The officers entered my apartment, but I didn't remember inviting them in.

The squat one sat at my small kitchen table and identified himself as Detective Garcia. He preened his mustache with his index finger and thumb, letting them run down his face and rub the bottom of his chin as he perused the papers in his file.

“What you’re doing is illegal,” said Garcia.

Moving towards my game chair in my small single room apartment I sat still. Not saying a word.

“The game you’re playing is part of a network that doesn’t adhere to basic safety regulations for the headsets. You can’t know what they’re putting in your head. Just last week we shut down two illegal servers and confiscated tens of thousands in cash they fleeced from poor suckers like you. A dollar here or there for a little bit of an advantage adds up. There’s plenty of games you can go out and play that have standards to protect people from exploitation and addiction. That’s how these work, kid. They’re taking advantage of you.”

I looked down. I knew what he was saying, but I wasn’t one of those people. I could tell the difference between the real world and Abaddon. I could log out if I wanted to. I just liked it better there. I was someone important in Abaddon.

“Listen, we’re not here to bust kids for using VR headsets improperly or blowing their money on a scam. What you choose to do in your own home is your business, and the owners of the Synapticgear headsets can deal with how you use ‘em.” He returned his fingers to his chin and leaned back. “We need to know what you talked about with Stephanie—Surewinter. Did she say anything to you about harming herself? Or meeting with anyone?”

I shook my head. I was nervous, uncomfortable, and fidgeted where I sat. “No,” I responded weakly. “We just met last night.”

“Just in VR?” asked the Detective.

“Yes. Only in Abaddon.”

“My job is hard enough without finding a young girl like Stephanie floating face down in a canal. A canal not far from where you live. If it wasn’t for the rain to flush her body downstream, they might never have found her. I need to know for sure if you heard her say anything that might let us know why she did it.”

“Did what?” I asked.

“We’re treating this as a suicide for now. But we need to know if she had contact with anyone that may have deliberately driven her to this act. Was she in a sound state of mind? We need to know what she said to you, and what you said to her.” He leaned forward, leveling his eyes to mine, and pushed forward a set of photos across my kitchen table.

They were of her. Old high school graduation photos. Surprisingly, she looked so much like her character. Young, pretty, with bright blue eyes and a reassuring smile. She didn’t look like someone who had a bad day in her life. I couldn’t imagine why she would escape into Abaddon like I had. Like so many have.

“She promised we’d play again tomorrow… today, now. I don’t know why she would say that if she planned to kill herself,” I said.

"What do you do for work, Charlie?" he asked.

"I sell antiques," I said. It was half true.

"What kind?" he asked.

"I resell thrift store items on the internet," I said. That was true.

“Alright, Charlie.” He relaxed a bit for the first time. “I believe you. But until we know more, you’re the last person she talked with, and you’re not out of the woods yet. And take this.” He handed a business card to me. Flipping it over I noticed his personal number written in blue ink on the back. “Stay in touch, alright?”

Rising from my kitchen table Detective Garcia waved his hand and the square-jawed officer and they stood together.

“Oh, and Charlie.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking back up to him.

“Get off that shit,” said Garcia with a pointed finger. “It will scramble your brain.”

“Yes, sir.”

I ported back into Abaddon as soon as they left. My heart was larger than most, and much weaker. A result of bad genetics on my dad's side. It was beating pretty furiously.

I didn't tell them. I was weak, not emotionally with the clear addiction people had of Abaddon than I may suffer from. But I was literally, and physically incapable of the kind of exertion normal people did. I was limited. I wish I wasn't, but my heart was too large, and too much physical exertion could kill me. Having a larger than normal heart was awful. The Grinch was wrong.

I let my meds sink down my throat as I laid back, and let my world go dark. The medication kept me alive, and it was my daily ritual to take two every day before I entered Abaddon.

When you ported in it had to calibrate, and it illuminated the synapses in your brain, one by one, giving the sensation of being lifted up and carried through a tunnel of light. It must be like dying, I thought. Only Stephanie... Surewinter, would know for sure, I guess. The lights go out, then color streams into your mind, your senses all firing at once, and then you’re carried to another world.

I was in the Bridgeport clinic. My usual haunt. And, as usual, the floor was littered with all manner of vault keys from other players returning from raids. Idling in a safe zone and healing up while planning out their next excursion. I withdrew my own used-up treasure key from the previous raid and discarded it on the floor with the others. A sense of achievement flooded over me.

The clinic was pretty unremarkable for how popular it was. A simple stone building near the center of town, where NPC doctors, friendly non-player characters, would lend vigor spells, mend-wounds, and if you were in the worst way, a free cure-disease. I sat near the wooden cots that lined the walls, watching other players come and go. Mostly low levels, excited to run back into the market square to fight the random mobs that spawned there and start earning their first few levels.

I withdrew the new rapier, and stashed my old one. Looking through my inventory I noticed the short blade from the night before. I needed a safe place to test these out.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

I was still wearing the same gear from the night before. Mostly a set of black witch-hunter leathers, with a few rare pieces like my guilty shadow gauntlets and silver-spurred shankboots which allowed my kicks to land on magical opponents, dealing additional damage to werewolves and vampires. I kept the cowl down most of the time, revealing a plain face with a mess of brown hair. It wasn’t much different from how I really looked, if a bit more athletic—maybe a lot more athletic.

A FORCE HAS REACHED OUT AND TRIED TO TOUCH YOUR MIND.

I shot up from my seat—PKers. I was certain. Player killers would often use the clairvoyance spell to find their marks. They either had a wizard with them, or they were using the seer’s orb at the top of the tower in the Wizard’s Guild. They must have known about my successful raid and be after my new loot. I made sure to deposit the weapons back into my bag for safekeeping. If they killed me they’d get my weapons and armor, but not what I had stashed in my bags.

“Hey, Curio!” came a familiar voice.

I turned to see Sly enter the clinic, he was an assassin draped in deep brown leather and brass buckles. He had a green bandana on his neck and red hair he kept cut close to the skin. “I tried to clair you, man,” said Sly, “But it never works for me. You know that stupid orb takes two thousand gold every time you use it, and I don’t think I’ll ever break even on it.”

I let my guard down and my shoulders slunked. “Sly, you scared the hell out of me. I thought PKers were after me.”

Sly threw his head back and began laughing, actually slapping his knee. “And what,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye, “Would a PKer want with you?”

Sly was my oldest friend in the game. He was like me and spent most of his time grinding alone. But, when either one of us wanted to commit to a raid, we were always there for each other.

“Can you keep a secret?” I let my eyes drift over the room.

Sly crooked his head and turned his face to give me a sideways glance. “You can always trust an assassin.” He let loose a smile that was the perfect marriage of a spoiled child and a hungry wolf.

“Come with me,” I beckoned to Sly. I led him out of the clinic and onto the main street. There were dozens of shops, both player and NPC run, but nowhere in the city was safe. There were just too many people who would see us dip away and too many greedy opportunists. We had to get out of the city, and I knew the perfect place.

“Come on, Curio,” said Sly in a drawn-out whine. “I don’t have a pathing macro for wherever we’re going. I’m going to have to manually walk all the way back to Bridgeport.”

“It’s not far,” I lied.

It had to be a place that was flagged as neutral ground, but also far from prying eyes. The Wrestlewood was the perfect spot.

It had a grove few people used, with a glistening recuperating pool blessed by the elves near the center.

Druids rarely stayed in Druidwood. It was just south of Bridgeport and contained the first few training locations for druids. It had a few quests, and spawned some low level animal mobs. But mostly, druids would come here to train and then leave.

So there was never a reason to idle at its safe location when you could just return to the city and heal up much faster at the clinic with its doctors giving out free healing spells. It was the perfect place to hide out safely.

We moved into the Wrestlewood, flanked by the tall ironwood trees, gray trunks with a dazzling cornucopia of orange and green leaves year round. Even if someone saw us enter, we would lose them in the dense forest. Separating some hanging vines we entered the clearing speckled with blossoming flowers. It was deceptively beautiful for being so secluded, a gem of open space hidden by the thick trees surrounding it. The pool in the center shimmered, blue lights dancing just above it. And small ghost-light wisps would blink in and out of existence, reflecting hues of pink and orange on the water.

“Alright, so we’re here. What did you want to show me?” said Sly, a little annoyed.

“This,” I said, and retrieved the weapons I had gotten last night. Sly looked impressed by the newly crafted rapier, but the demon weapon is what really caught his eye. The weapon was black as pitch, with a wicked curved edge and a blood red hilt. It seemed to hum with an insatiable energy.

“What is that?” Sly leaned in to inspect it, then looked back up at me. “What you’ve got there is a big dagger, or a small sword. What am I looking at, exactly? I’ve never seen it before.”

I looked over the weapon stats for weapon type. “It just says unique. It’s called Daggermortis.”

Sly stiffened then shook his head. “No way, that’s impossible. What does it say for rarity?”

I looked back down at the stats and my jaw dropped. “Lore.”

Sly bent at the knees and grabbed the top of his head, fumbling to not fall over. “You got a lore weapon? Where? How? I’ve never seen one in person before!”

“I went on a raid with Luxon and his guild. It was given to me by a character named Surewinter.”

“Oh, man. Be careful around those guys, they ain’t legit players. Hackers, all of them. Except maybe Surewinter, she’s always stood out as one of the good ones. But I don’t know ‘em all that well.”

My heart sank and my stomach ached like all of the life had drained out of me. “Surewinter died. The girl who plays her, the real girl. She died. The cops came to my apartment and asked me about her. They said it was a suicide. She was found washed up in a canal near where I live.”

“Dead? No way, man.” Sly seemed deep in thought and then his face went flat. “The cops, they wouldn’t come to your house because of a suicide.” His eyes focused on me and he lifted his finger, pressing it deep into my chest. “You’re a suspect! They think it was murder. They just ain’t tellin’ you that to keep you off your guard.”

I stepped back. That thought hadn’t dawned on me. He could be right. Maybe I was a suspect. Abaddon was a serious game with a lot of hardcore players. When the detective talked about fleecing money, he didn’t just mean by the creators. Players ran real businesses out of it, trading illicit money for in-game goods, and sometimes, for illegal things out in the real world. A murder, as crazy as it seemed, wasn’t out of the possibility for some of the most connected players. Some players were making fortunes. This game was making them rich, and for some, getting exposed could mean serious jail time.

“What should I do?” I said, mostly to Sly, but in many ways to myself as well.

“You gotta just lay low, man. And stay away from The Silver Web. That guild is no good. You gotta be careful at home too. This server is regional, so nobody is ever going to be too far from where you are.”

1 MESSAGE RECEIVED.

“Hold on a sec,” I said, clicking the inbox on my personal in-game display.

I couldn’t believe it. It was from Surewinter. And time stamped from late last night. But why was I receiving it now?

“What is it?” asked Sly.

“It’s from Surewinter.”

Sly thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “It’s probably a secure private message, those take all day to send, they gotta reroute over and over to encrypt properly. That’s probably why you’re gettin’ it so late. What’s it say?”

“Curio,” I began reading, “I’m excited to see you again. Maybe we can try exploring some easier areas like the Roc’s Nest, just you and me. I’m quitting the guild tomorrow. It’s just getting too intense, and there’s too much drama. One player especially makes me feel really creeped out, and I know it sounds paranoid, but I don’t feel safe. But now I know you’ll always be there to save me. Love, Surewinter.”

A tear welled up on my character, which meant I must be crying into my Synapticgear headset at home. I was kicking myself. How could I let myself get so emotional over someone I've never really met? But she didn’t deserve whatever happened to her. She didn’t deserve to die.

“You gotta show that to the cops. That's it. You’re in the clear, man!”

“No,” I said. I passed my hand across the message and closed it. “I’m a suspect, you said so yourself. I can’t go to the police without more evidence. If this is true, if she thinks someone in that guild was after her, we have to find them. We have to find out who killed her.”

“And just how are you going to do that?” asked Sly.

“We’re going to join The Silver Web.”