Chapter 1: The Rules of Survival

After getting sucked into a horror survival game, I learned the only way to stay alive was to pick the right doctor and stick to the treatment plan—no matter how weird things got, or what it took.

That single rule echoed in my head. It sounded almost too simple—but in a place like this, nothing ever was. I caught myself thinking, Can it really be that easy? But trusting a total stranger with my life, especially when the stakes were life and death, made my skin crawl. I could practically feel the cold sweat on my palms as I remembered the warning: trust your doctor or else.

Some patients had blown their entire savings just to get an appointment with one of those big-shot New York specialists. But during surgery, that so-called expert left the OR for forty minutes just to flirt with his girlfriend.

It was the kind of thing you’d see on some hospital scandal show—except this time, people bled out instead of suing. I could almost picture the guy in his crisp white coat, glancing at his phone, smirking as he slipped away and left a patient open on the table. Unbelievable, but here, deadly.

*Beep—Player failed to survive the operation because the specialist abandoned his post mid-surgery.*

The message slammed into me like a giant red GAME OVER screen. My heart hammered in my chest. In this place, you didn’t just lose points—you lost everything.

I was sharing barbecue wings with Connor Blake when, out of nowhere, we both got yanked into a horror story. The TV over the bar was showing a basketball game, and the sound of laughter mixed with the sizzle from the kitchen.

One second, we were at our favorite hole-in-the-wall joint, licking spicy sauce off our fingers. The next, we were staring at each other, napkins still in hand, as the world twisted and pulled us into something new and terrifying.

The smell of fried food vanished, replaced by the sharp tang of antiseptic. My stomach flipped.

Just like that, we found ourselves standing in the main lobby of a hospital.

The lighting was harsh, flickering overhead, and the tile beneath our sneakers was cold and too clean. The reception desk loomed in front of us, and the air buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights. Somewhere in the distance, a gurney wheel squeaked.

A cold, mechanical voice echoed above us. My skin prickled.

*Welcome, players, to the "Critical Care" horror scenario.*

*All players are suffering from terminal illnesses and have only 7 days left to live.*

*Only by getting treated in time, choosing the right doctor, and following the proper treatment plan can you survive this scenario.*

The words hit like ice water down my back. Connor’s eyes widened, and I felt my own throat go dry. This wasn’t just some haunted house. This was a race against the clock, and the rules were set in stone. No do-overs.

As soon as the announcement ended, everyone rushed toward the check-in windows, elbowing and shouting to get in line. So much for order.

The place was packed—worse than the DMV on the day before Thanksgiving. We had about as much chance as a snowball in hell of getting anywhere near the front.

People shoved and cursed. Desperation was written all over their faces. I caught a whiff of stale coffee and panic sweat. Some folks clutched their cell phones like they might call for help, but there was no signal. Figures. The whole scene was chaos, and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a scalpel.

If you wanted to live, you had to check in—fast.

The urgency in the air was almost physical. Like waiting for a bomb to go off.

I watched a woman in a suit elbow her way past a kid in a hoodie, both of them yelling at the glass. Everyone knew what was at stake, and nobody wanted to be left behind. Not this time.

Connor pointed at the clock in the lobby. “It’s five-thirty. In half an hour, the clinic doctors go off shift. No way we’re getting to the specialist check-in today.”

He had that calm, analytical tone he always used when things got dicey. But I could see the worry in his eyes.

The second hand on the clock seemed to move twice as fast. We both knew what that meant: time was running out for us.

A burly guy with a rose-and-skull tattoo must’ve overheard us; his face twisted in anger. He cursed loudly:

“Are you kidding me? Even in a horror game, it’s this damn hard to get registered?”

His voice boomed over the crowd, drawing a few nervous glances. He looked like the type who’d been in a few bar fights and enjoyed every second of it.

“Get the hell out of my way!”

“You wanna see if I’ll deck you right here?!”

Great, just what we needed.

He rolled up his sleeves and shoved into the crowd, making it obvious he was going to cut.

The way he squared his shoulders and threw his weight around, you’d think he owned the place. His tattoos flexed as he pushed, daring anyone to stop him.

The air crackled with tension. A few people shrank back, not wanting to be next.

I hesitated, wondering if I should try to stop him. Not the kind of place where you got away with bullying people.

My gut twisted. In the real world, I might have stepped in or called security, but here, the stakes were so much higher. One wrong move could get you killed—or worse. Here, mistakes were fatal.

But Connor grabbed my arm and pulled me in another direction. “Avery, come on!”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. His grip was firm, and I could feel his urgency. I shot one last look at the chaos behind us and let him lead me away, my heart thudding like a drum.

I shoved the thought of the tattooed guy aside and hurried after Connor.

Every instinct screamed at me to run, to get as far away from that mob as possible. Run. Now.

The sounds of shouting and scuffling echoed behind us, but I kept my eyes on Connor’s back, trusting him to find a way out.

Ever since the world got weird and supernatural stuff started happening, Connor and I had been through a few horror scenarios—we were seasoned players by now.

We’d learned the hard way that every scenario had its own set of rules, and breaking them usually ended badly. Connor was the brains, and I was the one who could keep a cool head when things went sideways. It was a good partnership—so far.