Samuel awoke to the pungent smell of rot burning his nostrils. He was in a small and eclectic studio apartment. The room was filled with curves, with no squared edges or corners in sight. The apartment was a hoarder's den, with piles of containers written in an unfamiliar language stacked in piles up to his waist. Upon closer inspection, Samuel could swear that they looked like cheap takeout and cartons of some kind of curdled milk.

The bed was small, too small for an adult, and one wall looked to be a giant black mirror... No, it was a Television screen. The apartment’s only window was smeared with so much grease that Samuel could barely make out a city bathed in a sunset beyond. There were dozens, or even hundreds, of towering skyscrapers.

Alongside the smell of rot was a sickly-sweet smell that made Samuel want to vomit. As he regained control of his movements, he held his nose plugged with one hand. He took stock of the rough-spun cloth tunic, pants, and leather boots he was wearing. The boots were comfortable, as if they had been worn down to fit his feet perfectly over the course of months.

He felt a buzzing notification in his pocket and reached for his phone. It wasn’t there. It was a phantom vibration. His phone, wallet, keys, and watch were nowhere to be found. As he looked at himself, he realized he could easily pass for a fantasy television show extra, and not a particularly wealthy one.

A pile of the garbage started shaking, bits of trash falling from its peak to the ground below. Samuel edged away from the pile. A man exploded out from the middle of the trash, throwing debris across the room. It was the man from subway station again. The man Samuel had attempted to save.

“Seriously, what in the actual fuck is going on?” The man yelled, taking in the small apartment.

His clean peacoat was gone, replaced with a smooth velvet doublet and dark brown pants. The man would fit right in as a nobleman at a Renaissance fair. The peel of some mysterious fruit clung to his back. Samuel reached out to pull it off, thought better of it, and pulled his hand back.

The man spotted Samuel and opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a pitchy maniacal giggle filling the room. It came to a crescendo and descended into snorting and coughing.

Samuel, and the man from the train for that matter, were confronted by one of the strangest things they had ever seen. A rat, about as tall as Samuel’s waist, climbed on top of one of the piles of trash and was standing on its hind legs. It wore a denim jacket with what looked like biker-gang patches on it. Underneath the clothing was oily fur. It stared at the two men with beady black eyes that seemed to be filled with mirth. It had opposable thumbs and was wringing its hands excitedly. It would be horrifying, if it wasn’t also somehow cute. Like a stuffed animal gone very, very wrong.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck.” The man from the train said.

"I can’t believe it," the creature said excitedly before breaking into another fit of giggling, causing the two men to back away from it. “I got a tag-a-long! A buy-one-get-one-free! A two-fer! My luck! AH HAHAHA!”

The man from the train backed into Samuel, causing the two men to fall backward into a pile of garbage and topple it over. Samuel’s hand landed in something equal parts crusty and slimy. It was a half-eaten pastry filled with a lump of pale green meat. Disgusted, he tried to shake off the food particles, and watched in horror as one of them flew into air and landed on the rat-creature's face. It wiped the mess off with a clawed finger and licked it clean. Samuel couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"I'm your sponsor,” the creature said to each of them, smacking his lips. “The name’s Nathan.”

“How—” Samuel stammered. “How are you speaking?”

Nathan ignored Samuel’s question and looked at the man from the train.

"I know your name’s Oscar Esteban,” Nathan said, his eyes flicking back to Samuel. “But what’s your name?”

Nathan pulled a small slip of paper from a pocket in his jean jacket to look at and cackled once more.

“Samuel Cardwell!” He barked with glee. “It already updated with your name. So fucking good to have you join.”

"How are you speaking?" Samuel asked again.

Nathan waved his hand dismissively. "We don't have a lot of time before you're sent into the Game World, so listen up, yeah? I need to explain everything quick-like."

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“Yeah, you can shove it,” Nathan said into the air before turning back to Oscar and Samuel.

The rat-man was speaking to them both, Samuel was sure of it, but it was as if he was hearing underwater. A ringing grew and grew in his ear until he felt as though he couldn’t breathe. He had a vague understanding that he was having a panic attack, but knowing it was a panic attack did little to actually stop it. His vision darkened, the world shrinking in on itself.

"Hey!" Nathan shouted, slapping Samuel's cheek hard. "Are you listening to me? This iteration's Gameworld has permadeath, so if you kick the bucket, that's it. It's over. You've died forever and I'll lose a lot of money. Get it?"

“No,” Samuel muttered, still dazed from his panic attack. He folded his arms tight against himself and tried to focus on Nathan's words.

"Well listen up, numbskull,” Nathan continued, tapping Samuel’s forehead with a claw. “Oscar’s the client I paid to sponsor, so his starting with stats that are pretty good. He’ll even have a spell in his roster. Samuel, you’re my little bonus. You aren’t technically supposed to be here, but by some lucky chance you were touching Oscar when he was selected and teleported. Your starting stats will likely be terrible, and your clothes argue you’re as poor as a bumpkin. You'll be one of the weakest things out there and will have an uphill battle to survive, so you'll have to work extra hard. Got it?"

"Why... why are you talking like this is a videogame?" Samuel asked, trying to make sense of the situation.

The rat-thing, Nathan, sighed and pinched the bridge of its snout. "I know this is a lot to take in and I'm awfully sorry for that. This is the simplest way to explain what you’re about to experience. I don't know exactly what’s down there, but there are a few rules that are universal from game to game. I want you to memorize these, yeah? Yeah?"

Oscar nodded so Samuel nodded along with him. He thought maybe it would be easier to just go along with this bizarre dream.

"Rule number one is simple: Survive. That's it. Do whatever it takes. Cheat, backstab, run away like a coward, murder your friend. Put the baby in the oven. You name it. Any act is permissible if it is in service to rule number one. Repeat after me: Survive by any means necessary."

“Survive by any means necessary,” Oscar replied and looked expectantly at Samuel.

“Survive by any means necessary,” Samuel swallowed.

“Good. Rule number two’s to be as greedy as shit. Take everything you can. Steal it, earn it, buy it, whatever. Wealth. Items. Knowledge. People. Shake some little old lady down when she asks you to get her cat down from a tree? Great. As soon she turns around, steal her walking stick. Repeat after me: Be a greedy bastard.”

“Be a greedy bastard,” Oscar replied, a bit too enthusiastically for Samuel’s taste.

“Uh… Be a greedy bastard,” Samuel echoed, caught up trying to think of what Nathan meant by stealing people.

“Yes, good. Very good. And last, don’t trust anyone. Zilch. Natta. No one’s your friend, and everyone’s out to get you. Repeat after me this last and holiest of rules: No one is your friend.”

“No one is your friend,” Oscar repeated.

“I don’t know if I agree with that one,” Samuel said before glaring at Oscar. “Why are you going along with this so easily?”

“AH!” Nathan screamed, making Samuel scurry back, hand landing in the meaty pastry again. “If you get down there and get close with some good-for-nothing ‘friend’ named Trisha or Bobby or little Sally Two-fingers you’re going to end up finding a knife in your back. Sometimes literally! Or Axe, as was the case with me. Say it. Feel it. Believe it. NO. ONE. IS. YOUR. FRIEND.”

“Uh, OK, OK. No one is your friend.”

Nathan let out a long breath and smoothed down his greasy fur. "Good, good. Now tell me what the three rules are again."

Samuel sighed. "Survive by any means necessary, be a greedy… bastard, and no one is your friend?

"Not as a question, you idiot. It's a statement. A declaration of one's code. Nathan's holy rules for survival. Trademark pending."

Samuel raised an eyebrow at the creature's ridiculous words. Looking at the pitiful little thing wringing his hands, alone and surrounded by heaps of garbage, Samuel couldn't help but feel these rules would be his undoing. He really didn't want to spend any more time with this thing. Hopefully that was why Oscar was being so agreeable and going along with it. Just to placate the hideous little rat-man. How much longer was left in the three minutes, anyway? Samuel sighed and decided to move the conversation along. He didn't have to believe the words rat-man was saying.

"Survive. Greedy bastard. No friends. Happy?" Samuel asked with a touch of sass.

Nathan scowled. "I haven't been happy in a lifetime."

No shit, Samuel thought.

“Oscar?” Nathan asked, expectantly.

“Survive by any means necessary, be a greedy bastard, and no one is your friend,” Oscar smiled back, far too sincerely.

"Try to use ranged weapons and keep your distance from any fighting as much as possible," Nathan advised. "Your goal is simply to survive for 27 days. That about makes up one cycle of The Core’s timescale. If you can do that, you'll make me my money back. If you can survive longer than that, you'll make me a rich Mataran."

"What's a Mataran?" Samuel asked.

"I’m a Mataran," Nathan replied, baring his yellowed fangs in what might have been a smile. "If you survive a week, you'll see me again and I'll be able to give you your first sponsor gifts. It won't be much, so don't hope it's some kind of miracle item."

"That's it?" Oscar asked.

"Survive. For 27 days. Steal everyone's shit. Stay away from so-called friends."

"Thanks, Mother Theresa," Samuel said sarcastically.

"Who’s that?" Nathan asked, confused.

TIME’S UP.

Samuel and Oscar popped out of Samuel's room in a shower of gold and blue sparks and were transported to another plane of existence.