America achieves both fame and fortune

Chapter 472 I Need to Be Seriously Injured

Martin casually brushed away the hamburger crumbs, changed the magazine as quickly as possible, and then gave Bruce an OK sign in the back of the Ford.

From the dock management building came Nicholson's desperate shouts: "3 o'clock! 3 o'clock!"

With the help of his teammates, Nicholas, who was advancing, heard the shouts, but he couldn't understand English and continued running quickly.

Because Martin was pinned down by Boris and couldn't lift his head.

But Martin fell down and lay face down on the ground, just like Jonathan did during the filming.

Sure enough, he saw two big feet!

Martin aimed, fired, and a large kick sent blood splattering as a man fell to the ground with a scream.

He was a middle-aged man with a large beard, who was still clutching his gun tightly even after being wounded.

Martin did similar training many times before filming "John Wick". He didn't even need to think, it was purely muscle memory. His fingers would automatically tighten when the muzzle of the gun moved slightly.

bang bang bang-

Three shots were fired in quick succession, and Nicholas's head exploded like a watermelon.

Martin quickly shrank back.

Boris lowered his gun and fired repeatedly at the bottom of the mobile vehicle.

But he's over 60 years old, he's getting old, and he's not like Sylvester Stallone in The Expendables, who gets better with age.

Their physical functions and reaction speed are slower than those of young people.

Moreover, today they were using an AR, which they weren't very comfortable with, instead of the AK they were used to.

Martin ducked back behind the wheel near the engine, unaware of how many bullets had landed near the car's undercarriage, hitting the stone pavement.

For a moment, ricochets flew everywhere, some landing on the car chassis and even causing secondary refraction.

Suddenly, Martin felt something hit the outside of his left leg, and there was a cracking sound. He also smelled the burnt smell of rubber under high temperature.

His leg started hurting again, so he quickly touched it and pulled out a Nokia 1100 from his left trouser pocket.

This is the one Nicholson gave to Martin for secret communications.

Martin couldn't say whether he was lucky or unlucky. A ricocheting bullet, which may have deflected multiple times, grazed his front tire and hit the outside of his left leg, striking his Nokia phone. The bullet didn't have enough force to completely penetrate the phone and got stuck inside.

The bullet, with only a small portion exposed, also wounded Martin's leg.

The injury is not serious; it's just a common superficial wound that's perfectly tolerable.

When the gunfire from the other side subsided, Martin turned the car around, raised his gun, and fired repeatedly.

Boris hid behind another mobile truck selling iced drinks.

Another gunman hiding behind decorative rocks by the roadside was also subdued by Bruce.

It's now 2v2!

Martin had only one magazine left on his rifle, and without hesitation, he rushed out from behind the car.

I saw it very clearly just now; the Russian on the other side is an old guy!

Martin quickly changed position, hiding behind a thick lamppost, and fired repeatedly, including a few shots at the bottom of the mobile vehicle to prevent the people on the other side from imitating him by shooting from underneath.

Just as Boris was about to fire from under the car, a ricocheting bullet hit the undercarriage, and he quickly ducked back.

Gunfire was sparse, and his men died one by one.

Boris gritted his teeth; these were all elite thugs from his gang!

He died, but his enemy on the other side remained alive and kicking.

Boris, with a touch of madness, darted out from the front of the beverage truck, picked up his AR, and fired.

He fired more than a dozen shots in succession, but he couldn't find Martin. He didn't know where Martin was hiding.

In the nearby lush greenery, Martin discarded his AR rifle, which was now empty, and pulled out the pistol he had found.

An old-fashioned M1911.

Upon hearing the gunfire subside, Martin immediately stood up, gripped his gun with both hands, and fired repeatedly towards the beverage truck.

At a distance of only a dozen meters, the M1911's range is sufficient.

Boris was old, but experienced. The moment he ran out of bullets, he pulled back, and pistol bullets continued to hit the front of the car near him.

A ricocheting bullet grazed his arm, and Boris, in pain, lost his balance and dropped his gun.

As Martin fired, he charged toward the truck, stomping his foot on the hood and leaping into the air. He then threw his empty M1911 like a throwing knife.

This is a technique Jonathan often uses when filming fast-paced chase scenes.

Martin had practiced this before, and the heavy pistol slammed into Boris's head with a thud. The immense force sent Boris falling backward, landing with a thud in a plastic crate of bottled cola next to the car.

He reacted quickly, grabbing the glass bottle of Coke and throwing it at Martin.

Throwing things seems easy, but sitting in such an awkward position makes it a bit difficult.

Martin jumped off the front of the car, dodged aside, and casually grabbed a glass bottle of Coke from the window of the beverage truck.

Boris also stood up, holding a glass bottle of Coke in his hand.

Meanwhile, several reckless reporters were sprinting toward them, and everyone realized that a major news story was unfolding.

Perhaps this news story can change their fate.

Many tourists and movie fans didn't run far; instead, they went to higher ground to see what had happened.

They saw how Martin fought back, and how he took down gunmen one by one under extremely unfavorable circumstances.

I saw two people confronting each other, each holding a glass bottle of Coca-Cola.

Some people couldn't help but wonder if this bandit who appeared out of nowhere was going to challenge Martin, the Coca-Cola God of War, in the way he was best at.

Some people who were hiding on the beach came out to see what was going on when the gunfire stopped, and they found Martin and Boris by following the cameras and videos of the reporters.

"Those idiots at the LAPD, I'm definitely going to file a complaint against them!"

On the rooftop of the management office building, Leonardo cursed incessantly in desperation, then prayed to God, whom he rarely believed in: "God bless Martin!"

Nicholson's heart-wrenching screams had torn his vocal cords, making it difficult for him to speak. He stood on the rooftop, gazing at the beverage truck.

The car blocked his view of what was behind him, so he couldn't see Martin or the gunmen.

In the distance, the faint sound of police sirens could be heard as LAPD patrol cars sped toward them.

But Martin and Boris, who were behind the beverage truck, couldn't hear the sirens at all.

At this moment, they only have eyes for each other!

It's either you die or I live!

Boris regretted it. Martin's fighting ability was unbelievably strong. His marksmanship and skills were better than those of them, who were professional gangsters. He should have just shot him from a distance instead of trying to capture him alive.

But now there is no other way to go.

He shouted angrily, "Die, you bastard!"

Martin didn't say anything at all; he simply picked up the bottle of Coke and lunged at her.

Boris swung the Coke and smashed it down on Martin's head.

Martin tensed his arm and lunged forward. The Coke bottle slammed into his strong arm and was deflected. He then swung the Coke bottle with his other hand and smashed it down on Boris's head.

Boris also reached out to block it!

One of them was in his twenties, at the peak of his physical strength; the other was over 60.

With a crack, Boris's upper arm broke, and he screamed in pain.

When you're fighting for your life, there are no tricks, it's all about risking your life!

Martin's left hand was also in pain, but he gritted his teeth and endured it.

Once he lands a successful blow, he never gives his opponent any time to catch his breath.

Martin used the same old trick: he kicked Boris in the stomach and then swung the Coke bottle in his right hand, smashing it on Boris's head with a bang.

Glass shards flew everywhere, and blood immediately flowed out. Boris was hit and staggered back two steps before falling to the ground with a thud.

Even though his arms and legs were still aching after taking down these armed thugs, Martin's ferocity had been unleashed, and he had no intention of holding back.

He stepped forward and kicked Boris in the face.

Boris fell to the ground with a thud, and five or six large teeth flew out of his mouth.

But the fierce-willed Russian remained defiant, saying in broken English, "Come on, you bastard, I'll never let you get away with this!"

Martin had no intention of letting him go. He bent down, picked up the bottled Coke from the glass case, and threw it away forcefully.

With a distance of only two or three meters and that head being such a large target, how could they possibly miss?

With a muffled thud, the Coke bottle smashed onto Boris's head.

Martin picked it up again, threw it again, and smashed it again.

He threw bottle after bottle of Coke, hitting Boris on the head.

The reporters drew closer and closer as the gunfire ceased completely.

Bruce killed the last armed robber.

The sirens grew closer, and patrol cars had arrived at the dock area.

Martin tossed the last bottle of Coke, saw Bruce making an OK sign not far away, nodded slightly to him, and finally took a step back and sat down on the stone steps.

Boris, sitting diagonally across from him, stopped spouting all his harsh words and could only convulse uncontrollably.

The boldest reporter, standing only a dozen meters away from Martin, controlled his camera, filming the scene. He glanced at Martin briefly and reminded him, "Martin, you're injured."

Martin smiled at him and said, "You won't die."

Even at this point, this drama queen didn't forget to maintain her persona, asking, "My fans, and all of you, are you alright?"

The reporter said, "Apart from the armed robbers, I didn't see anyone else die."

"Very good, very good." Martin swayed, staggered a few times, and collapsed onto the steps.

In the distance, fans wearing red T-shirts were running towards them, shouting, "Call an ambulance! Call an ambulance! Martin is injured!"

These words reached Martin's ears without missing a single one.

He was just tired; his injuries weren't too serious, but at this moment, it would have been better if the injuries had been more severe.

This is an acting opportunity I risked my life for; it would be a shame to give it up.

The sirens blared almost frantically as a large number of police cars rushed to the scene. Given the severity of the shooting, it wasn't just the LAPD that arrived; FBI vehicles were also present.

"Quick! Over here! Martin has been shot and is seriously injured!" Martin's fans at the scene shouted, their voices trembling with tears, "Get him to the hospital quickly, get him to the hospital!"

The LAPD immediately took control of the scene and dispersed reporters and fans.

The ambulance arrived, and several paramedics carried a stretcher down, checked Martin's condition, and then lifted him onto the stretcher.

Countless cameras captured Martin being injured and taken to the ambulance.

Anyone who works in the media knows that this is a huge news story that will shock the entire United States!

I went back to my hometown yesterday and visited all my relatives. I originally planned to write last night, but we had a family dinner and it went very late. I got up at 5 a.m. this morning and finally finished writing two chapters for today. I'm going to have breakfast now, and I'll continue writing after that. I'll try to update another chapter today. Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)