“That’s my Kamov Ka-27,” I continued, gesturing at my helicopter. “I had it custom-designed by the world’s tippity-top engineers. All blacked out, of course. Your stock Apache is a decent chopper, nice range, solid maneuverability. But if I get in a dogfight up there, if it’s just me and the enemy, one on one, staring each other down with blood in our eyes and hatred in our souls, I’m taking the Kamov every time. We’re talking firepower, we’re talking explosiveness. We’re talking speed, violence, and momentum. And it’s great at dodging crazed hawks.”

George Lukas looked at me funny.

“Not that I would know anything about that,” I said.

He stared at me for a long time. Like, it was getting super awkward.

Finally he spoke.

“Well,” George Lukas said, “I think we found our stunt pilot.”

I threw back my head and laughed loud and hard. And suddenly I stopped, looked at him, and said super-dramatically like a total badass:

“Stunt pilot? I don’t think so. The Two-Time is nothing less than a star.”

George Lukas arched his eyebrow, and the assistant blurted out, “What?! Sir, no—you can’t possibly make this random guy the lead of the show. Sure, he’s got the presence of a modern-day black-ops Apollo, and his mustache is sublime, but our careers are riding on this, not to mention the entire reputation of Snapchat as a creator of groundbreaking dramatic television. We cannot make this no-name the star! What will I tell Mark-Paul Gosselaar? He’s waiting in his trailer now, sipping a Coke Zero!”

George Lukas stared at me again, but not as long as the first time.

“We’re doing this,” he said quietly.

“But—”

“We’re doing this!” he shouted. “I’ll fire Mark-Paul Gosselaar myself if I have to! I don’t know much in this world. I don’t know a thing about cameras, sound, narrative structure, or television production. I have no idea how the hell I got this job, except maybe they got confused by my name.

“But,” he said, pointing at me, “I know one thing. That man standing there is a star.”

I smiled. Pointing is kind of rude, but I let it slide. “You made the right move, George Lukas,” I said. “Probably your first right move since you killed off Jar-Jar Binks in Episode II.”

“Um,” he said, “I’m not—”

“Here,” I said, tossing him a little piece of wadded-up paper. “I wrote down the number to my private flip phone. Direct line. Call me when you’re ready to roll. I’ll be up there in the clouds, blowing shit up, combing Slick Daddy before my close-up, and emailing your lawyers all of my ridiculous contract demands.”

I turned and started climbing back into the cockpit of my Kamov Ka-27 Helix.

“Wait!” George Lukas shouted. “Wait!”

I paused, barely turning my head.

“Who—who the fuck are you?”