A big-time Hollywood shoot for a brand-new, big-budget TV show. We’re talking ten luxurious trailers for the cast and crew. We’re talking four 8K RED digital cameras, smoke machines, and pyrotechnics. We’re talking hair, makeup, wardrobe, grips, dolly grips, gaffers, best boys, assistants to the producer’s assistants, and all the other millions of mostly useless people you find on a set.

And there, right in the middle of it all, a state-of-the-art AH-64 Apache attack chopper, as black and merciless as death, its sleek metal frame gleaming like a knife edge in the sun.

That’s right, when I looked closely I realized the new TV show wasn’t a new show at all. It was a reboot of a classic. The most iconic, influential syndicated television program of all time.

Yeah. I’m talking about Airwolf.

I was intrigued. I grew up watching Airwolf, of course, because I have great taste. As a boy I’d been riveted by the awesome tech, blown away by the badass aerial battle scenes, and thunderstruck by the thespian science dropped by Ernest Borgnine and Jan-Michael Vincent.

I’d also been a little pissed off. Since I’d never met the creators of Airwolf, how had they managed to copy my look, my energy, my vibe so well? I mean, even at the age of five I was obviously cooler than Stringfellow Hawke—that’s right, that’s the main character’s actual name. But still, they were totally ripping me off. Maybe I’d sue them once I hit puberty.

But life and world domination got in the way, so I never did.

Now, all these years later, maybe this was my chance to add my own legend to the Airwolf experience. To break into the A-list entertainment industry with all its trappings. Or at the very least to sue them into oblivion—because really, can you ever have too much money?

Maybe this was the new challenge I’d been looking for, or at least a decent way to kill an afternoon.

I zoomed in my security cameras on the production’s call sheet to figure out all the deets. It was the shoot’s very first day, and the stakes couldn’t have been higher.

This was the biggest original web production in the history of Snapchat, and that includes Bringing Up Bhabie. The budget was over $20 million. It was starring megastar Mark-Paul Gosselaar as Stringfellow Hawke’s wayward son, Hardtackle. And it was being directed by George Lukas. That’s Lukas with a “K,” so not the legend who created Star Wars—but this dude still looked pretty good.

They were gearing up for their first shot of the day. The first and the biggest—a stunt with that incredible, and incredibly expensive, Apache attack chopper.

I grinned and turned up my audio. This was gonna be fun.

“Hey, Neal,” George Lukas called to the stunt pilot. “You sure you got this?”