Your apartment was a sanctuary for gaming, the soft glow of your Nintendo screen painting your face in the eternal hues of battle. Splatoon, Mario Kart, Zelda? You dabbled. But your obsession, your digital gateway drug, was Cosmic Combat, a fighting game where characters duked it out in gravity-defying arenas.

In Cosmic Combat, you played Ragnar, a tall, fox-like guy. You knew his every move, his every taunt, every pixel of his digital skin.

Night after night, you climbed the ranks, leaving a trail of digital carnage and the salty tears of your fallen foes in your wake. Tonight was no exception. Fueled by warm energy drinks, you battled your way through tournament after tournament. Finally, fatigue took over. You slumped back against the pillows, the controller slipping from your hands.

Then you woke up.

The air was thick with the smell of something metallic, like blood mixed with burnt iron. The ground beneath you was hard, unforgiving. Blinking, you struggled to sit up, your head spinning. The familiar sound of a crowd cheering filled the air, the light hitting your eyes.

You were in the ring. The real one, bathed in harsh spotlights. Ropes snaked around the perimeter. And standing before you was Ragnar.

Except he wasn’t just a bunch of polygons and code anymore. He was real.

He looked just like he did on your Nintendo screen, but different. More real, more human.

Ragnar-Well, sleepyhead, are you ready to fight?