Shock wasn’t apt enough a word. Dread, the sinking kind. Like my world had a hole in the bottom and I was being pulled in. I dropped the paper to the floor and ran to my desk where I had left the officer’s card. Where is it dammit, I silently cursed to myself.

I fumbled in the dark. It was late. Or early. Too much time spent in Abaddon meant I had lost track again. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for me.

Finding it, I lifted it up and turned it over, revealing the handwritten phone number. Lifting my cell phone with my other hand I rushing to my front door and unlatching the chain that held it closed, and looked out into the empty hallway. I began dialing, looking either way, hoping for a glimpse of the person who left the note. Then stopped, my hands shaking. No, I thought.

I locked the door and slid the security chain into the bracket. Sitting back in my computer chair I closed my eyes, contemplating what I should do.

We have a proof that Luxon is cheating, or, well, a screenshot of an item that suggests he is. It’s not enough. I need more proof, I need to expose Luxon before I go to the police. He knows where I live. But how? And how did the police find me so quickly?

I wasn’t ready to play my hand yet. I needed more time in Abaddon, I needed to expose Luxon before I go to the police. If I could get the evidence, maybe I could clear my name.

Looking down my phone had lost wifi connection. My internet had definitely been tampered with. I would have to remedy that first.

When dawn broke I took a long shower. I hadn’t left my apartment in days and I scrubbed harder knowing that at some unconscious level I felt violated. They had come to my home, and they knew where I was. Whoever it was, Luxon or otherwise.

Walking back to the computer desk I noticed the pile of mail stacked up on the surface. Oh crap, I thought. It was the first of the month. I hadn’t paid rent. I usually did it on the last day of the month, but spending time in Abaddon looking for Surewinter’s killer had distracted me. I couldn’t solve a murder homeless.

I put on clean clothes this time, looping my belt through a clean set of pants, and threw on a black hoodie. Making sure to draw it over my head. It wouldn’t do much, but maybe if they were still outside the building, they might not notice me. They may have my address, and know what I look like in Abaddon, but maybe in this world, I still had some animosity. I could use that to my advantage.

I peered through the peephole of my door. The hallway was still—empty. As silently as I could, I unfixed the chain and walked out. Closing it as quietly as I could behind me. My building was old, complete with peeling latex paint and that smell that accompanies aging carpet. The internet cables ran on the exterior of the walls, having been built a hundred years before internet existed. Following my own cord, I could see where it had been cut further down the hall. It was clean, like they used a knife.

I would have to buy a connector to fix it. I had some experience running cables, and figured I could repair it, but I didn’t have the necessary pieces to do it. Checking my bank account balance on my phone left me feeling depressed. The numbers glowing on the display were sobering. I needed to make some money today, too.

I exited my old building, stepping over a sleeping homeless man. And began down the street. The other buildings were like mine, old and decrepit, falling apart on their foundation. But, because of the growth in the city, rents were still creeping towards intenible. I don’t know how much longer I can afford to live like this. Maybe I’d move to the country, or the mountains. Maybe the fresh air would do me good. As long as it had internet.

Which I didn’t at the moment.

My heart began pounding by the third block. I kicked myself, I had forgotten my heart medicine. I had been so wrapped up in everything in the game I had forgotten to taken them last night. I just had to power through the thundering in my chest, I’d be able to take my daily dose once I got home.

I stopped into an old Chinese electronics store. They had brands like Smony and April Computers. It was packed tightly with all manner of wires, phone cases, and yes, coaxial cable connectors I could use to splice the wires back together. I moved gingerly through the packed aisles, making sure not to catch on an errant wire and bring the avalanche of knockoff products down on me.

Finding the piece, I paid the few dollars to the nice old man at the counter. He was like the rest of the city. Falling apart a little, with sun damaged skin and aging cracks spiderwebbing from the corners of his eyes.

With the piece in hand, I continued down the street. The thrift store I liked was up a hill, and I felt the same pounding as I attempted it. It was a contain strain on me. Never being able to play with the other kids growing up, or exercising like I deeply needed to. Abaddon was a godsend for me. A place where I was free to move, and jump, and fight. And live a normal life. Plus trolls and elf girls, I guess.

I stopped on a street corner halfway up to my destination and rested against a metal magazine rack with some local rags. Men busked with steel drums beside me, their music echoing off the buildings. A woman asked me for change, but I shook my head and apologized that I didn’t have anything. It was true—I didn’t.

The haul wasn’t very good that day. I would look for items I thought I could make a few dollars from, scanning their barcode with my phone and looking up prices online. Then I’d compare them to the amount it was being sold for. Books were always a good bet. I could buy books in bulk, for just a dollar or two apiece, and sell them at the prices big online bookstores were asking. Slightly used, I’d add.

I left with ten books, a gently used electric helicopter with its original box, some Star Wars toys, and an unopened edition of Risk. I wasn’t a Star Wars fan, but I did love Risk. I figured I could flip the action figures pretty quickly, depending on the last film release, and sell the game within the day. That might net me twenty or thirty bucks for the day, and maybe a hundred dollars in total if they all sold. Not great, but I needed to get back and let Sly know I was okay.

The truck home was slow. I had to stop on every corner and catch my breath. I rubbed my chest to ease my heart. It wasn’t easy on me, but it was the best I could do in my circumstance.

Getting home I first choked down my heart medicine. The thundering in my chest subsided for a moment. I immediately got to work, and used some old computer tools to splay the wire, fix new connectors, and used the piece from the Chinese shop to reconnect them. I wrapped the whole thing in electrical tape in a messy clot. It wasn’t perfect, and it was possible for someone to cut it again. But at least, for now, I might get back online.

With bated breath, I checked the network connection on my computer. Success! It had worked. I might not be good for much outside of slaying demons, but I knew electronics.

I spent the first hour listing my products and boxing them all up. Allowing a package of ramen to cool while I did. The distribution center would receive them, then unpackaged and store them. Then they’d take care of fulfillment if they sold. I didn’t have the space to collect the stuff in my tiny apartment. Instead, I had a small corner of the room dedicated to it. Collapsed boxes and packing take, tucked away for when I did my thrift run every few days. Sundays were best, because it wasn’t as busy. Mondays were better, because that’s when they put new merchandise out. I could probably get a real job, I knew it. But this allowed me more time in Abaddon. And, sad to say, it was all I really ever wanted to do.

Sitting at my computer desk, I straightened the keyboard in front of me. Opening a new browser windows I began typing the name Surewinter. There were just a few hits, random pages that weren’t her. I had to stop and think, trying to remember her name. Then I thought of her photo. The one where she was smiling, probably her senior yearbook photo. She looked so happy, perfect, so much like her avatar in Abaddon. Stephanie, I recollected, Stephanie Watkins. And I typed it in.

I changed it to image search, looking for her picture. And, there, the third one down, was her. I clicked it and it took me to an old poetry blog with her picture in the corner she had abandoned years earlier. They were nice. Mostly about singing birds, seafoam collecting on beach sand, and being lonely. I hadn’t expected what I felt, my heat ached this time. Not because it usually did, but for the injustice that she had been taken from the world. There were no comments, no shares, and in that moment, it was like they were made just for me.

I clicked another tab, and it took me to her about page. There was her picture again, large and centered this time. Beneath it, she talked about living here in the same city. We could have stood in the same line to get coffee and we would have never known. She loved poetry, reading, and the music that fills the city at night. At the bottom were links to her other social pages, and I clicked the first one. It sent me to a social feed where she had posted normal musings, thoughts and jokes. But, near the top, it was just a list of hyperlinks.

Clicking on the first one it took me to a video page. An adult video page. And there, now wearing more makeup, was her. She was a cam girl. Her videos were locked, and I had to pay to see them. I don’t think I would have clicked them even if I could. I think. It didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem like her at all. But there she was, in lipstick and dark purple eyeshadow. I looked over to my box of thrift store junk I was selling just to make rent, and I understood. But what, I thought, what if this was all a mistake? What if it was something else that caused her death. Maybe it was one of her admirers on this site. Or, and I didn’t want to think it, what if she really did commit suicide? What if she really was sad and alone?

I sat back. I didn’t expect this.

I lifted up the police officer’s business card one more time and inspected it. Should I call them and tell them? Did they already know? They must have. Then I looked at the note. The one that told me to stop asking about Surewinter.

No. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It has to be connected. The police suspected the game. That’s the only way they would have come found me. I had to find out more. I had to expose Luxon and find out what happened. I needed proof, not just a screenshot. I needed his hacked gear to prove it. But there was only one way to get him to drop his weapons and armor.

I had to kill Luxon.