America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

Hearing Scott's words, Bale clenched his buttocks subconsciously, his gaze sweeping over the oddly-shaped pink kettle with a mix of terror and anger.

Thinking back to their encounters over the last few days, he had consumed a fair amount of alcohol. If he had foolishly followed Sophia in a moment of weakness...

It wouldn't just be a severe consequence, but the problem that followed would be very severe.

Better to be the one stirring shit than to be used by others as a shit-stirrer!

Bale's chest heaved violently, as if it could explode any minute.

"Martin Davis!" he seethed with hatred, "you fucking inhuman bastard!"

Scott, thinking about his own daughters, said, "He's a scumbag that even hell wouldn't accept!"

Bale felt that Scott was telling the truth, and asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"

Scott, with his leg askew, walked a few steps and said, "See me? This is the severe consequence of being with Sophia!" He spoke only the truth, "Guess how Sophia got to know me?"

Bale naturally continued, "Martin Davis?"

Scott sighed, "It was Martin Davis who introduced me to Sophia, and then I ended up in this mess."

Bale looked at Scott with sympathy, thinking to himself that this man had been harmed by Martin even more than he had.

Scott had come today to speak the truth, "Martin is closely connected with Sophia. He specifically found Sophia to mess with you, wanting you to end up like me."

The sympathy in Bale's eyes was gone, replaced with burning rage.

At this moment, he didn't resemble Batman, but rather an extremely angry Superman.

"Watch your back. It's because you're at odds with Martin that I decided to give you a heads-up," said Scott, walking away with a limp.

His bizarre walk continually reminded Bale what he had nearly become.

"Martin Davis!" Bale had never hated a person as much as he did now.

Right now, all he could see, feel, and think of was Martin, with no room left for anything or anyone else!

Martin consumed all of Bale's being!

Bale strode towards the film studio, in search of the only thing that mattered to him now.

The Joker, that agent of chaos!

He was going to exact justice from the Joker and put an end to all the chaos on set.

Just like what Batman would do to the Joker.

The doors of the studio were open, and Bale walked in swiftly, his gaze quickly finding the figure in a tattered suit and face covered in white makeup—the Joker.

Bale quickened his stride; the shocks he'd received today had unleashed the monster he'd kept locked up inside.

A tremendous force of will propelled him toward the Joker.

Bruce had warned Martin.

Martin turned his head towards Bale, his pale face splitting into an endlessly maniacal crimson grin.

Crazy, terrifying, wicked, like a nightmare—the very embodiment of chaos.

The months of mental anguish Bale had faced, combined with the studio environment, the atmosphere, and the aura of the target, gave him the illusion that he had become Batman himself.

And opposite him was the Joker, Batman's arch-nemesis.

Bruce's hand was tucked into his coat as he intently watched Bale.

His foot stealthily pushed forward a plastic crate full of ice-cold Coke, moving it along the path he predicted Bale would take.

Behind the director's monitor, Nolan, who had been working, suddenly looked up to see Bale approaching Martin from the entrance at a quick pace.

Emma Thomas remarked, "Bale seems off."

Nolan, with a keener sense of the set than Emma Thomas, sensed that something was about to happen.

As an exceptional new wave director, Nolan was both calm and daring enough to take risks.

He silenced Emma Thomas with a gesture and quickly got behind a nearby director's camera, starting it up at record speed, his lens turning towards the resting area where Martin was located.

Bale had nearly completed his parts, and the remaining action scenes were delegated to his stunt double, which wouldn't affect the regular filming of the crew.

The scriptwriter, whose sharp senses had been honed through training, drifted over like a phantom, proactively inquiring, "Director?"

Nolan, operating the camera, replied, "Just watch."

The scriptwriter fell silent.

Nolan brought over a megaphone, ready to intervene vocally should things get out of hand.

Emma Thomas stood up and summoned Mene and other trusted personnel, so they could control the situation at the first sign that her husband wanted to intervene.

Bale strode forward, his eyes bloodshot, and he shouted fiercely, "I'm going to kill you, you bastard! I'm going to kill you!"

Martin laughed wildly and manically as if too deeply immersed in his role to break character. His words, too, were the Joker's lines, "Why so serious?"

For those onlookers in the crowd, this behavior and response would only seem like Martin was still unable to extricate himself from his character.

After all, they had seen similar situations too many times in recent days.

Even the current break for the crew had been deliberately arranged by Director Nolan upon noticing Martin's deep engagement in the role.

But to Bale, this was nothing but mockery, ridicule, and provocation.

Scott faced Bale as if the real Joker had come to life, unfurling his blood-red lips, using the improvisational skills he often used while filming these past few days.

"Bang——"

This imitation of an explosion, the minor sound, ignited Bale's tense nerves. Driven by the sensation of tearing that seemed to be coming from somewhere deep, he roared, "Go to hell, bastard!"

Bale, with his fists flying, charged at Scott.

Two burly men, both over 1.8 meters tall, clashed like the Titanic and an iceberg, as passionately and destructively as Jack and his silk threads.

Scott let out a painful yell, stepped back several steps, and erupted into a laugh mixed with a scream: "Ah... ha..."

Hearing this mad laughter, Bale, without thinking, shouted, "I'm going to kill you, you bastard!"

He charged at Scott again, fists clenched, muscles bulging, his iron fist slamming toward that utterly loathsome white face!

Bale wanted to knock this chaos-inducing murderer's nose sideways, burst his eyes...

But his punch missed!

Since Bale had made the first move and was also shouting that he would kill him, Scott, this kind-hearted good guy, was obviously not going to let himself be slaughtered.

Having shot many action scenes with Bale and even witnessed Batman beating the Joker to a pulp.

Scott had a good understanding of Bale's punching habits and the strength and speed of his blows.

Dodging beneath Bale's punch, Scott delivered a swift standard boxing blow that thudded into Bale's soft ribs.

Bale's breath was knocked out of him, but his other fist still came down with inertia.

Scott shrugged his shoulder up, Bale's punch landing on it, already weakened of much force.

"Ah——" he screamed again, as if thoroughly enraged, his other heavy punch suddenly shooting out.

Bale, gasping for breath, and reflexively wanting to guard, but Scott's fist was fast and fierce, directly smashing into his side face.

Compared to daily sparring with Scott, Bruce, Bale was far outmatched.

He felt like he'd been hit by a car, his mouth expelling something as his body momentarily stiffened.

Scott's movements were super-fast, a kick shot out, landing on Bale's abdomen. With a bizarre cry, snot and tears streamed down as Bale toppled to his knees, then lay flat on the ground.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

But Bale hadn't given up, and in his extreme pain, he screamed madly, "Bastard, I'm going to kill you! I will kill you!"

Without a moment's pause, Scott pounced, like a lecherous villain on a damsel.

He pressed one hand to Bale's neck, glanced at his now gap-toothed smile, grabbed a plastic Coke bottle from the nearby crate, and laughed wildly, "You want to kill me? Batman, what about your no-kill rule, huh!"

Seeing Scott grab the Coke, Nolan thought of the titles Cola Cult Leader and Cola War God and quickly reached for the megaphone: "Stop! Stop right now!"

His voice rang out, but the actors had gone crazy and were not listening to anyone here.

Scott swung the plastic Coke bottle, bang, crashing into Bale's head. The plastic bottle exploded, and Coke splashed all over Bale's face.

Emma Thomas immediately called for people to pull them apart.

But the extras standing nearby did nothing.

They were all from Atlanta.

Scott grabbed a second Coke bottle, sneering, "You want to kill me? Can you even do it?"

With the sound of wind on its tail, the Coke bottle smashed down toward Bale's head.

Bang—it burst open, the fizz covering Bale's head and face.

Scott picked up a third Coke bottle, winding up to strike again.

Bale, having trouble breathing, unable to open his eyes or hear clearly, with his repeatedly tortured nerves, released a surge of angry power at the moment of breakdown. But after the anger and power faded, there was only endless emptiness, exhaustion, and weakness.

"No..." Bale shouted, "Don't!"

The Coke bottle smashed onto the floor in front of Bale's vital area, the bursting liquid dampening his legs.

Bale's vital area felt a chill, and he felt a new jolt of pain, that stress reaction from being injured flaring up, making him curl up as much as possible, like a cooked shrimp.

Scott lifted another bottle, but his swing slowed down.

Only someone who had been injured there before would understand the terror of that kind of pain. Bale was terrified: "No! Please... I beg you..."

With another blast, the Coke bottle shattered, and Bale was plunged into panic: "Please, I beg you!"

The security team rushed over, but Bruce was quicker, racing up to Scott and grabbing his arm, pulling Scott toward himself.

"That's enough!" he embraced Scott: "No one can hurt you!"

Scott returned with a mad laugh, quoting the Joker's lines, "All I want to see is chaos and destruction! What doesn't kill me only makes me stranger!"

He wriggled free from Bruce's arms, spreading his, proclaiming loudly, "See? I'm not the murderer, he's the real murderer!"

The one accused of being the murderer, however, lay curled up on the floor like a cooked shrimp, hands tightly guarding his vital area, as neurotic words escaped through his gap-toothed smile, "Don't hurt me! Please! Don't hurt me!"

Several security personnel tried to help Bale stand, but he kicked and slapped wildly, continually shouting, "Don't! Don't hurt me, please I beg you!"

Emma Thomas hurried to say, "Bale, it's me, Emma. No one here will hurt you."

But Bale pointed at everyone, shouting, "You, and you, you're all murderers, all of you!"

The spectators gorged themselves on the spectacle, today's drama was simply too riveting, too enticing.

A perpetrator, a lead actor with terrible rapport on set, a man who loudly proclaimed he would kill Scott, seemed a bit unhinged.