Chapter 528: An Accident!

The abrupt cacophony of gunfire ceased, leaving a resonant silence as the crew concluded filming yet another intense gun battle scene. Amidst the dissipating smoke and lingering adrenaline, Martin, his hands still trembling slightly from the action, handed the prop pistol back to Bruce. He lingered a moment, watching the crew bustling about, dismantling the set piece by piece, before he sauntered over to join Mene in preparing for their much-needed lunch break.

As they were gathering their things, Nolan approached with a purposeful stride. "Let's grab lunch together," he suggested with an easy smile.

Martin fell into step beside him, curiosity piquing his tone. "I was looking over the latest shooting schedule. Are we wrapping up all my scenes today?"

Nolan, adjusting his sunglasses, nodded affirmatively. "Yes, your final scene is set in Los Angeles." He glanced at Martin, inquiring casually, "Got any other commitments coming up?"

Martin thought back to the invitation he received just yesterday. "Tom Cruise wants to discuss a project with me," he mentioned, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

Nolan didn't press further, instead steering the conversation back to the current production. "We've got some challenging action scenes ahead. The Canada shoot will be on snowy mountains. Ever been skiing?"

Martin nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "I've had some practice, though I wouldn't call myself an expert." He chuckled, reminiscing about a past role. "I did a movie with quite a few skiing scenes - a martial arts thriller set against a wintry backdrop."

Behind them, Bruce lingered just within earshot. He waited for Nolan and Martin to move ahead before leaning in towards Mene with a mischievous grin. "Our boss is the perfect blend of brawn and... more brawn," he whispered, eliciting a quiet laugh from Mene.

The group entered the restaurant, which was bustling with the film's crew. The entire establishment had been booked for the duration of the shoot, becoming a temporary hub for cast and crew alike. Martin and Nolan's arrival drew several glances, a mixture of admiration and curiosity filling the air.

Clayson, the assistant set decorator, finished his meal in his usual hurried fashion, leaving the restaurant with two of his colleagues who were joking about needing a nap after their hearty meal.

In contrast to his colleagues, Clayson preferred to spend his post-lunch hours wandering the streets near the set, which had been cordoned off for the shoot. It was a common practice among the crew, but Clayson blended into the background, unremarkable and unnoticed.

Today, as he had done on several occasions, Clayson meandered towards the alley where the props team was stationed. The team, responsible for the real firearms used on set, always had someone on guard during meals. However, the guard, slumped in a chair between two vans, was invariably asleep, sunglasses perched on his nose to give the illusion of vigilance.

Hollywood film sets, notorious for their sometimes lax management, had seen their fair share of accidents due to such negligence.

Clayson paused, his eyes scanning the area. It was deserted, the crew having retreated to the sanctuary of the restaurant. He coughed softly, testing the guard's alertness. As expected, there was no response. The guard was probably still recovering from last night's escapades.

With a practiced ease, Clayson slipped on a pair of gloves and ducked behind the van. He quietly set up a folding workbench beside it and cautiously opened the van's rear door, revealing the container inside.

The props team, though lax in some areas, still adhered to basic professional ethics. The guns, magazines, and boxes of blanks were securely stored in the container, not left out in the open. However, Clayson noticed with a mix of surprise and opportunity that the container's safety lock hadn't been engaged.

Shaking his head at the oversight, he thought about how the container, once locked, required a correct password to reopen—a hassle for a busy crew. It seemed the Hollywood crew he was part of often opted for convenience over security, leaving the container accessible throughout the day once it was opened in the morning.

Clayson, the assistant set decorator known for his nimble and precise hands, delicately opened the cabinet that held the firearms used by the main characters. His eyes scanned over the neatly disassembled firearms and magazines, each loaded with harmless blanks. Among them, five identical M9 pistols lay in a row. Clayson pondered, trying to recall which one Martin, the lead actor, had used, but his limited interaction with the main cast left him uncertain.

Knowing time was not on his side, Clayson acted swiftly. He extracted a magazine, deftly removing the six hollow-point blanks. With a surreptitious glance around, he replaced them with three live rounds, topping them off with another three blanks to conceal his tampering. Satisfied, he carefully returned the magazine to its original position and closed the cabinet, leaving no trace of his meddling.

Clayson cast a final, cautious look around the deserted alley before slipping into the street, unobstructed by the crew's blockade. After putting some distance between himself and the set, he discreetly disposed of his gloves and the discarded blanks, tossing them into separate, dilapidated sewer entrances scattered along the city's aged streets. Confident in his stealth, Clayson resumed his casual stroll, blending back into the bustle of the set as though nothing had happened.

Back on set, the crew's lunch break had ended, and preparations for the afternoon's shoot were underway. Bruce, a member of the props team and a stickler for safety, made his way to the props alley to inspect the firearms.

"Always double-checking, huh?" grumbled a seasoned prop master, his voice tinged with annoyance as he adjusted his sunglasses. "We've been guarding these guns. They're fine."

Bruce replied firmly, "Just doing my duty."

The prop master scoffed, "Who understands our efforts? Do you think we're all conspirators here?"

Bruce, undeterred, explained his caution. "Remember the incident with the Russian spy? Can't be too careful with Hollywood's history and the KGB's reputation."

This reminder silenced the prop master's complaints. The reminder of past dangers instilled a sense of unease.

Bruce began his inspection, meticulously checking each long gun and pistol. As he picked up Martin's M9, British actor Tom Hardy approached, reaching for another M9.

"Hold on, let me finish checking these," Bruce cautioned.

Hardy, unconcerned with Bruce's caution and known for his brash attitude, sneered. "Don't get ahead of yourself. No one's here for you."

Bruce faced Hardy squarely, his voice firm. "Mind your manners."

Hardy, realizing the seriousness of Bruce's demeanor, toned down his arrogance. He grabbed a magazine, demonstratively unloading and displaying the blanks. "See? Just props."

The prop master intervened, urging them to hurry as filming was about to resume. Hardy, with a final mocking glance at Bruce, reloaded the magazine and strode off.

Bruce, undistracted by the altercation, continued his thorough check of the remaining firearms, ensuring the safety of the actors as they came to collect their weapons for the upcoming scenes.

Bruce, with a quiet efficiency, handed Mene the pistol and took the one assigned to Martin, preparing to return to the bustling set.

As they walked, Mene, his brow furrowed with concern, asked, "Did you have a run-in with Tom Hardy?"

Bruce, surprised by the rapid spread of the news, replied, "Word travels that fast, huh?"

Mene shook his head, a hint of disdain in his voice. "Hardy's been mouthing off, calling us 'slaves' and Martin our 'master.'"

Bruce's frown deepened, but then a mischievous glint appeared in his eye. "Remember Nicholson's homemade rocket launcher? We should bring that to the set tomorrow. That'll show him."

Mene's face lit up with excitement. "I'll be the one to light the fuse! A rocket for a rocket launcher... That's how you deal with a so-called British gentleman."

Bruce nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. But remember to call me for it."

Arriving at the set, Bruce handed Martin his pistol. Action director Tom approached, discussing the upcoming scene and safety measures with Martin. The dream sequence being shot in Los Angeles was divided into two parts: one featuring Martin and Ellen Page, and the other with Mene, Ken Watanabe, and Tom Hardy, involving a shootout scene after kidnapping Cillian Murphy's character.

Ellen Page, draped in a hooded costume, approached and commented with a roll of her eyes, "That Tom Hardy is stirring the pot again, spreading rumors."

Martin, unfazed, replied, "I've heard. Let's not give him the attention."

The set quieted as the recorder approached the camera, signaling the start of filming. Martin and Ellen ceased their conversation.

The scene erupted into action. The sharp crackle of a semi-automatic rifle broke the silence, and a camera assistant, wielding a Steadicam, captured the chaos. Tom Hardy, his face a mask of intensity, burst from the scarred taxi, firing his gun in rapid succession.

The scene was chaotic yet controlled, with gunfire and stuntmen falling in choreographed precision. But suddenly, the routine shattered. The camera assistant's Steadicam exploded into fragments at the third shot. A look of shock and pain crossed his face as he collapsed, a blossoming wound on his shoulder.

Director Nolan, realizing the gravity of the situation, bellowed through his loudspeaker, "Stop! Stop! Everyone, stay calm! It was just an accident!"

The set froze in a tense silence, the chaos halted by Nolan's commanding presence.

In the waiting area, Bruce, his face taut with concern, asked Martin, "How many shots did Tom Hardy fire?"

Martin, experienced with firearms, responded, "Three initially, then three more. But the first set... they were all blanks, then..."

Bruce's mind raced. He distinctly remembered the first three rounds Hardy unloaded were indeed blanks.

Tom Hardy, looking bewildered and shaken, slumped against the taxi, his head buried in his hands.

The crew, stunned, couldn't help but recall the tragic incident on the set of "The Crow." Hollywood had seen its share of accidents, and this was a grim reminder.

Hardy, realizing the dire consequence of his action, was filled with remorse. "Why didn't I let Bruce check the gun properly?" he lamented, the weight of his mistake pressing heavily upon him.