Atlas appeared in a clearing. He stayed stock still whilst his brain caught up with the mind-boggling situation in which he found himself. Abruptly his arms went limp, and his belongings tumbled from his grasp. He stood there, a young twenty-something year old man with brown hair and an athletic build, in a pair of pink boxer shorts and nothing else. They seemed to blend into his skin tone slightly, giving off the impression of stark nudity from a distance. Much like his arms, his legs took on the consistency of wet noodles and he fell on his arse, hard. This, thankfully, was sufficient to wake him from his shocked dream-like state. He gibbered. Then giggled.

"I always thought I was a little odd but to descend straight into madness is taking the piss", he giggled again. No pass Go, no 200 squids, no nothing. Mad mad MaD mAd MAD" he hoarsely shouted the last word as he slumped to the floor.

Lying on his back gave him a startling view of the sky above as it transitioned from a star-stained inky black to a warm golden orange with a pink hue. The feeling of lush green and red grass upon his body did nothing to persuade him that this was all a dream.

"Holy Shit...I'm not dreaming.... I don't recognise any of these stars...where the in the actual fuck am I?" he queried as he sat up.

His momentary bout of insanity had left him drained enough for rational thought to finally intrude in his mind in the same abrupt manner of suddenly realising you’ve missed your turning on the road. As his blank face scanned his surroundings he sighed. He gathered himself and stood up, checking himself and the surrounding. A small clearing at the edge of a large forest lay before him. He could hear the cacophony that only life could make further in out of sight. He swallowed, grateful that he was in a quiet spot alone. He doubted he would be able to deal with the presence of another living being, regardless of if it were hostile or not, right now. Grabbing his thick jeans, he started to dress himself in an effort to provide some modesty and protection. Jeans, spare socks from his bag and boots successfully equipped he reach his first mini hurdle. He had no shirt, neither his bag nor he had held a shirt when he had.... left(?) his room and arrived here. Atlas cringed visibly as he donned his leather jacket, his bare chest and stomach exposed to the elements. He knew exactly how much he looked like one of those cringe anime protagonists. He turned around and began inspecting his bag, checking its contents:

* An empty canteen

* A foldable Gerber knife

* A lighter

* Flint and steel

* 5M of wrapped paracord

* Small compass

* Assorted household meds

* Sewing kit

* Deodorant

* A hipflask of single malt Lagavulin whiskey (Every would-be adventurer should have one)

He sighed as he looked himself over, it was then that things got even weirder. A loud noise surrounded him, it sounded almost like… trumpets? He covered his ears but to no avail, it was inside his mind. Invading every nook and crevice of his little grey cells until no coherent thought could emerge.

*Ding*

A floating panel appeared before him in a small flash of golden light. Upon its surface were lines of indecipherable text, more runes, or scribbles than words. Atlas glared at the apparition in consternation, lamenting that of course this could get weirder, only he would get a system he couldn’t read. He was wrong on both accounts. The writing on the message board slowly morphed in the readable English.

Welcome! You have been chosen as the Prime Candidate for your species. A great honour, and a terrible burden, rests upon your shoulders’ Sentient. As the Prime Candidate you will fight for your species continued survival, at the cost of another’s. Should you die, your species and planet(s) will be extinguished from existence. You are currently in the first stage of The Game, Stage Alpha: The Jungle Planet. To qualify for the next stage, Stage Beta, you must survive the culling! Be one of the remaining hundred thousand out of the initial one million Prime Candidates. To make The Game both more entertaining and diverse, your imagination and will to survive will be tested with the aid of 2 permanent Boons of Great Power. Choose wisely, for they may be your Salvation, or your Damnation.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Good Luck Prime Candidate!

*Item Boon: Choose one Weapon from all Creation*

*Ability Boon: Choose one Ability from all Creation *

Candidates: 1,000,000

Time: 20 Pulsars Elapsed

Atlas read the message board as his jaw dropped and kept dropping. His already fragile perception of reality was taking more hits than a housewife in the 50’s. His mind sharpened to a razors edge when he got to the part about the extinction of the Human Race, which by extension meant his family and his jaw clamped shut with an audible crack. His neck and jaw tensed. If Atlas had one flaw, chief among his many, it would be his temper. A beast he had kept under tight control since he became self-aware enough to understand to consequences of his actions. A level of self-control that was sorely being tested at the implicit threat against his family. He could accept a great deal of things, even his own end. But not his family. He felt his blood boil and his body heat up as rage and adrenaline coursed through him like a tsunami. But he kept his nerve as his eyes focused and re-read the message. He took a step back and took a slow steadying breath, after centring himself he got to thinking.

In all creation huh. Either whomever or whatever set up this test is all powerful or they have never encountered the raw imaginative power of humanity.

Atlas smirked as he clicked the Item option.

*Please state what Item you desire Prime Candidate*

With a strong and clear voice Atlas stated his desire, "I ask for a Bastard Sword of Adamantine strength!"

*Weapon Boon used - Good Luck Prime Candidate*

A small golden portal appeared just in front of Atlas, hanging in the air like frisbee with sparklers for edges, a white light at its centre. From within dropped a sword, it landed blade first into the ground. Handle to the sky, Arthurian style. It was exactly like he had imagined it. A bastard sword of dull silver with a blue cross-guard and pommel with a dull orange wrapped handle. He marvelled at it before trying, and failing, to pull it out of the ground.

"Arthurian style indeed" he grumbled after fruitlessly trying to remove his now useless weapon. He turned back to the screen and focused back on the bottom of the message to see the two options once again. This time there was a change. The Item option was now greyed out. He could only select one item and one ability with no chance for a reroll.

*Please state what Item you desire Prime Candidate*

*Please state what Ability you desire Prime Candidate*

Eyeing the board Atlas envisioned what he would need to survive and took a gamble. If what it said was true then all of creation should apply to stories and media as well as the physical world, after all, if whatever bullshit power pulled him from his world to wherever the fuck he was and gave him his awesome (but currently useless) sword, then it should stand to reason that it should also apply. He smirked as he thought, I hope Daft Punk don't sue me. Laughing to himself at the thought of the pair of French Robot DJ's journeying across the cosmos to hand him a subpoena, he selected the only option available to him.