INT. SILICON VALLEY GYM
Jeff Bezos is deadlifting, like, 1,000 kilograms. He pauses at the top of the movement, tension and power radiating through his tight nerd body. Overhead, the gym’s Toshiba flatscreen TVs show footage of empty subways. Close-up on graffiti that reads: “DOWN WITH THE TRANSHUMAN DATA CLOUD -BANKSY”
BEZOS (grunting tautly) The words of the prophets were truly written on the subway walls. Bezos slams the bar down, just as his faithful servant Hecubus enters holding a phone on a plate or whatever.
HECUBUS Master, it’s for you. Bezos picks up the phone. The caller is indistinct.
BEZOS So you’re saying I’ve been invited to a martial arts tournament to decide the fate of humanity? So you’re saying it’s going to be my only chance to meet the man behind all this and show him the power of my human muscles? So you’re saying his name is Mark Zuckerberg, my enemy of a long time? Well I’ve got one thing to say to that, Mark. The rolling garage door thing behind Bezos opens, bathing his slick and bulging body with the glorious rays of a Silicon Valley sunrise. Outside, a Kawasaki Ninja (which the audience is meant to assume belongs to Bezos) is loudly idling, its masterfully designed mechanical frame mirroring the trapped ferocity of Bezos’ own sculpted leanness.
BEZOS Let the games begin
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