NPC for Hire-[Gamelit|Simulation|Multi-genre]

Fen moved fast through the menus on his console, rerouting power to the shields and prepping the Carmen's targeting matrix for Auri's interface. The hum of systems pulsed beneath his boots—steady and familiar—but his muscles stayed tight, the adrenaline from their freefall still fizzing in his bloodstream.

Auri drifted from the console, her glow bright and flickering, trailing digital residue like vapor. She floated toward the helm where Seraph sat locked in focus, her hands white-knuckled on the flight sticks.

"Hey," Auri said, her voice quiet and soft.

Seraph turned, startled by the closeness—then reached out, fingers brushing through Auri's flickering projection.

"Welcome back," she said. Simple words, heavy with meaning. "You scared the hell out of us."

Auri's glow pulsed, brightening with mock innocence. "Aw, don't get mushy on me now. I'm fine. Besides, I heard Fen's dark knight brooding almost tore the system apart."

Fen raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Oh yeah," Auri continued, sliding into a gravelly mock-Fen impression. "'Woe is me, I failed to save her. I'll just sulk in the corner with my tragic scarf of guilt.'" She twirled once in midair, glittering with over-the-top flair. "So noble. So sad."

Seraph stifled a laugh, flashing Fen a sideways look. "Honestly? That's a pretty good impersonation."

He didn't argue. Just shook his head. But even through the banter, something in his chest loosened. A flicker of peace, hard-won and fragile.

Then he looked back at the sensors—and the flicker dimmed.

"If you two are done," he said, narrowing his eyes at the sensor readout, "I don't know if you've noticed, but we've got a planet-sized monstrosity reaching for us. And I'm pretty sure it's not looking to give us a high five."

Auri's glow steadied, her tone snapping back to business. "I'm on it. Seraph, Fen's routing me into weapons and defense. I'll need a minute to integrate effectively."

"Copy that," Seraph said, fingers already flying. "You've got one. Maybe two, if we're lucky."

Fen left the console he was at and slid into the co-pilot's seat and buckled in, his hands moving automatically across the console. "I've got power management and sensors," he said, keeping his tone even. "You fly. I'll keep us running."

Without a word, Seraph jammed the throttle forward.

The Carmen Aeternum roared to life. Her crescent engine ring blazed, hurling them into the thinning upper atmosphere.

The G-forces slammed into Fen, pinning him to the seat like a punch to the chest. The ship lurched forward, tearing away from the rift's grasp. The Carmen groaned under the strain, a falcon snapping at her fetters. Below them, the planet dissolved—code, stone, and sky collapsing into radiant fragments as the rift devoured the last of the tutorial world.

Fen stole a glance at Seraph. Her hands were a blur, syncing perfectly with the ship's rhythm. She didn't just fly—she breathed with the vessel. Trusted it. Trusted him.

In space, you didn't switch pilots mid-flight. That was bad luck.

But he could still help.

He'd divert power. She'd keep them alive.

Ahead, the stars stretched out cold and indifferent. But behind them—hell followed.

Tendrils of black code surged through the void, reaching for the fleeing ships like monstrous fingers. Between the grasping limbs, needle-thin anomalies shot forward like railgun bolts—jagged silhouettes of broken logic and predatory will. They weren't firing. They were the fire.

"They're closing fast," Fen muttered, rerouting auxiliary power to shields. "Shields are still coming up, they're only at sixty percent. If they hit us full-force—"

"They won't," Seraph said, voice cool as she yanked Carmen into a hard roll. The inertial compensators growled as the freighter spun on its axis. One of the dagger-shapes screamed past the viewport, a streak of warping code that missed them by meters.

Another shot past on their flank, closer than the last.

"We need to get clever," Fen said, sweat trailing down his temple. "They're trying to box us in."

"Then we'll make them trip over each other."

Carmen banked hard, engines roaring as Seraph twisted through open space. A split second behind, a trio of anomalies adjusted mid-flight—seamless, surgical. To Fen's eyes, locked on the sensors, it was clear these weren't just munitions. They were coordinated. And worse—cunning.

Behind him, Auri's form pulsed once above the console. "I'm integrating now," she said, and the last of her light dissolved into the ship around them.

"They're adapting to your evasive maneuvers," Fen warned, eyes scanning the patterns. "I think they're evaluating for weakness. Looking for rhythm."

Seraph's eyes flicked to the readouts. "Let them. I want them to think they've got the upper hand."

"They do have the upper hand," Fen muttered, tension spiking as another dagger broke from the swarm—closing on their flank, clearly anticipating their next move.

"Seraph? It's coming right for us. What are you doing?" Fen's hands turned white on the console.

"Full power to thrusters—now," Seraph barked, trust baked into her command.

Without hesitation, Fen shoved auxiliary power to the drives. Carmen lurched under the sudden surge. Seraph rolled hard to port. The anomaly overshot—barreling into the path of another mid-turn.

They collided in a roil of midnight smoke and shattered code.

"Nice," Fen breathed, watching the debris scatter through space.

"They're still too close," Seraph growled. "How's our power?"

"Shields at seventy percent. That's the best I can do without cutting thruster power. Systems are stable, but we're running hot—any more and the reactors might spike."

"I hate running this beauty on a knife's edge," Seraph muttered, jaw tight. "But we don't have to keep it up for long—just buy Auri enough time to work her magic."

A violent jolt rocked the cockpit. Another dagger closed fast.

Seraph dove—Carmen pitched hard, inertial dampeners whining—but the thing mirrored them, tracking every move.

Fen cursed under his breath and shoved all remaining auxiliary power to the rear thrusters. Carmen kicked forward, the anomaly undershooting them in a blur of speed.

But it didn't crash.

It twisted in a fluid arc, adjusted trajectory, and came screaming back.

"That confirms it, they are learning," Fen muttered. "That one turned before we did."

A new contact blinked onto the sensor grid—bigger than anything they'd seen so far. Not fast. Not darting. Just approaching.

Fen's hands froze on the console. "Seraph—new contact."

"Source?"

"Starboard, near the sensor limits. Its, Not coming from the pursuing swarm but the rift itself"
He noticed the rift had nearly outpaced the fleeing ships. Its velocity was incredible, swallowing distance in the void like a savage leviathan as it spawned larger anomalies.

He tapped the magnifier. The ship came into focus: long, sleek, gleaming with fractal edges like an unsheathed sword. It moved with a calm kind of menace. Smaller shapes were peeling off from its flanks—fresh anomalies, pouring into space like wasps from a nest.

"If those other fragments were fighter-sized," Fen muttered, "this one's closer to a frigate. Maybe larger."

Seraph didn't answer. She was already banking hard, Carmen's hull groaning under the shift. A dagger shot past them, then another. From the starboard side, the new contact followed them—looming large, casting shadow across the sensor display.

"They're herding us," Fen said, scanning the readouts. "Forming a net."

"They're not stupid, what a shame" Seraph growled.

Auri's glow flared at the rear console. "I'm nearly synced. Just a few more seconds."

Fen glanced at the trajectory lines. "We don't have a few seconds. That thing's launching more as we speak."

Ahead, another anomaly curved into their path—predictive, smooth. It moved like it already knew what they'd do.

"Port side!" he snapped.

Seraph didn't flinch. "Divert power from the shields, we need more thrust. Now."

He shoved power to the thrusters. Carmen jolted forward. The anomaly overcommitted and clipped one of its own, both detonating in a burst of static and code.

"Nice," Fen said, adjusting shields. "But they're still coming."

"They're pressing harder," Seraph said. "Pushing us where they want us."

From the sensors, it was clear: the swarm was adapting. Each pass was tighter, faster, more coordinated.

Another jolt rocked the hull. The sword-class ship was closing fast now, a cold shape wrapped in tendrils and trailing signal interference. The others weren't chasing anymore. They were escorting it.

Fen's fingers danced over the controls, rerouting power. "Shields at fifty-three percent. If we redline much longer, we're going to melt something important."

"I don't care," Seraph said. "Just buy Auri the time she needs."

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As if on cue, Auri's voice burst across the comms, electric with triumph.

"I got it! I'm in, baby—ghost in the machine, terror in the code, menace in the mesh!"

A pause. Then, lower, with a sultry edge:
"Hello, gorgeous. Let's show them what this ship can really do."

"Great, Auri. Very proud of you," Fen shot back, tight but dry. "Maybe focus on keeping us alive now?"

"Oh, right! My bad. But boy, do I have a surprise for these glitch-heads."

Arcs of jagged light erupted from the Carmen's hull, slicing into the nearest tendrils. They smoldered, twitched, and recoiled—retreating into the void.

"Okay, those are my point defenses," Auri said, her voice alight with glee. "I've routed most of my power to the main cannons. Line up some clean shots, and I'll unleash absolute hellfire!"

She cackled, drifting dangerously close to mad scientist territory.

Fen couldn't help but grin. "Glad you're having fun, but maybe tone down the Dr. Frankenstein routine. We're not here to wipe them out—we just need to keep a path open."

He tapped the long-range feed, eyes narrowing. "The egress ships are still ahead of us, but they're losing their lead. The rift's nearly caught up—I can see one swarm is heading for the closest evacuation ship already."

Seraph's hands danced over the controls, threading Carmen between converging tendrils. "We fell behind picking you up," she muttered, "so now we're in the thick of it."

"Exactly," Fen said. "But if we can hold the line, keep the worst of it off the others—"

"Then they'll make the jump," Seraph finished. "And maybe we will too."

Fen glanced at the shield readouts. "Auri, any chance you can reinforce the shields? We're leaking power faster than I can reroute it."

"Already working on it," she replied, her tone shifting into fierce focus. "Buy me sixty seconds. Then we punch back."

"Already on it," Auri's voice chimed in, bright as ever. "Extending my awesomeness to the shield emitters… check your console now."

Fen glanced down. Shield integrity ticked up—63%, 75%, then 80%.

"That's it?" he said, mock-aghast. "All that divine light and only 17%?"

Auri gasped, scandalized. "Oh, I'm sorry, your majesty. Is my ability to manipulate the very building blocks of our digital existence not up to your royal standards? Maybe next time I'll conjure a golden throne and throw in a free manicure."

Her voice, thick with exaggerated indignation, was like the sun peeking through dark clouds. Fen's chest eased a little. He didn't even care about the shield percentage. He just needed to hear her like this again—sarcastic, alive and present.

"I'm sorry! So sorry, your most excellence!" Fen said with a dry grin. "I am but a humble recipient of your divine wonder. All praise be to Auri."

"What he's trying to say," Seraph cut in, eyes still locked on the controls, "is thank you, Auri." She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her voice gave it away.

"Now, about that hellfire you promised?" Seraph added, twisting the Carmen into a clean barrel roll. The engines sang as the freighter rotated on its axis, holding momentum while bringing the main guns to bear.

Out the viewport, the first of the egress ships vanished—spooling into warp and slipping cleanly from the system. Relief flickered through Fen, but it didn't last. Dozens more remained, stacked in queues, engines flaring hard as they waited their turn. All automated. No comms. No way to check in. Just dots on a screen he couldn't help to get moving any faster.

"We're still on our own," he muttered, fingers flying across the console, keeping power balanced. "Auri, let's clear a path."

She didn't wait. Her voice crackled across the system with glee. "Hellfire incoming. Hold onto your underpants."

The Carmen's main cannons roared to life—coherent energy in thick white beams lanced through the dark. The nearest tendrils shattered under the impact, their twisted forms twitching, smoldering, and peeling away into fractured debris.

The first beam struck the closest tendril, blasting into it with a force so intense the stars behind it seemed to bend. For a heartbeat, the writhing mass held—absorbing the hit, its surface pulsing with sick defiance.

Then it began to fray.

The energy bored deeper, wrapping the anomaly like a noose of light. Its form convulsed, splitting along flickering seams. One by one, the tendrils unravelled—twisting inward, devouring themselves in slow, jagged spirals before bursting apart in silence.

Auri's point defenses spun to life in tandem. Brilliant arcs of light stitched the space around them as jagged daggers rushed in from every angle. They blinked out mid-flight, each one shattering into a scatter of broken pixels like old code failing to render. Carmen Aeternum vibrated under the strain, but she held—her hull singing with raw, defiant power.

"Hellfire delivered. Package received," Auri crowed, giddy with satisfaction.

Fen grinned, adjusting energy flow to the shields to ride out the backlash. "Not bad, Auri. Not bad at all."

"Now if you can just keep us from getting impaled by the rest of these things," Seraph added, eyes fixed forward, "I'll be even more impressed."

Fen's fingers flew across the console, rerouting power and shunting capacitor drain to the auxiliary cores. It was working—but only just. And still, some part of him felt it: a subtle pressure, deep in his core. The same resonance that had cracked the world open below was still with him—still humming.

She was using it.

Auri's power wasn't just her own. He could feel it in the way the light bent when she fired, the way her defenses pulsed in time with his breath. He could've done this. Maybe. Or she could've. But this? This was both of them. Harmonized. Stronger than either one alone.

He didn't interrupt. Just fed her everything he could through the systems—and through whatever thread bound them together.

The cockpit trembled as another volley of tendrils closed in. Carmen Aeternum danced between them, Seraph flipping her in tight spirals and lateral bursts. The ship moved like a blade slipping between cracks—always one second from being shattered.

Fen caught a flash of light on the long-range scope. One of the egress ships had just hit the jump point—gone in a blink of blue fire. Relief hit like a breath held too long finally exhaled. But there were still da few more queued behind it, crawling forward like data through a bottleneck.

A hard jolt rocked the cabin as something slammed into the starboard shield. The display flared crimson—another tendril had clipped them, the impact nearly punching through.

"Shields at fifty-six percent," Fen reported, his voice strained but steady. He kept his focus on the readouts, watching the energy reserves bleed away. "We're cutting it close."

Seraph gritted her teeth, wrestling the controls. "We've cut it closer before."

Fen didn't answer. He wanted to believe her—but memories of what they'd survived before felt distant, hazy. This was different. This wasn't just survival—it was defense. Every second they held out meant another ship got clear.

Behind them, the rift's tendrils surged. An abomination of midnight, it stretched like an endless wound in the stars, trying to drag them under. The Carmen Aeternum shuddered as Seraph pushed her into an evasive twist, inertial dampeners groaning in protest. Fen's stomach flipped—then again—as the freighter spun between two dagger-ships with only meters to spare.

Arcs of searing light flashed from the ship's hull, raking the darkness with coordinated precision. Auri had brought the point defense grid to life, evolving it into something more than it was meant to be. Each blast disintegrated an anomaly, winking out like dying stars.

But it wasn't enough.

For every one they destroyed, two more seemed to rise in its place. The void wasn't just full,it was boiling. The area overflowed with jagged motion and shifting threats. Fen adjusted power again, rerouting what little remained to the forward shields, and still the waves came.

Minutes stretched into forever. Seraph flew, Fen kept them running, Auri fought through the system. It was a dance of tension and trust, of timing and pressure—until finally, the jump point was in range.

"There," Seraph breathed. The glow shimmered ahead like a distant promise. "That's our out."

Fen's heart hammered. His fingers tightened on the console. But even as relief stirred, something coiled in his gut.

He could feel Auri still inside the ship's systems, humming with power they shared—but even together, it wasn't enough. He felt it in his bones. They were holding the line. But they weren't winning.

The dagger-ships were still coming. Tendrils of the anomalies curled through space—dark, pulsing, relentless. Carmen Aeternum twisted between them like a hunted thing, her engines screaming under strain, but Fen wasn't watching the thrusters anymore.

His eyes were on the patterns.
Something was wrong.

"Shields at twenty percent," he reported, voice steady—but his fingers hovered over the console.

They'd been under fire since breaking orbit. Swarms of interceptors. Tendrils lashing out whenever their maneuvers fell short. They were flying damn well—barely surviving—but even then, by all rights, they should've been torn apart by now. And yet—

One shot lanced toward their nose, then veered off at the last second. Another tendril screamed past, fast enough to shred them—only to curl back, holding just shy of contact, like a predator playing with its prey.

Even the dagger-ships… most were circling.

His subconscious had picked it up before he had. Now that the panic was thinning, he saw it clearly.

They weren't trying to kill them.

The anomalies were doing just enough damage to keep them running scared.

Ahead, the last sector transport slipped through the vortex of the jump point. Its engines flared—then vanished into the rippling light. For a moment, hope flickered in Fen's chest.

But it was instantly drowned by dread.

They hadn't chased the other ships hard enough. It was obvious now—they were keeping the Carmen separated and busy while the rest of the egress fleet escaped the system.

A tendril lunged—then twisted sideways, passing beneath them without touching the hull.

The Carmen weaved between two tendrils, Seraph pushing the ship hard through the narrowest line of fire. Auri fired off a volley—point-defense arcs slicing through a trio of dagger-ships as they swarmed. The anomalies scattered at the blast, peeling away like a startled school of fish. Tendrils recoiled from the energy wash, twitching back into the dark.

And then—there it was.

A sudden gap in the storm.

Seraph caught it immediately. "There. Opening at our eleven. It's tight—but it's clear!"

She didn't hesitate. The Carmen surged forward, engines flaring as they dove into the corridor. The anomalies didn't follow. Not directly. They curved with them—shadowing their flight vector.

"Auri," Seraph barked, her voice clipped. "Jump calculations, now!"

"I'm on it," Auri said, already glowing brighter across the console. "Trajectories aligning. Just a few more seconds."

Fen's fingers hovered over the console. His gut twisted. The enemy's movements still didn't make sense.

He focused in, watching the swarm more closely—not as chaotic as before. The dagger-ships weren't attacking. They were shifting position, pacing just beyond weapon range. A few darted across their path—close enough to appear threatening, but never connecting.

Too close to be chance. Too far to be real.

A single tendril surged from above—then stopped. It hovered, curling like a serpent scenting prey, then slowly drifted away.

"They're not trying to destroy the ship," Fen muttered, the words falling into place with the shape of his thoughts.

Seraph's brow furrowed. "What? Our nearly-burnt-out shield projectors might disagree with you, Fen."

He pointed to a formation swinging around their flank, its angle perfect to funnel them forward. "They're not missing. They're maneuvering us."

She flicked her eyes to the tactical display. Her expression shifted—sharpness giving way to realization. "They're boxing us in. No, they are herding us."

Auri's glow pulsed a nervous hue. "We're locked in. Vortex is aligned. If we don't jump now, we'll lose the window and will have to circle around for another pass."

"They let the egress ships go," Fen said quietly. "We've been guided ever since."

"To what end?" Seraph asked, her hands moving across the controls. "If they wanted us dead—"

"They would've boxed us in by now," he said, finishing her thought. Auri's voice crackled through the comms. "I've got a clean solution, but I can't hold it. Ten seconds, tops."

The jump point flared ahead, blue and steady. The corridor to it had never been so clear.

They were locked into the run now. No time to slow down. No room to turn.

Fen looked at Seraph. She met his eyes. No words. Just understanding.

"Jump," he said. "But keep your eyes on the gate."

Auri engaged the warp emitters.

The ship locked course. The stars narrowed to a tunnel. The vortex bloomed before them.

Just a flicker. A ripple at the edge. The blue warped, shivering with a sickly green. A pulse of distortion spread through the space ahead.

Fen's blood went cold. "Stop the jump! It's a trap!"

"What?!" Auri shouted. Her voice was sharp now, shaken. "I already initiated the sequence—I can't abort. It's hardwired into the transit algorithm. We're committed."

Then she saw it—the flicker overtaking the vortex. "Oh, code… they're trying to corrupt the jump point."

"Seraph, turn the ship!" Fen's voice cracked with panic. "We have to pull out!"

"I—" Seraph's eyes widened. "No. Oh, Frag, I can't—"

The AI's intent hit him in a single, jarring moment of clarity. They didn't want them dead. Every missed shot, every strategic retreat, the sudden opening ahead—it hadn't been a battle. It had been a setup. They'd been herded, pushed into the gate so they could be taken alive. The Overseers wanted them captured, and they'd played their part in the Overseers' design. The air thinned as pressure tightened around Fen's chest.

The Carmen Aeternum lurched. Alarms screamed. Fen slammed back into his seat under the crush of G-forces. Lights flared. The hull groaned under the strain.

"Shut it down!" he yelled, but it was too late.

The Carmen spun, tossed like a leaf on the wind, pulled into something twisted and wrong.

And then they were gone.