Exit player zero: A creative director’s brush with startup scams

The world of remote work has opened up countless new opportunities, especially for creatives and game developers looking for that next big break. But as promising as these new avenues may seem, the rise of scams targeting passionate professionals has also soared.

It’s been over a year since I got caught up in one such scheme while hunting for a role in game publishing, and I’m still left piecing together exactly what happened. For all the job seekers in gaming, Web3, or creative fields scrolling through LinkedIn, let me share my experience to help you avoid a similar fate. This cautionary tale is not just about a startup that never paid; it’s about the power of temptation and how creatives can get swept up in the dream of working for the next big thing—only to find themselves out of pocket and out of work.

For context, I’m a seasoned creative director, with over two decades of experience, including stints as an ECD at some of the biggest firms in the business. I’ve even run my own advertising agency, and though I’m no stranger to the intricacies of creative leadership, this one slipped through the cracks.

It all started with an innocent direct message on LinkedIn.

“Hello Rob,

I am hiring for a high-priority, fully remote creative director position at a game publishing startup, and I feel that you are a perfect fit. This requires a minimum of 10 years of relevant industry experience at a creative agency. Must be experienced with Unity engine.

If you are interested, please share a few dates/times you are available to talk, preferably between 11am to 7pm Singapore/PH Time."

Signed by a random virtual HR recruitment lead.

The set-up and the players

I’ve been chasing the dream of working for a game publisher for some time, and the pile of rejection letters is a testament to that. The first call was pretty standard, but with my esports experience and familiarity with the Unity Engine, I thought I might finally have a chance. After all, I’d worked on large-scale branding projects, led creative teams across continents, and this seemed like a natural extension of my experience. But the signs, in hindsight, were there.

The recruiter, based in Manila, couldn’t reveal much about the game but sent over a non-disclosure agreement (NDA) for me to sign before the next interview with the COO. The second call was equally promising. They needed someone with experience in esports, brand design, and Web3. The pressure was on to launch in eight weeks. We discussed remuneration, but as usual with startups, they said they couldn’t afford my full rate. I’d heard that many times before, and I’ve often worked out arrangements with firms to balance creative work with equity or deferred payments.

A week later, I virtually met the two founders—let’s call them Player One and Player Two. They were a young couple, jet-setting between countries, raising funds and looking for office space. Their ‘mentor,’ who they called the King Pin, was guiding them through Series A funding. I was offered a 9% equity stake in the company. After a bit of negotiation, that was whittled down to 8%, a detail they conveniently blamed on the King Pin. I should have walked away then, but the game pitch was brilliant, and I’d seen these kinds of chaotic, rushed starts before. So, I stayed.

Fool's gold

After signing, I was given access to all the usual startup tools—Slack, Adobe Suites, Figma, you name it. I attended work-in-progress meetings with UI designers, game developers, and it felt like I was finally getting to be a part of something I’d been aiming for. But then the cracks began to show.

Late one night, while working on brand guidelines with my new designer, Luis, he asked, “Hey Rob, when do you think I’ll get paid?” A sinking feeling hit me—I realised I hadn’t even been asked for my bank details yet. I messaged the COO, and after a long silence, she replied that payments would only happen after funding came through. Worse still, there was no clear timeline for when that might be.

My contract revealed the pre-funding salary was $0, with promises of big money post-funding—if that funding ever arrived. It felt like a house of cards. In the following weeks, developers and designers started disappearing. The game design meetings were cancelled, and I lost access to my Slack and Gmail accounts. The more I tried to get clarity, the more elusive the founders became. They assured me that funding was around the corner, but nothing ever materialised.

The game over moment

Things took a sharp turn when, out of nowhere, I was suddenly offered the title of co-founder. The role came with the same vague promises of future funding, which felt increasingly hollow given how things were unfolding. While the idea of being a co-founder at a game studio had its allure, the realities were grim. The sprint meetings were dwindling, and people started disappearing from the team. The first to go was the head of marketing in Japan. Player One dismissed it casually, saying he wasn’t a good fit. But that wasn’t the last departure—developers started vanishing without explanation, and soon all our game design meetings were abruptly cancelled.

It was around this time that a senior game developer reached out to me on LinkedIn and invited me to join an anonymous Telegram channel where former employees were comparing notes. There, I realised the full scope of the mess we were all tangled in. Most of the team had been working without pay, some for months, and no one had received a cent. Worse still, some had quit stable, paying jobs for this dream that was never going to materialise.

Eventually, I confronted the founders one last time, only to discover that even their names were fake. They claimed the developers were holding the game code hostage, demanding a ransom.

Right.

At that point, I knew I had to walk away. To this day, there is no website, no coins minted, and no game.

Dear fellow creatives

Creativity is an endless driver. It’s what keeps us chasing the next big idea, the next groundbreaking campaign, and the next opportunity to innovate. We’re optimists by nature, constantly seeking to push boundaries and create something that truly stands out. But in our pursuit of the extraordinary, it’s easy to get caught up in the smooth talk of charismatic founders, fast-talking entrepreneurs, or polished pitches that seem to promise the world.

Here’s the hard truth I learned: No matter how exciting an opportunity appears, your creativity and skills have real, tangible value—and they should be treated as such. Trust your gut when something feels off. Just because someone speaks quickly or convincingly doesn’t mean their promises hold weight. In fact, the more vague or evasive they are, the more you should question what’s being offered.

As marketers, we know better than most how presentation can shape perception. That’s why it’s crucial to look beyond the flash and polish. Verify the business. Dig deeper into their track record, financials, and how they operate. Fast talkers can spin stories, but you need facts and transparency.

Lastly, never let the excitement of a potential project cloud your judgment when it comes to being paid for your work. Long-term security should always outweigh short-term thrills. Your expertise, whether in branding, content, or creative direction, deserves compensation, respect, and recognition. Don’t sacrifice your worth for a vision that may never materialise.

I walked away from all this relatively easily in the end, but I still don’t get it. Was it all to get free work out of people until they landed some whale of an investor? Or was the entire thing just a new sort of game?

Whatever it was, it's clear to this player that sometimes the only winning move is not to play at all.

Robert Gaxiola is the managing partner at Playbook XP, a gaming and esports marketing consultancy based in Singapore. Gaxiola has previously held executive creative director roles at Ampverse, Ogilvy, Bates, and FCB, and co-founded the agency Mangham Gaxiola.