CHAPTER 2: READY TO GO
LOCATION: Cayman Global Complex, Palo Alto, California
DATE/TIME: 2:35PM, September 2, 2019 AD

The scene opens inside the mezzanine of the offices of the Cayman Global corporation, a large building shaped like a half-dome. The floor is polished stone, and the whole area has a cold sterile look to it; while conversely packed with couriers and workers coming and going like worker bees.

Cam Jordan walks through the mezzanine, his athletic frame covered in a black v-neck t-shirt, navy chinos and skate shoes, a contrast to the workers in business formal and polos with the diving-eagle-over-palm-tree emblem of Cayman Global. His assertive stride is broken only to weave out of the way of unsuspecting office workers as he crosses the floor towards a glass tube elevator in the center of the room.

Once it reaches the top, Cam works his way along a corridor stacked like a terrace along the periphery of the mezzanine and pushes a door open, making his way into a plush, professional-looking office with a broad view of Palo Alto. Sitting at a polished glass desk is Cam's contact at the company; Lucy Richards, a slender blond woman in her early thirties, decked out in black business attire. She looks up in mild irritation as Cam enters the room, her blue eyes measuring him.

"Most people knock, you know."

"Heh. Sorry." Cam apologizes, crossing towards one of the chairs in front of the desk and dropping into it, "You made it sound pretty urgent."

"Touché, I suppose." Lucy turns at the desk to regard Cam, then turns her monitor so Cam can see it. It's an image of a promotional card. He quickly recognizes his own face.

"Congratulations. You're officially booked to your first ever match."

A thrill shoots through Cam at that.

"Nice. I'm itching to get started. Who'm I fighting?'

"This is a bit worrying. They've put you in the TV title contendership."

"Are you kidding? That's great! We must have made a hell of an impression on them."

"A little too good to be honest. You're up against Kieran Overton, Miss Michelle and Fuzz. I wasn't counting on this to be honest, I had bet on them throwing you up against one of the other debuting wrestlers. This is going to be a harder fight than anticipated."

"So they threw me in the deep end." Cam shrugs, "Weren't you saying last week that I was ready for the big leagues? Sure, it's gonna be a bit harder. Just makes the payoff that much better if I can get a in out of it. No risk, no reward, right?"

"I suppose." Lucy's voice sounds dubious at first, then she nods, "If you're comfortable with it, Cam, I'll trust your judgment. Just go in there and hit them with everything you've got. You'll at least have the element of surprise in your favor."

"That I can do."

"Oh. You should probably know. A package came in from XWF Home Office." Lucy motions to a wrapped parcel sitting on her desk, "From the seamstress, I believe?"

The grin on Cam's face is wide, and a rush of excitement runs over him.

"Aw yeah! Battle gear's here!"

"Battle gear? My god, you're such a nerd."

"Don't kill my buzz here, Luce. This is all part of the fun." He looks around the office furtively, "Got any changerooms?"

"There's a bathroom down the hall. You're really going to do this now?"

"Yep." Cam picks up the package and practically darts out of the office before Lucy can even speak.

Two minutes later, Cam emerges from the dressing room with a flourish, trailing the royal blue cape now strapped to his upper torso behind him. The rest of his upper torso is bare, while his legs are wrapped in ring tights of the same royal blue. Hanging from the waist is a clothpiece, trimmed with gold around the edges. Etched into the center is the gold eagle standard of the Achaemenid Empire. The same blue and gold motif adorns his boots.

Lucy eyes him skeptically, not quite sure what to make of it.

"That's... well it's eye-catching, I'll give you that."

"Badass, right?" Cam smirks and spins around in a faux-twirl, arms outwards, "I look like one of the guys out of 300 - except in pants. It's the perfect fusion between modern day wrestling attire and an homage to my ancestral people."

"Wasn't that movie basically two hours of the Persians being murdered horrifically?" Lucy quirks an eyebrow.

"Details, details!" Cam flaps his hand dismissively, "That movie was a total fiction you know. We abolished slavery like 1500 years before everyone else and the Spartans were total Nazi slaver douchebags who went around murdering said slaves for the lulz. We were pretty much the good guys in comparison."

"It's 'we' now, is it?"

"You know what I mean."

"Well, while you're trying on random gear, I have something else for you." Lucy opens a drawer underneath her desk and pulls out two items; a watch and what appears to be a pair of aviator sunglasses.

"Christmas is a bit early, ain't it?"

"These are a couple of pieces of tech we've been working on that might be useful in your training and preparation. Are you familiar with Google Glass?"

"Went bust as I recall. Nice idea but didn't seem to translate."

"It was a nice idea. So nice that when everyone else abandoned it, we decided to come up with our own version." She hands out the items to Cam, "This is the Cayman Ranger - combination smart-glasses and smartwatch. It's a few years away from rolling out onto the market, but we think it'll be a big hit among the athletes. Consider it our 'congratulations on getting signed' gift. Go on, give it a go."

Cam doesn't waste time, wrapping the watch around his wrist and turning it on, then placing the aviators over his eyes. As if by magic, a logo of a diving eagle in front of a palm tree - the Cayman logo - appears in front of his eyes. A few moments later, words appear in front of his vision in green tech-font.

"'Hello Cameron'? Your guys failed already, Lucy."

"Oh. Uh, you can fix that later using the watch."

The text disappears, and then his vision becomes mostly clear except for a number of figures on the lower right hand corner of his vision in red LCD-style lighting.


"So I'm seeing heart rate, weight and oxygen saturation here."

"Uh huh. That's how we've set it up for you. It's pretty cool - you can get it to pop images and video in front of your vision if you really want to - might be useful for looking up your opponents anywhere you go. There's a compass, mini-map and speedometer in there as well."

"So this is basically a HUD. Like something out of a video game."

Casually, Cam keys in a few options on the watch and sure enough a video appears before his eyes, sound playing from a hidden speaker.


"Hahaha..." Cam laughs at the vision before his eyes. Lucy frowns and shakes her head.

"This is a piece of state of the art equipment, Cam. You're to use it to aid in your training and preparation, not to watch your... 'dank memes' or whatever it is they're called."

"You're using me as a lab rat, aren't you?"

"Well when you say it like that..." Lucy frowns, "...it sounds bad. None of it's dangerous, Cam, really. We just need people to field-test this stuff. You're the only professional athlete we've got access to, and... well, we did basically train you and get you a contract with one of the largest and most prestigious federations in the world. It's not exactly an unfair trade, is it?"

"I get the impression this isn't the only one I'll be making, either..."

"I didn't catch that..." Lucy raises an eyebrow.

"Ah, forget it." Cam pauses for a moment, then gestures to the shades and watch, "But I don't think they're just going to let me walk on down to the ring with half this techno-stuff hanging off of me, Lucy..."

"I know, and I'm not asking you to do that. We want you to purely use the gear when you're training. See how it aids your preparation. Maybe when the product gets closer to launch and if you get good results, pop in a few endorsements. That's about all."

"Sounds good." Cam slides the aviators back over his head, keeping the watch on, "Well. I guess I'd better go take these to the gym then, eh?"

"I'd recommend that. You've got time but you don't want to let that get away from you. Good luck, Cam."

"Gracias." With that, Cam strides back out, opening the door to the office and stepping out onto the mezzanine, disappearing from sight as the camera fades.

PROMO #1 - "THE EAGLE HAS LANDED"

We fade in on what seems to be an empty room somewhere in the Cayman Global complex. This room has a cold and sterile look to it, the lighting illuminating the area tinged with a faint blue. In the background, a long glass window overlooks the grassy stretches of the campus, and further in the distance, the cold blue stretches of the San Francisco Bay. An empty table sits in the middle of the room. Cambyses himself sits atop the edge of this table, wearing a royal blue t-shirt with a golden eagle standard emblazoned on its chest, jeans and skate shoes. He looks up, emerald eyes locking onto the camera, then he begins to speak.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cambyses.

Yeah, that's actually my name. Long story behind that, a lot of which you'll learn in due time. I wouldn't bother going through your PwF archives, your UGW tape libraries, your WGWF pages for information about me- you aren't going to find anything. This is in effect my first dance.

Some would think that I'm setting myself up for failure admitting that. Some would also say that I'm in for a rude awakening walking straight in the front door of the XWF fresh out of training. Let's just say this - while you all might be perplexed as to what a first-timer is doing walking into a TV title number one contender's match, by the end I intend to have you fully comprehending why. What I lack in experience, I make up for in raw talent. Atticus Black knows this, and that is why he has put me where he has on this card. You will all share in his knowledge in just under two weeks.

I'm going to cut straight to the meat of the matter. My opponents for this upcoming match. Miss Michelle, Kieran Overton, Fuzz. I'm sure the three of you are scratching your heads in puzzlement right now, saying 'who the hell is this kid?'. Well, maybe not you, Kieran - I'm sure you of all people can appreciate the value of someone coming out of nowhere and upending the established order. I of course know who you are- one newcomer who demolished the opposition day one, one ex-Bombshell carving it up among the general roster and one certified XWF Legend. The XWF know how to roll out the welcome mat.

So where do we begin? Miss Michelle seems like a logical enough place to start. What can I say, you cut through a lot of dead weight last week, Queen of the Reich. The hell's up with that name, anyway? Please tell me you're not going to go all Madison Dyson on us and start banging on about purity and some such.

I'm kidding. I know Reich is a generic term for 'realm'.

This is supposed to be the point where I do my best Kieran Overton impression and go 'HURR DURR, YOU WIMMEN, YOU WEAK, YOU PRETTY, YOU NO WRESTLER, GO BACK TO KITCHEN'. And sure, this is what I'm supposed to say - if I wanted to get knocked flat on my ass like the other suckers who dismissed you as little more than a Bombshell and little more than eye candy for Mark Brooks. But I'm not that stupid.

What is it they call you exactly? Queen of the Three-Way? No, I'm not going to be *that* guy and go 'lol it's funny cause she does a lot of dudes', quite frankly I'm smarter than every other moron who's cast that out. But let me guess, that nickname of yours, and all the crowing on about how you've mastered the art of capitalizing on the natural chaos of a triple-threat and seizing the moment- that's all gonna get an upgrade this week and all of a sudden, you're Queen of the Four-Way, right?

Nuh-uh. Totally different ball game, Michelle. You might be banking on Kieran over there bashing his chest and charging at whatever challenges his fragile ego, and in turn banking on Fuzz's perpetual sulking being a magnet to that, but I'm not so easily distracted. So if you think this is gonna be another one of those matches where you manage to lie low long enough to boot some poor sucker in the balls after they soften up the target and swipe the pin from under him, think again. You won't be getting a moment's respite.

Kieran Overton. You've probably figured this out already but I find you to be a bizarre mixture of hilarious and annoying. Jesus, man. Nobody told me John Gambino had an idiot cousin, yet here we are with this giant dimwit who seems to have one default mode - insecure as hell.

Don't deny it, Kieran. I've worked in a bar long enough to recognize false bravado and compensatory aggression when I see it. Sure, you present the image of a pissed off angry man, but you know as well as I do that it's a defense mechanism. Beneath that churning surface of anger and spite is an uncertain, insecure little man. The second you signed your contract, you realized you got in over your head, and you now absolutely stink of overcompensation. So you roar and scream and swear and bash whatever's in sight, because you're simply not capable of mastering that fear.

Yes, yes. 'But I'm a BEAST! RARRR!' and so forth. I get that. It's a fearsome persona to adopt. The idea of a feral out of control animal certainly can put fear in the hearts of the dumb. But answer me this - how many 'beasts' do you see ruling the world today?

Sure, man might have started *out* living in fear of the beasts, but your namesake was doomed the day we figured out banging some rocks together made fire. Once we figured out throwing pointy sticks was effective, the survivability of beasts got cut in half. And now we're at a point where we have to actively make efforts to keep ourselves from accidentally making them go extinct. I'm not sure why you chose to base your moniker on something so fragile, Kieran. No, don't explain, I get it - big, angry, can tear you apart in the right conditions. But those right conditions are few and far between, and I - a man of civilization - know very well how to twist those conditions out of your favor and into mine. Something to think about, big guy.

Side-note, I'm really disappointed you didn't call your finisher the Overton Window. That would have ruled.

Then there's Fuzz. The Afterthought. Shawn Warstein. One of the last legends left in active competition.

I'm pretty surprised they put me up against a certified legend from day one. Atticus Black's a lot more perceptive than people give him credit for, I guess. It's freaking weird fighting a legend. Like fourteen years ago I got home from school and you were on the TV. Sure you were kind of an ass, especially with the whole needle phase you went through - how do you not have hepatitis, dude? - but I followed your journey nonetheless.

It's funny. Even before you were a legend, we heard you carrying on acting like you were owed it, like you were the greatest person to set foot in here and it was just a given for the crown to be lowered onto your head. And people reacted accordingly. Even now, people don't take you seriously. I mean Sarah Lacklan made that abundantly clear. It must hurt to be dismissed that way after fighting for it for so long. Well, I have some good news, Fuzz. It doesn't benefit me to belittle you. I have no interest in running over some barely-qualified legend. So I choose to believe your bullshit.

As far as I'm concerned, you're absolutely right - you ARE the legend you say you are, you are criminally underrated, you never got your due. Because when I put your scalp on the wall, I want it to mean something. I want to be the guy that took down that legend, that pulled the rug out from under him and then beat him into insensibility with it. Congrats, Fuzz. I take you at your word. But I think you'll find you wish I hadn't.

That ought to set some tongues wagging. I'm fairly sure I know what the reaction's going to be from Kieran - probably a bunch of incoherent screeching - but Michelle, Fuzz, I'm curious to see what you've got for me. Are you gonna realize what you're stepping into the ring with here, or are you gonna dismiss me? It'll be fun either way. Don't disappoint me- because at Savage, I sure as hell won't be disappointing you.

The camera pans away from Cambyses and focuses on the window view of the bay, before abruptly cutting off.

[FADE OUT]