MTL - The Paranoid Protagonist is Addicted To My Stickers - Chapter 57 Mole (1)

I’m a roleplayer. A gamer who creates characters according to their classes and happily acts as them.“Don’t… Touch me……”“Talk more and see if you can handle my wrath……”My current character was a Demon Knight who kept a Demon sealed in his right arm! One day while I was just acting as my character and enjoying the game as usual……“Log out.”[This command cannot be carried out.]“……? Log out.”[This command cannot be carried out.]“……???”And as if not being able to log out wasn’t enough…“You disgusting Demon! So you finally took over Sir Demon Knight’s body!”“My eyes cannot be deceived! Sir Demon Knight isn’t that kind!”Because of my damn companions I couldn’t even stop role playing!Can this role playing gamer faithful to their setting ever return to reality?

Have you ever thought that the state of the world as it presently is, could revert to the laws of the ancients? When a series of strange incidents beginning with the disappearance of his friend led Luo Yuan to question the possibility of an apocalypse, he becomes embroiled in the midst of a global-scale chaos.

Evolution has turned the flora and fauna of the vast and bountiful Earth into something that had never been seen before. Coincidentally, the all-dominating Homo sapiens have ended up at the bottom of the food chain. From mystery to crisis, will Luo Yuan discover a means of saving humanity by racing to the top of the food chain? Or will he strive in accordance with the law of the jungle? It is the dawn of an age of the survival of the fittest.

- Description from Novelupdates

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”