Dark clouds gathered over Manhattan Island, and lightning struck the ground. At each strike, stone and concrete were sent flying in all directions, through windows and crushing cars. At each strike point, a crater the size of a small house was left behind. They took down buildings, cratered the road and exposed water mains, sewerage pipes and, in the places of repeated strikes the subway below.

People ran for cover, cowering, praying that they wouldn’t be struck or crushed. Many tried to flee the city, clogging up roads with traffic. Panic grew as people abandoned their vehicles and took flight on foot. Weather experts around the world were baffled and concocted various theories to explain the occurrence, meanwhile advising people to stay inside and pray.

Striker arrived by plane in time to watch the strange cloud and was unable to find his way onto Manhattan Island. The lighting attacks stopped as suddenly as they had started. The dark cloud descended from the sky, turning into mist and covering all of Manhattan Island.

Inside the mist, no one stirred. Everyone had either fled, perished under the falling debris or had been struck by lightning, leaving no trace of their remains. Slowly, people started to cross back across the few remaining bridges that hadn’t collapsed from a falling building landing onto it. The search and rescue began.

Crossing the bridge, people entered the mist. The mist blocked out sunlight and absorbed all light from torches and street lights. People began to feel uncomfortable, complaining of an itch on any exposed flesh. The itch quickly developed into a rash spreading along the body. As the rash grew, people began to change, first, skin colour changed, then body parts started to grow rapidly. Some people grew extra arms, some new heads, some extra legs and hands. Hazmat teams set up a check zone stopping people from entering the city. The world watched as the citizens of Manhattan turned into horrible monstrosities.

Striker had completed an exhaustive search of the records from all the evacuated hospitals. Patients were missing when there were records, and there were patients without records. Still, no Tolbert or any record of his death.

Striker checked into a local hotel, Mott Haven, and sat on the bed. The décor was drab, in browns and whites; it smelled of fresh linen and too much bleach. The power socket, however, was functional. Striker opened up his laptop to divert himself from the bleak surroundings.

Tolbert is dead, but I can’t find his body or any record of his death. Where is he? Striker felt the thrill of a mystery, a good challenge to chew on. It was just what he needed now after putting antigovernment slogans on huge neon signs. So work this through Striker. What do you know for certain?

An image of his old mentor came back to him, asking him to work through the problems in a prescribed order. I know that Tolbert was playing Dragon Hunt.

How do you know? asked his mental image of his mentor.

I acquired that information from the game server.

Good, responded his mentor. What else?

I know that he has died in the game and in real life.

How do you know that? his mentor dutifully asked.

The police report that I obtained.

Okay, the mentor asked, sceptical, any proof?

No, no death certificate.

Why? his mentor asked.

Maybe because they don’t have a body?

Then is he really dead?

He might not be. As a gamer, he might be playing another game. Which one then?

Striker ran a search on Tolbert’s online account and found that it was active. What is he doing? What is he playing? Medieval Knight? Hmmm, let’s see if the same effect that happened in Dragon hunt happens in Medieval Knight?

Striker traced the game and installed it onto his laptop, running a simple hack to ensure that he started in the same location as Tolbert. Entering the game, Striker found himself sitting on a knight’s charger wearing plate mail; it covered him from head to toe. He had chain mail between and under the plates.

“Wow,” Striker muttered. It's heavier than I thought. He lifted his gauntleted hand, bringing it up to his face.

Riding at the head of a column of twenty knights, Striker swept his head, looking for Tolbert. The column rounded a bend in the road ahead, and he spotted a man in full armour, a broad sword on his belt. He stood facing away with his hands up in surrender.

An arrow flew out from down the road and took the man in armour full in the chest.

“Archer,” alerted someone from the column.

The whole column surged forward to find a single archer on the road dressed in English livery.

The knights lowered their lances and charged the distance to the lone archer.

The archer let loose.

Arrows flew into the air, a knight took an arrow to the chest and fell off his horse, dead. Another arrow flew past Striker’s head, narrowly missing him. His stomach roiled as the arrow whizzed past his head the sound of the wind echoing in his helmet.

A knight behind him took the arrow right in the eyepiece, dead before he fell to the ground.

The knights ran the archer down, hitting him at full gallop. They rode over his body, grinding him to a messy pulp.

Striker called a stop to the charge and wheeled his horse, leading it back to the man pinned to a tree with an arrow in his chest. Striker compared the image of the dead man to one he had of Tolbert in his mind; they were a match. Why is it when he is playing, the game seems to become real? Is he doing it or it someone else?

A woman in a pale white shift with a smile on her lips watched Striker inspecting the body of Tolbert before faded into the shrubbery.

Perfect. The detective is now in range of the test parameters. Beginning phase two.

Tolbert clambered up the embankment, looking around in the predawn light. Walking in a straight line, Tolbert found himself looking at another river. Frowning he turned back the way he had come. He wandered around town, looking at signs and scratching his head. This part of town had only a few houses and a large park. Tolbert was unsure of where he was. At least it is a different bridge. But why move the spawn point? Unless I did something that advanced my progress… but what?

‘Tap, tap, tap’ came from the park.

He froze in place, his ears straining for the next sound. That sounds like the bugs of Space Trader.

‘Tap, tap, tap.’ The repeated sound was closer.

Crap. They are coming for me. What are they doing in … what game is this? The last thing I remember was playing Medieval Knight, not Space Traders, but this looks like a town in America. I can smell smog. so I believe that I am in New York or at least nearby. At least I hope I am not in Long Island. That would just be the end, the absolute end.

He turned and faced the park. The tapping came again to his right. Tolbert turned to face it but couldn’t see the source. Sweat trickled down Tolbert’s back and beaded on his forehead.

‘Tap, tap, tap’ from his left. The sound came from the left and to the right.

With a wall of buildings behind him, he had nowhere to go. A rustling from the bushes drew his attention. He turned facing the moving leaves as sweat trickled down his face.

A large slug propelled out of the bushes towards him. Tolbert froze into place as the huge slug-like creature bore down upon him. It opened its mouth.

Tolbert ran for his life, running as fast as he could from the slug-like monster.

The monster rushed after him.

Tolbert ran, not looking back. He could hear the slug as it hurtled along with the concrete.

It moved faster than he could run. A long, thin pink tongue reached out and wrapped itself around Tolbert’s waist. The slug pulled Tolbert in, swallowing him whole. In a single fluid motion, the slug turned back into the park and passed through the bushes, leaving the street quiet and empty once again.