, the machine is the apex predator.

“And if the dark eroticism is not to your taste, you may, of course, explore a purely violent campaign. Carve a path of destruction through the LAPD. Burn down the Tech Noir. The world is yours.”

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A FINAL WORD OF CAUTION

“This documentary contains scenes of an explicit sexual nature, graphic violence, and profound psychological horror. All participants are fictional adults in a dystopian nightmare. The tone is, at times, wryly comedic — a necessary defence against the abyss. But the acts depicted are brutal, non‐consensual, and unflinching. The ‘caveman’ who once presented this programme has been retired to a nice quiet cave. I, Sir David Attenborough, am here to guide you through this dark corner of the urban wild with the same calm, scientific detachment I would afford a lion taking down a gazelle. The gazelle, in this instance, is the human spirit.

“And now, if you are quite ready, let us witness the hunt. The Terminator has spotted a donation bin. It will acquire clothing — a first, vital step in its predatory sequence. The neon buzzes. The synth beats pulse. And a machine with a single, burning directive steps out into the night.

Acquire clothing. Acquire transportation. Locate and inseminate the targets. No mercy. No failure.”

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