“Connor!”

He heard Olanna shout as the white smoke billowed out of the contraption that had been thrown. The half-elf coughed and staggered backward, reaching for his ax, struggling to pull it free of his belt hoop.

He couldn’t even see the buildings that he knew were on either side of them. He could see vague shapes but didn’t know if they were Olanna or Dargan—how could he strike?!

Unseen Assailant attacks Connor for 12 Health points damage Surprise attack increases damage by 100%. Total damage: 24 Health points.

Connor felt pain explode against the back of his head as he was thrown forward, dropping his ax, his knees going weak. Someone had hit him. Someone behind him.

Down!

He allowed his knees to buckle but curled his arm as he went down. When he hit the ground, he went into a fast roll, and skidded to a crouch on the other side of the street they had been traveling.

“Olanna!” he hissed, hearing the sharp and thick sounds of shrieks and smacks. Was one of the pained voices hers? Dargan’s? He could certainly hear the clatter of horse’s hooves, and the shouting of the Ranger Marshal as he was engaged in his own battle—but where were his friends?

There was a snarl as a shape coalesced out of the shadows, coming right for him. Connor saw a figure clad in dark pants, tunic, and jerkin, a little hat like a bowler on their head, and in their hand, a short, stubby weapon. A studded club.

I see you now! Connor thought. But he had no weapon. He had dropped his ax!

The half-elf jumped to his feet before jumping backward as the brigand darted forward to swipe at him with his blackjack.

Footpad attacks Connor with Blackjack. Attack dodged; no damage done.

Connor was fast. Faster than his opponent, which made the half-elf grin, but he knew that he still wouldn’t last long without a weapon. And that could well be the end of him.

So, in the interests of self-preservation, he tried diplomacy. Sort of.

“We haven’t got anything, you idiot!” he hissed, dodging to one side in the fog as the man swing at him once more with his club. There were sounds of battle around him, now, and Connor saw fast-moving shapes—but who were they? Who was winning?

The thug before him laughed cruelly, and what he said next completely surprised Connor.

“You have the Ring of Tantor, half-elf?”

“What!?” Connor blinked, completely confused.

His attacker took advantage of his confusion. He jumped forward first to make a feint with the metal rod, and then, in a twist of movement that Connor hadn’t seen coming, reversed it. The weapon slammed down on one of Connor’s up-stretched, would-be parrying arms.

Footpad attacks Connor with Blackjack for 10 Health points damage.

“Ach!” Connor howled as he heard an audible crack from his free arm, the unmistakable sound of his arm being broken!

“Son of a . . . !” Connor’s eyes watered as the pain shot up his arm to his shoulder. He’d suffered worse wounds than this, he’d thought—but he’d never dreamed in a million years that this “real-time, real-threat” simulation would give him the experience of having an arm broken!

Connor stumbled, staggering back from his attacker . . .

As Connor stumbled, there was a hiss of air. He saw a sudden movement from behind him just as something struck the back of his knees. He tried to jump out of the way, but he couldn’t. The half-elf slammed onto the street, his knees cracking painfully on the cobbles.

Unseen Assailant attacks Connor for 6 Health points damage Surprise attack increases damage by 100%. Total damage: 12 Health points.

“Gah!” He hissed in pain, struggling to push himself back up—but then there was a weight on his back, and he heard the unmistakable hiss of steel releasing itself from a scabbard.

“I wouldn’t, Mr. Breen,” said a voice. A woman’s voice, and he felt the point of something sharp and deadly cold touch his cheek.

His attacker made a brief flicking gesture. Connor felt a sharp slice of pain as his new attacker gave him a cut across the cheek—not serious enough to be of danger to him but enough to send him a very physical warning.

“How . . . how do you know my name?” Connor whispered, his voice muffled against the ground. His arm ached dully, and his ears were ringing with the throb of his own blood and the hammer of his heart.

“Shut up.” The boot on his back only grew heavier as the woman put her weight against it. “I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Breen. Or should I say Connor? Or do you prefer GhostEffect?”

She knows my name! She knows who I am—who I really am! Connor started freaking out. How was this even possible? How had they known who he was?

“The Ring of Tantor. I want it. Where is it?” the woman said.

“I thought you didn’t want me to speak?” Connor mumbled, before—

“Ms. Mae-tsu?” said the other Footpad, the man in the bowler hat.

There was a grunt and then—

Footpad attacks Connor with Boot for 5 Health points damage.

“Agh!” Connor coughed in pain as the man kicked him in the ribs.

“Watch your mouth,” his unseen assailant said. The steel of the blade was once again returned to his sight, this time hovering just over his eye.

“Did Mr. Grey send you?” Connor mumbled, trying to buy himself time. This was a busy town. Surely someone was going to notice what was going on.

“Very perceptive, Mr. Breen,” the woman with the sharp, catlike voice said. “Mr. Grey has, rather unfortunately, lost his position in our family, given his complete failure to do what he was told.”

Position. Family . . . Connor’s mind raced, thinking backward to what had brought him here in the first place and what world he had come from.

I was hired on very spurious grounds to steal one of the most powerful items in the First Realm. I failed.

But who had Mr. Grey been working for? It wasn’t just game hackers and players who swarmed into new game worlds as soon as they opened. There were companies, criminal gangs, any number of private outfits looking for profits, one way or another.

“So, my family sent me into this godsforsaken world to do what Mr. Grey couldn’t. And that has led me here to you, Mr. Breen.” The woman’s voice dropped, low and deadly.

“And I am sure you are aware that I have absolutely no desire to be stuck in a BodyBox for the rest of my life. But here we are. So, you will tell me what you did with the Ring of Tantor and where it is before I decide to start taking eyeballs!”

Connor freaked. She was an associate of Mr. Grey’s. Perhaps a part of some crime family . . . the Mafia? Triads? Even the Yakuza? And they had muscled into Legends, despite the fact that a global lock-in was happening through the game!

How insane were these people!?

Very, he realized. Which made them even more dangerous.

“I, I never got it,” Connor insisted.

“I grabbed it, but—but I died at the tower,” he babbled. “It should have just respawned at Aviatrix Tower?”

“Liar!” his captor hissed. “We know who you are in the game now, Connor Breen! Do you really think that you or any of your associates will ever be safe again!?”

“Tell us, or we will make sure that everyone you ever met and loved in this game dies. Every player that helps you will die!” she hissed. A shadow fell over Connor as the other Footpad in the bowler hat stepped forward . . .

Footpad attacks Connor with Boot for 5 Health points damage.

Connor groaned as he was kicked once more. He tasted blood where he bit the corner of his tongue.

“Honestly, I—” the half-elf started but was cut off by a sudden boom and a bloom of light.

“Get off him!” A loud shout came from the end of the street, and Connor heard a clatter of horse’s hooves. It was Gustav, the Ranger Marshal, and before him a sudden flare of blue-laced light illuminated the street, casting out the lingering smoke.

The Ranger Marshal had apparently rallied, dispatching what other members of the criminal gang had attacked him, and he was charging back down the street, firing his crossbow.

“Ack!”

The bolt slammed into the bowler-hatted man in the shoulder.

The one standing on Connor’s back—Mae-tsu, Connor remembered the other had called her—hissed again, jumping free from him as the Ranger Marshal clattered forward.

“Fight someone who can see you, if you’re brave enough!” Gustav shouted as he swung the crossbow on its cord around his back and drew his longsword.

“This won’t save you, Connor!” the woman named Mae-tsu hissed, as she turned to flee. “This won’t save any of you!”

Gustav charged, but the Footpads were quick. They appeared to have no wish to tangle with an enraged Ranger Marshal, a figure who, if Connor had to guess from his speed and accuracy, was well over Level 10.

The Footpads disappeared into the alleys as Gustav Fenwalker expertly pulled his horse to a halt in the center of the fray. The horse danced around the slumped bodies of Connor, Dargan, or Olanna as the Ranger Marshal wheeled around, menacing the shadows with his sword.

“Friends? How bad is it! Can you walk?” Gustav asked gruffly, still looking about for more attackers.

Dargan and Olanna groaned, and pushed themselves off the ground, sporting a few cuts and bruises.

“Ugh. They punked me, but I can walk.” Dargan rubbed the back of his head.

Olanna coughed as she gingerly stood up but nodded that she would be alright.

“SkyBridge is getting almost worse than Union City!” the Ranger Marshal snapped darkly. “I’ll be telling the council of this!”

“Connor?” Olanna’s voice was quiet, worried, but with an edge to it as she helped Connor to his feet who hissed, wincing over his broken arm.

“They almost got me, Ari . . .” he murmured, feeling suddenly weak.

“Olanna,” she corrected, her tone changing, becoming stiff. “We have to play the game now,” she whispered under her breath as she took his weight, letting him lean against her.

“Pettigrew’s is this way. Come quick!” the Ranger Marshal urged, leading them onward once more.

“The game . . .” Connor sighed wearily, hissing in pain.

“Connor?” Olanna whispered, her eyes finding his in the dark. They were full and worried, and Connor could tell that there was more that she wanted to say.

“I heard,” she muttered softly under her breath, using the fact that they were clasping each other tight to keep her voice low and unheard by the others.

“I heard them use your name, Connor,” his friend the elf said. “They called you Breen.”

His friend’s eyes were questioning, but at that point, Gustav shouted as they approached a compact building with a lantern hanging over the porch. The sign, swaying in the midnight air, read Pettigrew’s Lodgings. Olanna didn’t ask him anything else. Connor was grateful she didn’t, but he knew this wasn’t the last of it.