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... didn't cry, she just held a handful of pearls from the corner and handed it to the oarfish: "After you go out, be a good person, don't fight, don't fight. If you do, don’t hit anyone, and remember to compensate for the damage.”

The oarfish was a little speechless: "I'll be back in a few days after going out."

Shen An'an: "...Anyway, be a good person after you go out, so are you, Sister Octopus."

The octopus essence flew with eight claws: "Oh, little girl, you can rest assur ...

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“Is this a game, or did aliens make me time-travel?”

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“Damn, the whole city is mine, and there are still things that can be brought from the game to the real world, it’s just…”

Song Jian aimlessly wandered through the empty city, accompanied only by mutated zombies and monsters. His only goal now was to survive in such a zombie-infested Doomsday City.

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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.”

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This novel is also named “The game I got is different from yours” | “Game is different, what to do” | “Every time the target is the big BOSS” | “Why is the BOSS of Horror games always the most handsome?” | “They are running for their lives, I am falling in love”… and so on.

The protagonist is a slave to beautiful faces – he likes good-looking people, can’t say no to a pretty visage, and is filled with thoughts of love. One day he bound with a target-attack system where he can travel from world to world and experience love with the most handsome (key point!) target!

The number of players in each game is not set. The protagonist has only one target – the most handsome one. As he falls in love, he realizes… the other players perhaps, maybe, probably… have Horror? Survival? Escape-type games?

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