MTL - The Devil’s Cage - Chapter 45 Secret

All the firsts I want to remember were with you.From the summer when I was eighteen and knew nothing to the summer when I turned thirty-one and learned so much.Even the seasons without you felt like you were deeply ingrained.“We’re just friends, so there’s nothing special between us.”You pushed me away with a poker face, but because we were friends,I endured those countless days,and it seems you still don’t know it.So, it looks like I’m going to repeat the same futile effort.“Did I ask if you needed a man? If you do, I’ll be your man.”You need to get to know the thirty-one-year-old me.If you look at me with those eyes you didn’t see before.“You’ve become a real troublemaker.”Now that you’re here, it’s just the beginning of .

An acid rain, a biohazard.

A new folder, a global arsenal.

As long as Tang Zheng collects enough gold, he can buy any weapon.

This is a story about a military fan who acquires an arsenal of weapons, fights zombies in the last days, saves good people and eliminates bad people.

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Book Friends Penguin Group (746860067)

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- Description from novelbuddy

A young surgeon, who is struck by a system, embarks on a bizarre journey of life.

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.”