The Incubus had always been fiercely protective of their own.
Even though Chris Pratt wasn't a "Meyers family" member, this crew was part of his production. Naturally, he had to defend her people.
Besides, it was obvious the whole situation had been orchestrated by that man dressed as a woman—a deliberate trap from someone obsessed with cross-dressing.
He could already tell that the blond and the frizzy-haired one weren't actual drag queens—they were men cross-dressing as women.
Thinking this, his gaze fell on Mark Warren. He hadn't expected this guy to have such a... unique hobby—well, okay then.
Seeing the frizzy-haired "woman" act so affectionately toward him, it was obvious that whatever happened last night had left the other party very satisfied—huh!?
Martin shifted his body slightly.
Meanwhile, on the other side, Chris Pratt was already in a heated argument with the gangster boss.
The gangster's English was far from fluent, and his accent was unmistakable, but that didn't stop him from shouting.
"Fuck, I'm not paying! You're extorting us!"
"Extorting? Ha! I suggest you watch your words, old man. We locals aren't so easy to mess with."
"Who's messing with you?"
Chris Pratt's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Ha! Just pay up and everything's fine. Otherwise—"
The gangster boss scanned the crowd, his eyes pausing on Martin for a moment, seemingly uncertain.
However, Martin had grown a beard over the past few days while filming Wesley's early scenes, and he was also wearing a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses. Though still strikingly handsome, his look was noticeably different from usual.
The gangster boss clearly didn't recognize him. He jabbed a finger at Chris Pratt and shouted, "You're a film crew, right? Believe it or not, I can make sure you never get to shoot a single scene here!"
"I don't believe it!"A cold voice suddenly cut in from the side.
The gangster turned his head and saw the same striking man who had left a strong impression earlier. Martin was now staring him down with icy blue eyes behind his glasses—eyes so cold they made the gangster shiver inside.
Suppressing the strange feeling rising in his gut, the gangster put on a fierce face and snarled, "Kid, mind your own damn business!"
Martin stood up, his 6'1" frame and muscular build instantly exerting crushing pressure on the gangster boss.
The gangster instinctively stepped back, but then, feeling embarrassed, his anger flared—he barked out a command to his lackeys to charge at Martin.
"Get him! Teach this punk a lesson! Beat his ass!"
"Fuck!"
Chris Pratt was the first to rush in but was tackled and brought down by the blond "woman," and the two started wrestling on the floor.
At this point, everyone else had the same thought—isn't this a golden opportunity to get close to Martin?
But before any of them could act, Martin had already finished the fight.
The gangster lackeys lay scattered across the floor. The boss himself was on his knees, screaming in pain as Martin twisted his the distraction, he delivered a solid blow to the blond's cheek, escaped, and quickly took cover behind Martin.
Martin glanced at him—this guy might be tall and beefy, but he was absolutely useless in a fight.
"Do you know who I am, kid? You'd better let me go, or I'll make sure none of you leave this city alive!" the gangster boss shouted, still squirming in pain as he tried to threaten Martin.
Martin looked at him and chuckled."And do you know who I am?"
"I don't give a damn who you are—let go of me—AAH! Damn it, my brother-in-law is the chief of police!"
The gangster had finally thrown out his trump card.
But the sharp-featured young man standing in front of him showed not a hint of fear—only a mocking smile.
"Chief of police, huh?"
At that moment, producer Jim walked into the dining hall and froze at the scene before him.
"What the hell happened here?"
Martin replied, "Some gangsters came to stir up trouble. Jim, call the mayor of Prague. He invited us here to shoot a movie, and this is the hospitality we get?"
What the fuck?
The gangster boss's eyes widened instantly.
Even the blond "woman" who had been sneaking up for another ambush froze in place, then slowly changed direction and slinked off toward the restaurant entrance.
"Ohoho, someone's in deep shit now," Chris Pratt sneered with a swollen, bruised face and let out a whistle of satisfaction.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the blond "woman" trying to leave. His resentment flared again.
"Hey, you damn tranny! You're not going anywhere—give me back my passport!"
"Here's your damn passport!"
The blond hurled a black purse at him, then bolted for the exit.
Chris lunged after him, and the two resumed their wrestling match.
Martin sighed again. Damn it, this guy really is a walking liability...
On the other side, the frizzy-haired "woman" looked like she was about to burst into tears. With an adorable expression, she turned to Mark Warren and said, "I-I don't want to go to jail... Can you help me, sweetie Mark?"
The whole film crew shivered. This was getting way too weird.
Mark Warren, however, was visibly moved. He gently stroked the "woman's" hair and said softly, "It's okay, it's okay. I'll testify for you. You didn't do anything wrong."
Lana, who was the closest to them, felt a wave of nausea. She rubbed her goosebumps shoulder and moved over to the far sofa.
That short "fight" ended quickly. The gangster boss and the blond "woman" were both hauled off to the police station. What happened to them afterward—no one knew, and Martin didn't really care.
The film crew continued shooting as scheduled.
Except now, everyone had a newfound respect—and fear—of Martin.
Chris Pratt, meanwhile, needed way more makeup to cover up the swelling on his face.
And everyone had started to keep a safe distance from Mark Warren—especially the men.
"Wow! That was absolutely amazing!"
Chris Pratt clapped enthusiastically, genuinely impressed by the segment of "Combat Technique" Martin had just performed.
This wasn't flattery—he really meant it. Martin's moves had been razor-sharp and incredibly cool.
Just look at the women—every single one of them had hearts in their eyes.
In Martin's opinion, if John Woo had launched the Hollywood craze for stylized gunfight aesthetics, and The Matrix had refined that style with more modern cinematic techniques, then Wanted had taken Hollywood's aestheticized violence to its absolute peak.
Especially that final sequence—one man versus over a hundred.
With slow-motion freeway shots, shifting camera angles, and bullet-time effects layered in, it showcased violence as an art form—cross-angled gunplay, upside-down crucifixes, chained acrobatic kicks...
Martin was confident that once he infused these action sequences with the Incubus own understanding of aestheticism, the result would be even more explosive than the original. It would absolutely make the audience's adrenaline go through the roof.