12 O'Clock Marionette - Chapter 17

"I hope my wife liked the arrangements... for the wedding night."

When I woke up, I found myself inside a spaceship.

I guess you guys think I’m talking nonsense here, but I also have absolutely no clue about what exactly happened to me.

I was really close to completely losing it, but fortunately, I managed to notice that this place was really similar to the world featured in a game I was playing recently.

Am I dreaming? Nope, it’s no dream. Maybe I actually got sent to a different world or something?

But didn’t those things usually involve getting sent to a magical world with elves, dwarves, dragons and whatnot?

In any case, I don’t know what caused this, but I guess I’ll just have to suck it up and live properly in this world from now on.

It’ll be okay. I got my trusty spaceship so I can probably make some money. It’ll work out! It has to!

This is the story of a man abruptly thrown into space along with his private spaceship. He runs around with it and saves damsels in distress along the way, flirts with said damsels, earns money as a merc-for-hire and uses his gaming knowledge to work his way into living freely and easily.

In order to take away her father’s shares, her husband colluded with her bestfriend to set her up. A divorce was thrown at her face and she was forced out of the house.

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.”