Chapter 778: Gunshots at the premiere!

As two sleek cars glided towards the edge of the crimson carpet, the aura of anticipation filled the air. The Bentley led the way, its opulent elegance personified by Vin Diesel, resplendent in a pristine white suit, stepping out gracefully.

As the Bentley departed, the Escalade followed suit, its approach measured and deliberate. Martin glanced out the window, observing the bustling scene beyond. "Seems this guy's been on quite the winning streak lately," he remarked, his tone tinged with admiration.

"Indeed," nodded Nicholson, his gaze fixed on the unfolding spectacle. "He's managed to unite audiences and craft a series of blockbuster hits."

Initially, all eyes were fixed on Vin Diesel, but as Martin's Escalade edged closer to the red carpet, the attention swiftly shifted. Recognizing Martin's vehicle, reporters hastily redirected their cameras, capturing every moment.

Meanwhile, Vin Diesel, sensing the change in focus, unconsciously slowed his pace, casting a glance over his shoulder. His gaze met Bruce and Nicholson as they emerged from their respective seats, while Martin emerged from the opposite side, commanding attention with his presence.

The red carpet erupted in a frenzy of excitement, the clamor dwarfing even the commotion that accompanied Christian Bale's entrance.

"Martin! Martin!" The crowd erupted in cheers, vying for his attention.

"Look here, Master! Your loyal follower awaits!" cried out a devoted fan.

"Long live the Coke God Cult! Hail the Clown!" echoed another.

Amidst the flashing lights and fervent adulation, Vin Diesel couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort. Accustomed to being the center of attention, he found himself overshadowed by Martin's magnetic presence.

Across the street, a clown's gaze shifted from Martin to Vin Diesel, his attention drawn to the latter's striking bald head and pristine white attire.

Meanwhile, James, positioned at a distance, adjusted his coat and readied his weapon, a M79 submachine gun. With a swift motion, he aimed at Vin Diesel, the distance between them mere meters.

The sudden burst of gunfire shattered the premiere's ambiance, its deafening roar drowning out all other noise. Vin Diesel, instinctively sensing danger, turned towards the source, flames erupting before him. Pain seared through his body as bullets tore into him, and darkness enveloped him as he collapsed to the ground.

His once immaculate white suit now stained crimson, Vin Diesel lay motionless, blood pooling around him from multiple wounds.

Reacting swiftly, Martin recognized the danger and sprang into action. With a firm grip, he pushed Nicholson back into the safety of the car, his urgent command cutting through the chaos. "Gunfire! Take cover!"

Trusting Martin's instincts, Nicholson obeyed without hesitation, scrambling into the vehicle as the door slammed shut behind him, leaving them both to ponder the harrowing turn of events.

Bruce, his vision still blurred from the sudden onslaught of flashes, swiftly shielded Martin's body and drew his pistol with trembling hands. "Get in the car!" Martin's urgent command echoed, mirroring Bruce's own urgency.

With the back door secured, Bruce wordlessly guided Martin into the passenger seat before darting to the front of the vehicle. "This Escalade is bulletproof!" Martin's reassurance barely registered amidst the chaos.

As screams pierced the air and chaos erupted around them, Martin's commands spurred some to seek safety, while others remained frozen in place, driven by their relentless pursuit of the perfect shot.

With Vin Diesel down, James pivoted, his aim now fixed on the Escalade. Without pause, he unleashed another barrage of gunfire, flames erupting from the muzzle of his weapon.

Martin, barely having closed the door, flinched as bullets pelted the Escalade, leaving ominous marks on the bulletproof glass. As he reached for his own weapon, his heart sank at the sight of Bruce's bloodied form collapsing near the front of the car.

"Bruce!" Martin's voice cracked with emotion as he retrieved a Beretta from the armrest, his fingers trembling as he flicked off the safety.

Beside him, Nicholson's driver lowered the window, Martin's concern evident in his voice. "Bruce, are you alright?"

"Not done for yet!" Bruce's response was strained. "Got a bite on my arm!"

As Martin urged Bruce to seek refuge in the car, blood continued to seep from Bruce's wound, mingling with the sweat on his brow.

Nicholson, seasoned by years of experience, sprang into action, fashioning a makeshift tourniquet to stem the bleeding. Meanwhile, the driver, though rattled, managed to dial 911.

With Bruce's condition stabilized, Martin's gaze hardened, his focus shifting to the assailant more than 20 meters away.

The gunman, with his ghastly visage and ominous attire, stood out amidst the chaos. His pale face, bloodstained grin, and eerie resemblance to a movie clown sent chills down Martin's spine. Even the weapon he wielded mirrored that of the sinister character he portrayed.

Amidst the pandemonium of the premiere, with bodies strewn on the ground, panicked guests fleeing for safety, and the wounded clutching their wounds, Martin's focus remained unwavering, fixed solely on the gunman.

Had the trajectory of the bullet veered slightly, his cherished brother's life might have been snuffed out in an instant. With a steady hand, Martin gripped the Beretta tightly, his other hand instinctively reaching for the window controls.

Trapped between cars ahead and behind, escape seemed futile. The line of luxury vehicles, stretching endlessly into the distance, rendered any movement impossible.

Sensing the urgency of the situation, reporters hiding nearby scrambled to capture the unfolding chaos, their cameras clicking away.

James Holmes, undeterred, unleashed another volley of gunfire, the roar of off-road motorcycles adding to the cacophony. As chaos reigned, he hurled a tear gas bomb towards the Escalade, shrouding the area in a thick, choking haze.

Martin, struggling to maintain visibility amidst the chaos, frantically reached behind him. "Water!" he called out, his voice muffled by the improvised mask covering his nose and mouth.

Nicholson, ever resourceful, retrieved a bottle of Coca-Cola from the car's refrigerator, tossing it to Martin. With swift efficiency, Martin doused the interior, using a damp towel to fashion a makeshift filter against the tear gas.

Concerned for Martin's well-being, Nicholson stocked the armrest with additional bottles of Coke, anticipating further need.

Meanwhile, James, reloading his weapon, turned his attention towards the theater entrance, unleashing a barrage of bullets indiscriminately.

Within the theater, chaos erupted as guests scrambled for safety. The Nolan couple and Anne Hathaway sought refuge towards the rear, but those on the red carpet were not as fortunate.

Tragedy struck as Vin Diesel fell, a victim of senseless violence. Christian Bale, caught in the stampede, stumbled forward, his fall met with a hail of bullets. Pain seared through him as he lay, feigning death amidst the carnage.

As the gunfire continued unabated, the once serene premiere descended into a nightmare, the sound of multiple submachine guns echoing in the night air, signaling the onset of an unthinkable tragedy.

One assailant stood ominously in front of the Dolby Theater, while the other two lurked menacingly on either side of Hollywood Boulevard.

The clown-masked gunman unleashed a barrage of bullets, the cacophony of screams and gunfire echoing throughout the Hollywood Highland Center.

In the brief span since the incident began, the toll of casualties remained unknown, lost amidst the chaos and terror.

Beside the battered Escalade, pocked with bullet holes, tear gas billowed, dispersing the panicked crowd as the evening breeze carried away the acrid scent.

Martin's gaze finally locked onto the gunman, his heart pounding with fury. "Get down!" he barked, his command echoing through the car.

The old driver swiftly complied, lowering himself into the relative safety of the vehicle as Martin, with grim determination, rolled down the window despite the noxious fumes.

Despite the stinging sensation assaulting his senses, Martin's hands remained steady as he took aim with the Beretta, his focus unyielding.

More than twenty meters distant, the gunman appeared little more than a stationary target in Martin's sight, his resolve unshakable as he squeezed the trigger.

The Beretta thundered to life, bullets finding their mark with deadly precision, striking the gunman's broad back.

James, wounded but defiant, attempted to retaliate, but Martin's onslaught left him no opportunity to regroup.

As gunfire crackled in the night, Martin emptied the magazine, watching with grim satisfaction as James collapsed, a fleeting smile dancing upon his lips.

With the threat neutralized, Martin hastily raised the window, coughing as he struggled to shake off the lingering effects of the tear gas.

Yet, even as the gas dispersed, the roar of motorcycles and the ominous rattle of gunfire heralded the arrival of fresh danger.

Another barrage of bullets peppered the Escalade, punctuating the relentless onslaught. Martin turned to face the new threat, eyes narrowing as he spotted a clown-clad assailant racing towards them on an off-road motorcycle.

With reckless abandon, the gunman unleashed a hail of bullets, his targets indiscriminate, his actions fueled by madness.