America achieves both fame and fortune

Chapter 780 Cola, Cola Again

The roar of the off-road motorcycles reminded Martin of the hooligans he often saw in his past life—the cooler they were when they were showing off, the more miserable they were when they fell.

Amid the gunfire, more bullets struck Cadillac.

The off-road motorcycle sped between two rows of cars, and Bob on it really looked like a clown, aimless and without a plan, pointing his gun at the crowd and firing bullets everywhere.

He just wanted to create chaos and take revenge on the society that had bankrupted him and subjected him to so much contempt.

Bob saw some clueless reporters setting up cameras and filming, so he fired a burst of bullets at them, and two reporters fell into pools of blood.

The off-road motorcycle then rushed up to the rear of the Escalade.

Martin, who had been staring at the motorcycle, shouted, "Open the door!"

The experienced driver opened the driver's side door and even kicked it.

The Escalade's door suddenly opened!

Bob noticed the door in front of him suddenly open and instinctively stepped on the brakes.

However, the two sides were too close together, and Bob wasn't focused on driving, so his reaction was a couple of beats slower.

With a screeching sound, the motorcycle, carrying Bob, crashed into the door of the Cadillac Escalade.

Bob's head hit the car door, and he and his motocross bike fell to the side of the car.

Inside the car, Martin had already thrown away the empty Beretta pistol and casually picked up an empty Coke bottle, throwing it at the fallen gunman.

These are Coca-Cola glass bottles, Martin's most familiar weapon!

This is a Coca-Cola glass bottle thrown by the leader of the Coca-Cola Cult, so it has some kind of magical buff.

Bob fell down, immediately looked up, grabbed his M79 submachine gun, and tried to fire into the car to send those bastards who dared to fight back to hell.

Something flew towards him, and before Bob could react, the heavy glass bottle, like an undrawn grenade, smashed into his head with a thud.

The Coke bottle flew out.

Bob's vision blurred and his head spun from the impact. The M79 he was holding felt like it weighed a ton, and he couldn't lift it no matter what he did.

Without pausing, Martin grabbed another bottle of Coke that Nicholson had placed on the armrest box and threw it away.

With a muffled thud, the glass bottle filled with cola struck the clown gunman in the forehead.

Blood streamed down Bob's head, and he felt a wave of dizziness: Where am I? What am I doing? Who the hell am I?

Martin then threw out the third bottle of Coke.

The Coke bottle spun around and hit Bob on the nose.

Blood gushed from the nose, and the bridge of the nose was fractured.

Blood, tears, and snot all flew out.

Martin reached out to touch it again, but Nicholson had already taken another bottle of Coke from the car refrigerator and put it in his palm.

The Coke bottle flew out of the open driver's door and hit Bob squarely on the head.

Bob kicked his legs twice, and his hand automatically released, the M79 submachine gun falling to the ground.

The clown's pale face paint was almost completely covered by blood red, and he had fainted.

Martin gripped the steering wheel with both hands and pushed off with his legs, leaping over the experienced driver, passing through the driver's side door, and landing on the ground.

He kicked the M79 submachine gun under the car and picked up Bruce's dropped pistol from in front of the wheel.

Bruce was wounded in the right arm, and the gun fell onto the hood of the car before sliding to the ground.

Upon hearing the noise, Martin immediately pointed his gun at the source.

Two reporters with name tags around their necks emerged from behind another row of vehicles, hands raised, and shouted, "We're reporters, Martin, we've interviewed you before!"

Martin recognized them and immediately warned, "There are gunmen too, be careful."

Two reporters immediately slipped out from behind the car, their camera lenses pointed at the ground. The gunman's face was covered in blood, and he looked incredibly miserable.

There were a few unbroken Coca-Cola bottles nearby.

The bottle was stained with blood.

The camera just captured it, and the two reporters exchanged a glance, both having the same thought: It really is the God of Coca-Cola!

Ordinary bottled cola, in the hands of the leader of the Cola Cult, becomes a terrifying weapon comparable to a gun!

Martin pulled out the clown's belt, tied his hands behind his back, and then untied his two shoelaces to bind his thumbs and ankles.

As they did this, more reporters gathered around.

Seven or eight reporters were constantly getting close to take pictures.

After Martin finished doing all that, he heard the sound of submachine guns firing again, some distance away. He reminded them, "Find a place to hide. Your life is more important."

The reporters instinctively looked toward the direction from which the gunshot had rang out.

Several lunatics took off running in that direction.

The sirens blared wildly, but Martin ignored them, told the experienced driver to go to the passenger seat, got into the driver's seat of the Escalade, and closed the door.

As long as the gunman doesn't use rockets or large-caliber armor-piercing rounds, the car is safe.

Martin turned to look behind him.

Bruce's injured arm had its sleeve torn off, and Nicholson assisted in bandaging the wound with bandages from the car.

"How is it?" Martin asked.

Bruce said, "It's just a flesh wound, like being bitten by a bullet. It hurts, but that's about it."

Martin glanced at his right arm again, making sure there was nothing wrong, and joked, "Old Brooks, you're getting old."

Bruce said, "I was too tired last night."

Seeing that no one was hurt, Nicholson's mischievous nature returned, and he asked, "Old Brooks, how many did you sleep with last night?"

Bruce shook his head and sighed: "Two sisters."

Nicholson patted his unaffected shoulder: "Your injury is well-deserved."

The sirens and ambulance wailing grew louder and louder.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out again.

Besides the submachine gun fire, Martin heard other gunshots, and with his familiarity with firearms, he could easily distinguish the sounds of an M4 and a Glock 17 being fired.

The gunfire was rapid, like a group of people eagerly trying to empty their magazines.

In less than half a minute, the gunfire completely stopped.

Martin couldn't help but guess that the gunman with the submachine gun was probably riddled with holes.

Many media reporters went there.

Martin then had time to carefully examine the area around the Dolby Theatre.

The theater entrance was a mess, with many people lying on the ground, their painful groans and howls echoing everywhere. Heaven knows how many people were injured.

Among them, a splash of white lying on the red carpet was so striking.

A white suit adorned with blood-red flowers is hard to miss.

Martin's phone rang at that moment; it was Nolan calling.

As soon as he answered, he heard Nolan ask anxiously, "Martin, is that you?"

Martin said, "It's me. Don't worry, I'm fine."

Nolan visibly relaxed: "It's alright, it's alright. Quickly find a safe place to hide."

"I'm hiding in the car; it's bulletproof." Martin then asked, "What's the situation on your end?"

Nolan looked around and said, "Most people are here, except for Christian Bale and Vin Diesel for now."

Martin warned, "I didn't see Bell, but Vin Diesel... Chris, you and Emma should be prepared. Vin Diesel was shot, just 30 meters away from me. There's been no movement. The situation is unclear, and I'm afraid to get out of the car."

Nolan was initially shocked, then said, "You absolutely mustn't get out of the car, safety is the most important thing!"

After the two hung up, Martin received calls from Lily and Elizabeth.

Nicholson, who was behind him, also received a call from Leonardo.

Martin said a few words and quickly tweeted: "Safe for now, waiting for rescuers to arrive."

The premiere of "The Dark Knight Rises" turned into a disaster.

After the gunfire ceased, the LAPD teams arrived one after another, taking control of the situation and searching for any remaining suspects.

Martin saw an acquaintance jump out of the car and called out, "Lynch!"

The police inspector also saw Martin and rushed over. Seeing the bloodstains on Martin's hands and body, and the bullet holes in the Cadillac behind him, he quickly asked, "Martin, are you alright?"

Martin glanced at the blood on his body and said, "It's mostly superficial wounds, but my manager Bruce has been shot. Please arrange an ambulance as soon as possible."

Lin Qi immediately pressed the intercom to tell the rescuers to hurry over.

Martin pointed to the other side of the Cadillac and said, "There was a gunman who walked past the car. I knocked him unconscious. He shouldn't be dead. Have someone find the reporters at the scene for details. Many people took pictures."

Lynch finally heard some good news amidst a series of bad news.

He quickly notified his superiors and then went with Martin.

Walking around the front of the car, Lynch found the bound gunman covered in blood, with Coca-Cola bottles scattered around him.

It was obvious that Martin used the Cola Cult leader's weapon to take down the gunman.

Lynch was not surprised at all.

Several police officers followed and dealt with the surviving gunman.

Martin pointed to the bottom of the car, where the M79 submachine gun was still.

LAPD's top brass, McLean, arrived at the scene immediately after receiving Martin's message.

Lin Qi is leading a team to handle the scene.

Martin and McLean have always had a good personal relationship. Standing by the car, he pointed to a spot about 20 meters away: "The first gunman should be around there. The reporters' flashes affected my vision, so I couldn't see clearly. Then he pulled out his gun and fired, killing many movie fans and Vin Diesel who was walking the red carpet."

"Van Diesel?" Upon hearing this, McLean knew that there was even bigger trouble beneath this already incredibly troublesome situation.

There were too many people lying on the ground. The first paramedics to arrive were treating Bruce's injuries, and there weren't enough people to treat the others yet.

Martin pointed to the striking white on the red carpet: "There it is."

He added, "The gunman then opened fire on me, and Old Bu was shot. I got into the car, found an opportunity to fight back, and killed him. There were many reporters at the scene, and someone may have filmed it."

"Well done!" McLean looked at Martin's Escalade, its cratered and riddled with bullet holes, a shocking sight. If it were an ordinary car, the people inside would have been seriously injured or killed.

He said to Martin, "Let's go to the hospital first. We can talk about the rest after you've had your check-ups."

Martin didn't stand on ceremony and nodded slightly: "Just give me a call if you need anything."

A large number of paramedics arrived, and Martin, Bruce, and Nicholson followed them on foot out of the traffic jam and into the ambulance.

(End of this chapter)