CEO Above, Me Below - Chapter 40

“This guy, how heavy is his taste, he’s still able to eat?” Waking up, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, explosive hair, tattoos, and a demon-like face. Look at her for more than a second and you’ll have spicy eyes (your eyes will bleed-aka she looks really ugly).

Ancient existences wake up in the abyss, demons whisper in people’s ears, unknown horrors erode the spirit, and madness breeds in the darkness of people’s hearts.

But it is not only darkness that descends on this world.

There are heavily armed dark knights walking in the dark to judge crimes; tight-fitting supernatural beings wandering between buildings to act as friendly neighbors; The impossible god on earth, the “S” symbolizing hope shines like the sun on his chest…

No one could have imagined that behind all of them, there was just a player sitting in front of a computer screen holding a keyboard and punching hard.

- Description from novelbuddy

In North America, there are many paths to power and wealth. Hawke plunged into Los Angeles and chose the entertainment and media industry. The media is like the sun, not only showing the bright side. Every word and every picture that appears in the media is carefully designed to guide public opinion and manipulate the public.Unofficial translation of 洛杉矶之狼 by 白色十三号

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.”