Chapter 1: Savage Sewer Panic

Roguelike RPG definition: A style of role-playing game traditionally characterized by a dungeon crawl through procedurally generated levels, turn-based gameplay, grid-based movement, and permanent death of the player character.

Some say that roguelike games are good because they're engaging, have infinite replayability, and offer a sense of achievement for players of all skill levels, and objectively, they are; unless you somehow got transported into one, then it's no longer just a game; it's a fight for survival. 

...

In a dark underground chamber covered in putrid filth and full of numerous wooden crates caked in thick layers of dust lay about a dozen or so people made up of all different ages, sexes, and races, all of whom were unconscious and strewn haphazardly across the dirty cobblestone floor.

Over time, they each began to awaken from their slumber, visibly expressing their feelings of confusion. One of these people, a man, turned to the person lying next to him, a young man in his late teens to early twenties, and started nudgeing him awake. 

"Hey buddy, wake up; do you know where we are?" 

'Huh, where am I?' The boy thought as he stood up groggily. Looking around his gaze, landing on the plain-looking middle-aged man in a dark business suit standing over him. 

"What the... Hoowh!" The boy suddenly retched, quickly covering his mouth with his hands.

Imagine if you will the worst smell you ever had the unfortunate displeasure of smelling, then magnify that smell by a few thousand, and then, maybe then, it could begin to compare to the absolutely God-awful stench that this young man was forced to wake up to.

"Oh yeah, the smell. Sorry kid, I should have warned you, hahaha." The businessman laughed awkwardly, clearly trying to mask his growing fear and anxiety with humor.

The young man recovering from the horrid stench ignored the man and his idiotic laughter and looked around at the bizarre place he woke up in.

To him, it looked and smelled like an old dimly lit room in a sewer, illuminated by only two wooden torches hanging on either side of a large, rusty metal door on the far side of the room.

The room itself was actually rather spacious, measuring about 80 cubic meters in length and about 20 cubic meters in width, and was full of people who he couldn't recognize.

"Hello, young man. I was talking to you! Doesn't your generation have any respect for your elders?!" The businessman yelled upset by this boy barely out of his teen years blatantly ignoring him when he was trying to be polite and talk to him. 

The young man didn't respond to him, only giving him an annoyed glare before walking over to one of the nearby crates and pulling out a pocket knife from his black hoodie.

"What the... you got a knife!" The businessman suddenly cried out, alerting the surrounding people who back away from him with fear in their eyes.

The young man sighed, stroking his long, dark hair in annoyance before using his pocket knife to pry open one of the old wooden crates. 

"Interesting," he said in an amused tone, which attracted the curiosity of the others.

"Hey kid, what's in that thing?" 

The young man turned his attention away from the contents of the crate, noticing a rather tall and muscular bronze-skinned man with blonde hair glaring at him, his upper body completely bare, exposing the prominent tattoos on his shoulders and back, obviously some sort of gangster.

'Who's this trashy punk? Better not piss him off for now.' The young man thought slowly, walking away from the crate so the gangster could see what was inside.

The gangster smirked seeing the young man back away from him before looking in the crate, and much to his surprise, it was full of swords.

"What the actual hell? Why is this box full of swords? Who even uses swords anymore? It's the 21st fucking century!" The man shouted, grabbing the crate that was almost as big as he was with his bare hands and violently throwing it across the room, causing it to splinter into pieces and spill the heavy steel broadswords all over the floor.

"Aaahhh!" Everyone screamed as they ran to avoid the wood shrapnel that flew everywhere.

After a few moments when things calmed down, everyone stared wide-eyed at the gangster who was looking at the spot where he threw the crate with a surprise look on his face, which puzzled the startled crowd. 

His sudden outburst terrified everyone, but what scared the young man wasn't the display of aggression but rather the impressive display of strength.

He was amazed a human was capable of such a thing; that crate wasn't small and was full of dozens of metal objects that had to weigh at least 100 kilograms. How could he do that?

However, something bothered the young man. Why did it look like even that gangster didn't know how he did that? 

Everyone had so many questions, but the young man has a guess where they were all at and if his guess was correct. 

"You all better pray to God that I'm wrong." He mumbled a look of excitement on his face.

While no one else heard him say this except the gangster who was standing closet to him. He managed to pick up the pray to God part, which pissed him off for some reason. 

"What are you mumbling over there, you scrawny bastard?" He said the veins on his forehead were visibly beginning to throb.

"Huh?" The young man absentmindedly said, not paying attention to the dangerous man standing just a little more than 3 meters away from him.

This only further angered the man who was about to assault him when he remembered the pocket knife in his hand. 

'Shouldn't beat this brats ass right now. Even though he's obviously never stabbed nobody. I shouldn't go picking a fight with him when he's holding a blade. I can't stand knife fights; I always end up stabbed, and that's never a pleasant feeling.' 

He breathed deeply to calm himself down, muttering 'whatever' under his breath before deciding to go over and check out that metal door. Similarly, the young man walked away and started opening up more of the crates. It looked like to some he was searching for something specific.

"Geez, what's up with me?" Muttered the muscular gangster as he walked across the room. 

"I'm never this angry; I've always been able to keep a cool head, but now it's like there's this volcano in my chest ready to go off at any moment for even the slightest reason. It's kind of scary, but I feel like if it goes off, some awesome might happen." He said until he arrived at the door. 

As he walked over, the boring-looking businessman realized as he gazed at the group of frightened people that someone needed to step up before the whole room descended to chaos.

He straightened his tie, cleared his throat, put on his best smile, and then he...

"Can I have everyone's attention? My name is Dorian. Listen, I know we are all scared, but we mustn't panic if we all take a breather. I think we should all introduce ourselves like I just did so we become more familiar with each other. Make it so we can cooperate more efficiently. Who's with me?" Suddenly spoke a handsome man in his mid- to late twenties.

The businessman was embarrassed by this man's unexpected announcement. He had planned to speak to everyone in hopes of becoming their leader, but instead this Dorian character came and snatched his perfect moment. 

"My name is Nathan." The businessman, while upset, decided it was in his best interest to introduce himself instead of fight with this charismatic youngster.

'Just you all wait!' He thought bitterly as the others began shouting out their names.

All except for the young man prying open the crates and the gangster glaring at the door, but the group of people had already subconsciously decided to forget about these two weirdos, just like they decided that Dorian was their leader.

After all, he was conventionally attractive with his blonde hair, blue eyes, strong build, and chiseled features; of course these sheep would follow this shepherd.

Dorian was pleased with the results of his little speech, but looking at those two wild cards, it concerned him. 

They had no cellphone signal and no way of knowing when or even if they would be rescued, so the only way they were going to make it out of here safely is if they all worked together.

"Excuse me, do you two mind telling us what your names are?" Dorian asked, which shocked the rest of the group.

Why would he try talking to these two crazy people? One of them was a temperamental thug with freakish strength that kept staring at a door, and the other one was a strange teenage boy with a knife who can't stop opening crates full of medieval weapons. They'd be better off without them in their group causing trouble.

Nathan was even about to say something to him when the tattooed man and young man suddenly said.

"My name is Hank; now leave me alone!" 

"Hmh? Oh, my name is David."

They both said briefly before resuming their unusual activities.

"Nice to meet you both!" Dorian said enthusiastically with a bright smile. 

The crowd was stunned by this interaction, especially Nathan, who now considered all three of these men freaks.

He sighed and was about to suggest to Dorian they come up with a plan, but a loud bang interrupted him before he could even make a sound.

He and everyone else looked in the direction of the loud bang and saw that Hank the gangster had just punched down the huge metal door.

"Enough yacking, let's go!" Hank shouted, grabbing one of the scattered swords on the floor on his way out.

The others just looked on until seeing Dorian run over to the crates and grab a sword and a round wooden shield, shouting for them to follow. 

Nathan wanted to argue that it could be dangerous, but everyone else had already grabbed a weapon and followed him before he could even say a word.

Nathan was about to lose it after being interrupted once again, but he figured it was pointless and gave up with a sigh before begrudgingly following the others out the door.

Leaving David behind, who after a few minutes of preparation walked out the door now equipped, wearing leather guantlets and boots, holding a short spear in his right hand and a tower shield in his left, plus something large strapped to his back.

"Here we go, first level, only one life. Here's hoping I make it." He said casually, seemingly without a care in the world.

What greeted him outside the door was a metal grate leading to a dark, flooded, sewage filled passageway.

Which confirmed David's suspicions—he was definitely now inside that video game he had been playing.