Emergency measures

Morgan Fisher had never been in such a wretched state.

The crazed journalists descended like a torrential storm, striking like a hail of punches and kicks, leaving no room for retaliation. Not even a breath could be taken, let alone any form of defense. Every inch of his body was exposed to the onslaught, and his once immaculate Armani suit looked like it had been fished out of a dumpster. His expensive Italian handcrafted leather shoes were now marred with footprints, and even his toes throbbed with discomfort. Sticky sweat glued his shirt and underwear to his body, and his wristwatch seemed to slip and slide on his wrist.

"Get back!" Morgan attempted to regain control, roaring at the top of his lungs, his lungs beginning to burn and almost bursting. But the waves of noise crashed in, and his voice vanished without a trace, leaving him furious.

His anger had only begun to simmer when an elbow swung towards him. He reflexively ducked, but his skull collided with an arm, followed by a camera pushing forward relentlessly, wedging tightly against his neck, immobilizing him. His instinctive reaction was to raise his right hand and attempt a push, but it proved futile. Sweat poured like rain as his right hand wiped his forehead, then his hair, pushing the stray strands back. Yet, several hands reached out simultaneously, left, right, front, striking and pummeling without rhyme or reason. He felt like a basketball.

It was humiliating, utterly humiliating.

His hair was disheveled, resembling a bird's nest, or rather, even a bird's nest looked tidier. At this moment, Morgan had no semblance of an image. However, he finally understood that resistance was futile. In such a seething crowd, one person's strength was utterly inconsequential. All he could do was surrender and go with the flow.

Once he gave up, progress became possible. He struggled to make his way to the door, where he crashed against the wooden panel. Now was not the time to worry about appearances. He urgently began banging on the door, shouting, "Chris, Chris, it's me, open the door! Quickly!"

Chris, sitting on the sofa, startled like a spooked deer, reflexively leaped up, but then realized it was Morgan, his savior. He quickly opened the door panel and was greeted with a sea of distorted faces rushing towards him. His vision was instantly blurred by the flashing lights. The last image that remained in his mind before the avalanche was a stampede of thousands of horses.

After allowing Morgan inside through a narrow gap, Chris hurriedly closed the door panel. It wasn't an easy task, and they both needed to put in a tremendous effort to get the door shut. They leaned against it, gasping for breath, their appearance extremely disheveled.

Turning to Morgan, Chris was taken aback, and Morgan felt somewhat embarrassed. If he had been able to contact Chris, he wouldn't have needed to intervene personally, and he wouldn't have suffered such humiliation. These journalists were like ravenous beasts, completely overreacting to a relatively minor negative news event. They clearly lacked experience.

Morgan stood up straight, puffing out his chest to hide his disarray. He spoke sharply, "Why was your phone off?"

Chris, still overwhelmed, took half a second to react before explaining, "The journalists kept calling, it never stopped ringing, and it drained my battery completely." Chris added, "The landline was the same, so I unplugged it."

Morgan clenched his chest; no wonder he couldn't reach Chris. While the situation had exceeded his expectations, he still needed to address Chris face to face. "What about your computer? Why did you turn it off? I tried to contact you through video, but you were never available!"

Chris opened his mouth but couldn't find the words to say. He was speechless, with no way to defend himself.

Looking at Chris's bewildered expression, Morgan felt like he was about to explode with frustration. However, when he considered Paramount's furious rage, Universal's complicity, and the relentless pursuit of the media, Morgan forced himself to swallow his pride. Now was not the time.

"We have to face the journalists now," Morgan forced himself to calm down. He didn't even bother fixing his appearance and spoke directly. But Chris didn't give Morgan a chance to continue. He responded, "No!" with a decisive and fearful tone that made Morgan grind his teeth.

Calm down. Everything had its pros and cons. One of the main reasons Morgan had chosen Chris, an idol, over someone like the troublesome Renly, was because Chris was obedient, right? Stay calm, you must stay calm.

Morgan clenched his fist and suppressed the urge to slap Chris. He said slowly and firmly, "Listen carefully, you don't have a choice. We have to go out and face the reporters." Sensing that Chris might want to speak again, Morgan gave him a fierce and intimidating look, and Chris swallowed his words.

"When facing the reporters, emphasize that you earned this role based on your talent. Leave the rest to me," Morgan quickly regained his composure after the initial panic. He had already planned out the procedures in his mind before coming here.

"Thor" wasn't a film that tested acting skills extensively. While the script played a role during auditions, it was of limited significance. They should focus on Chris's talent; he was the perfect fit for the role of Thor. The script should not be the center of attention; their position had to remain firm.

The rest was relatively straightforward. Natalie Portman, Anthony Hopkins, and other key cast members would step forward and express their support for Chris as the ideal choice for the role. They wouldn't directly respond to the script incident but would continue to emphasize the character's image, showing unwavering support for Chris. This would create a public perception:

The script was secondary; the character was paramount. Whether or not there was a script, Chris was the best choice.

Once the storm passed, Chris would respond directly. All those rumors were baseless; he had never borrowed, let alone stolen, a script. The negative impact would be minimized. What truly decided success or failure was not this verbal sparring, but the box office performance of "Thor".

Just like Robert Downey Jr. When the media kept accusing him of drug and alcohol issues despite his success with "Iron Man", Robert was often provoked and even stormed off the set during a TV show recording. But what did it matter? After "Iron Man 2" dominated the box office, those reporters shut their mouths voluntarily.

Seemingly a dead end, yet still full of vitality. This was Hollywood, not a courtroom.

Morgan's calm demeanor couldn't help Chris settle down. "But what if they keep pressing? What if they don't let go of the script issue? Renly will speak up; he will, he definitely will!" Chris's eyes widened, and he repeated the words, panicking. Memories of all the scenes from their apartment flashed in his mind, and he couldn't calm his anxiety. "He won't miss this opportunity, and the reporters won't miss this news!"

"Chris!" Morgan shouted angrily, but it had limited effect. He gave Chris a slap, the sharp sound and the force of the blow caught Chris off guard, causing him to stumble back half a step, but he quickly regained his composure. "Chris, remember, all you need to say is that you earned the role based on your talent, which is the truth. Kenneth affirmed you, the producers affirmed you, Anthony affirmed you! That's all!"

Morgan emphasized once again, "Leave everything else to me." This situation had exceeded their expectations, and Chris couldn't handle it; Morgan had to step in personally to intercept those sensitive questions and try to control the situation's future development as much as possible.

Seeing Chris lost in thought, Morgan took a deep breath to prevent his temper from getting out of control again. "Chris, repeat after me: I earned the role based on my talent."

"I earned the role based on my talent," Chris repeated mechanically. Morgan went through the entire process again and again until Chris's eyes showed a glimmer of confidence, and he began to regain his composure.

Only then did Morgan relax a bit, patting Chris on the arm. "I'll freshen up, and then we'll go out. It has to be now; we can't delay any longer." With that, Morgan headed straight for the bathroom. He felt cheap in his current state and needed to regain his confidence. There was absolutely no room for error now.

While Morgan and Chris were preparing to face the reporters, Renly had already managed to escape the journalists. Matthew released the handbrake and stepped on the gas, driving away.

"Are you serious?" Renly looked at Roy with an expression of disbelief.

Roy innocently tilted his head, making a small but clear gesture. "I'd like to say that I saw the news and knew you were facing difficulties today, so I rushed over to rescue you. That way, you owe me a favor. But, it was really just a lucky coincidence. I didn't even know you lived here."

Roy's appearance had no complex reasons behind it. He just happened to pass by, saw the reporters surrounding the news subject, and learned that it was Renly, so he stepped in to help. That's it, as simple as that.

"If it's possible, I don't mind helping out like this a few more times," Renly playfully teased, while Nathan sitting in the passenger seat shook his head in dismay. "Again? Maybe not, let's try to avoid situations like this in the future."

Their anxious expressions filled the car with laughter, and the exhaustion and chaos from earlier were left behind.

For Chris, the battle had just begun, but for Renly, this news event had already concluded—at least until the official premiere of "Fast 5".