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

The transition back to the prime layer of the SynthNet hit like a botched jump through an uncalibrated gate—a jarring jolt that left Fen reeling, his body twisting through an intangible pull as reality splintered around him.

Somewhere inside the chaos, Auri's voice cut through like a torn wire. "Brace yourself, Fen! We're not out of the woods yet. This is… going to be a bit rough."

The warning barely registered before the dark seam between Auri's quiet haven and the underlying code of the SynthNet tore open—ripping a visceral path from one layer to the next. Reality split, and they were yanked forward like data through a corrupted port.

With a lurch that felt like it rearranged his atoms, Fen erupted into light and air.

They were falling.

Cold, immaculate brilliance exploded around them. Below, an endless city spread out in every direction, vast enough to swallow the horizon. Towers of glass and engineered alloy rose like titanic needles, their angles too precise, too perfect. Neon circuitry etched along their spines shimmered in fractal patterns—white and azure veins pumping light through a sleeping giant.

The scale was dizzying. No visible ground, just infinite spires fading into cloud and shadow. The Citadel.

There was beauty in it—clean, ordered, almost divine—but it felt distant. Untouchable. Like staring into the heart of a machine that had long since stopped pretending it needed people.

Auri's glow hung just above him, barely visible. Seraph remained unconscious, limp as they dropped, her arms drifting in the wind like the strings had been cut.

"No, no, no..." Fen muttered, reaching to steady her. Panic surged in his chest as they dropped beneath the tallest spires. Skyscrapers whipped past fast and sharp. He knew, deep down, anything they hit at this speed would leave them painting part of the city red.

He reached inward, desperate, feeling for that rhythm again—the pulse he'd touched back in the Carmen. That strange resonance, that surge of control that had flowed between him and Auri. It had bent the world around them, amplified them both like tuning forks locked in harmony. He didn't understand it then, and he understood it even less now—but he could still feel it, buried deep.

Weakened. Muted.

It was there—but like a signal just out of range, flickering and fading before he could grasp it.

"Come on," he growled through clenched teeth, trying to pull it up. Nothing answered. He couldn't reach it.

The wind howled past them.

A skyscraper's edge sliced by so close he felt the pressure of it. Fen braced for the end.

Then something rose beside them.

A small police bot hovered effortlessly on stabilized jets, its squat frame gliding up like it had all the time in the world. A single oversized black lens made up its face, dotted with shifting pixels that formed a simplified, smiling digital expression—an almost absurd contrast to the sheer drop still yawning beneath them. Its tiny, comical arms twitched like it was conducting some invisible orchestra, keeping perfect pace beside them as if this were a leisurely descent.

The bot hovered closer, its tone chipper but mechanical. "Citizen. This is a no-flight, no-freefall zone. Compliance with designated airborne pathways is mandatory in all Citadel municipal airspace and in all sectors of business and residence. For authorized fun, please redirect to a designated recreational descent and flight zone."

Fen blinked at it, wind roaring past him. "Are you serious right now?!"

"Can't you, oh, I don't know, help us?"

The bot's pixelated face reconfigured, eyebrows raising in exaggerated inquiry. "Assistance is available upon acknowledgment of compliance and recognition of infraction."

"Great!" Fen shouted over the wind. "Yes, fine—I acknowledge, I recognize, I deeply regret—now maybe slow us down before we redecorate your pretty city in a fine red mist?!"

The bot emitted a soft chime, arms extending with bureaucratic finality. "Under code D-4291, a fine for unauthorized descent has been issued. Payment may be made to your nearest municipal court. Please prepare for deceleration."

A shimmering field bloomed from the bot's sides, humming softly as it wrapped around them like an invisible net. Their deadly plummet slowed at once, the catch gentle—almost casual. Fen felt the shift in his pit of his stomach as they were guided downward with all the practiced grace of a routine cargo drop.

"Please remain calm while I arrest your fall," the bot said pleasantly, its grin unwavering.

Fen stared at the thing in disbelief. Of course a place like this regulated skyfalls. With teleporters, mounts, personal hover-drives and magic abilities flinging players around, people falling from the sky probably happened all the time. Bureaucracy had simply done what it always did—filed it under "someone else's problem" and made it taxable.

They drifted toward a massive rooftop park platform—an oasis of structured greenery set high above the chaos below. Neatly trimmed hedges, polished walkways, and carefully tiered flora gave the illusion of calm, but beyond the park, the city sprawled in infinite directions. White towers and neon arteries extended into the mist, vanishing into the clouds like a hallucination made from steel and code.

Fen exhaled, barely hearing the bot's final chirp. "Thank you for your compliance. Have a pleasant day."

As they touched down, the field dissolved. The bot hovered above, issuing one last cheerful warning. "Further infractions will incur escalating penalties. Please take your citation and have a safe day."

A slip of paper protruded from a slot beneath its perpetually grinning display. Fen, still breathless, reached out and took the ticket like someone receiving a prophecy. He stared at it, eyes wide.

The absurdity landed like a gut-punch. All the fear, the chaos of the last few hours cracked loose, rising up in his chest until it burst out in a short, disbelieving laugh. Then another. It grew, spiraled, snowballed into something full-bodied and uncontrollable.

Auri flickered beside him, stabilizing just enough to offer a half-lidded grin. "Well," she murmured, voice thin but proud, "that's one way to make an entrance."

Fen shook his head, snorting as he staggered toward a nearby bench. He cradled Seraph gently in his arms, settling her onto the seat like something precious before flopping down beside her.

"Yeah," he managed between gulps of air, brushing a hand through his hair. "Next time, let's be sure to use the designated pathways when freefalling from a hundred stories up so we don't get a citation."

He paused, staring into the open space ahead, letting the silence catch up to him. Then the full absurdity caught him sideways again, and he doubled over, loud laughter shaking his shoulders, the release sharp and painful and raw.

A few nearby players and NPCs gave him a wide berth—the kind of space people leave for someone on the edge of a breakdown.

The bot zipped back into view, the whir of its jets cutting through the chaos. "You are being cited under Section 1333 for disturbing the peace in a public place. Payment may be made to your nearest municipal court. Thank you for your compliance. Have a pleasant day." Another ticket began printing.

Fen was still laughing when Seraph stirred beside him with a low groan.

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"Hey, hey—Sera?" Fen leaned toward her immediately, worry cutting through his haze. "You with me?"

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. She blinked at the dazzling white sky, then the sleek towers beyond. Her brow creased.

"What… where…?"

Auri floated in closer, her light flickering faintly as if barely holding shape. "We made it. You're safe," she said, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it.

Seraph turned her head slowly toward Auri. "Auri... you look like death warmed over."

"That's because I've been thoroughly microwaved," Auri muttered. For just a second, Seraph managed a cracked smile.

"What did I miss? I take it the jump didn't go well?"

Fen exhaled, the timeline collapsing in his head. The jump from the tutorial sector felt like a lifetime ago.

"Oh, not much," Fen said. "We got dragged into Overseer purgatory, nearly deleted. Auri pulled a vanishing act and took us to her secret hidey-hole—turns out she's basically an Old God, by the way—and then we got ejected midair over the Citadel like bad code. Oh—" He handed her two crumpled citation slips with mock ceremony. "You also picked up a couple fines."

Seraph blinked down at the tickets, then took in the park, the bench, and the impossible sprawl of the city stretching upward into haze.

"So... pretty much a normal Tuesday for us?" she murmured. "That tracks."

Auri flickered beside them, looking genuinely offended. "Old God? Excuse you—I am not old. I am timeless, Fen. Ageless. Eternal chic."

Fen grinned. "Right, right. My bad. I just noticed you skipped right over the god part."

Auri scoffed and floated away, her flicker a dramatic flounce.

"Let's get moving before that bot decides to fine me for excessive breathing," Fen muttered. Then, glancing out at the streets beyond.

Auri drifted back toward Seraph, her light dim but steady. "Are you up for a walk?"

Seraph leaned against Fen, still unsteady, her gaze sweeping the gleaming skyline. "I'll manage. Did you have a destination in mind, or are we just sightseeing? This is... actually my first time in the city."

Fen gave a half-laugh, half-groan. "Yeah? You're not missing much. The Citadel's loud, fast, full of quests and egos—a real hive of scum and vanity. We need somewhere quiet." He scanned the skyline, eyes narrowing. "Not easy in a place like this... but I might know a spot. If it's still around."

With Auri hovering dimly beside them, the three stepped off the quiet platform and into the blur and bustle of the Citadel—alive, together, and, for the moment, still in one piece.

He steadied Seraph as her footing faltered, offering her a small, reassuring nod. "If I remember right, there's a diner around here. Somewhere we can regroup."

Seraph arched a brow. "You sure it's still here? You don't strike me as the diner type."

Fen smirked faintly. "Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises," he said, though in truth, he wasn't sure the place still existed. The Citadel evolved constantly, its districts shifting so fast even solid memories felt slippery.

As they continued through the financial sector, Seraph's gaze drifted up to the dizzying towers and the stream of neon-lit foot traffic threading between them. The streets buzzed with movement—players in tailored suits, avatars optimized for intimidation and efficiency, their motions clipped and calculated.

"Most of the people here," Fen said, nodding toward the crowd, "are hardcore players. But their game isn't quests or glory. It's finance—stocks, trading, corporate skirmishes. It's just as cutthroat as any barroom sim, but with better suits."

"Charming," Seraph murmured as she stepped aside to avoid a hovering drone cart, its chassis plastered with a scrolling ad for crypto-runes.

Fen tried flagging someone down—a tall, sharp-featured man with a polished datapad tucked under one arm. "Excuse me, do you know where I can find a transport kiosk?"

The man barely slowed, giving Fen a cursory once-over like he was calculating depreciation. "What do I look like, a sparking map? How about you log off, ghost," he said, then walked on without another glance.

Fen muttered, "Thanks for nothing, button masher."

The next pedestrian—a woman with a datastream headset and a stress wrinkle that looked procedurally generated—didn't even glance their way. "I'm late," she barked, brushing past like he didn't exist.

"Yeah, real friendly folks," Fen said, his voice dry.

Auri groaned beside them, her light flickering irritably. "Step aside, rookies. Let me show you how it's done."

She floated ahead, scanning the crowd, then locked onto a younger player in an oversized business suit. The kid looked fresh off the spawn menu—nervous eyes and a crispness that said he hadn't been chewed up by the city yet.

"Hey, you in the suit," Auri called out, drifting closer. Her voice shifted, adopting a thick, ancient sounding accent that landed somewhere between a holovid gangster and an old synth-cabbie from the archives. "Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, junior executive. My friend's new in town, and we're lookin' for a transport kiosk. So how 'bout you be a good lad and point us in the right direction, huh?"

The player blinked, startled—then nodded rapidly, clearly flustered. "Uh, y-yeah! There's one just down the skywalk, past the VR Exchange. Big blue kiosk—can't miss it!"

"Attaboy," Auri said, flipping an imaginary coin.
"See? Old tricks still work." She grinned, dropping the accent as she drifted back toward them.

Fen blinked after her. "Okay, yeah. That was weirdly impressive."

Just then, a hovercar zipped by, its engines whining as it narrowly missed her. Auri spun midair, glaring after it. "I'm FLOATING here!" she bellowed, the accent snapping back—thick, indignant.

She threw her hands in the air for added effect before floating back with a satisfied smirk tugging at her edges.

Fen managed a tired chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. "Auri, you're impossible."

"Impossible—and effective." Auri winked, but her form stuttered again, the flicker more pronounced now.

They resumed walking, but Fen saw it. The way her light dimmed a little more with each flicker. The way her form wavered, her movements slightly unsteady. He said nothing, but a tight knot formed in his chest.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Seraph reach toward her, slow and gentle. "Auri... are you okay? What's going on?"

"It's nothing," Auri said quickly, then added, sounding embarrassed, "Just—listen, okay? My extreme awesomeness is running on fumes. If we don't find somewhere to rest soon, I might... burn out."

Fen's stomach tightened. He glanced at her again. No, it wasn't just theatrics. Her glow was fraying at the edges, trailing uneven threads of light like a frayed circuit. The way she moved—just slightly delayed, slightly unsure—set off every warning bell in his head.

"Auri," he said quietly, "what do you mean, burn out? What can we do?"

She didn't answer right away. The usual levity in her voice trembled, then vanished entirely.

"I'm fine," she muttered—too fast, too brittle. "Fine-adjacent, at least. Definitely within... operating tolerances." Her form flickered mid-sentence, stuttering like a candle caught in a draft.

Fen raised an eyebrow, silently calling her bluff.

She sighed. Her glow dimmed again, drawing in close to her core like she was trying to disappear into herself. "Okay. Look. When humans get hurt, you eat, you sleep, you heal. I can't do that. The damage from Siren's layer—it didn't just drain me. It erased pieces. Systems I need to move, to shield you, to track threats. To be helpful."

She hesitated, then added more quietly, "The parts that made me... useful."

Fen stopped walking.

"I have to rebuild everything from scratch," she continued. "Using backups I don't even trust. I can't tell what's real code and what's corrupted—what's still me and what's just... noise."

His voice dropped. "And if you can't?"

Auri didn't meet his eyes. "I don't know," she whispered. "Best case? I shut down. become Static for a while. Maybe I come back. Worst case... I fragment. I lose more of myself. Maybe permanently."

Then her tone shifted—tight, sharp, and shaking with a hurt she couldn't contain. "It's never happened to me before, Fen. I've always outrun them. Always stayed one step ahead. But Siren—" Her voice cracked. "It took parts of me. Ripped them away like they didn't matter. Like I didn't matter. And now... I feel hollow. Violated."

Her glow flared once—too bright, too fast—then blinked hard to dim.

"I wasn't ready for what IT did to me," she said, barely audible now. "And I hate that. I hate how weak it made me feel."

Seraph leaned forward, her arm still looped around Fen's. "Auri," she said gently, "we're here. We've got you."

Auri's light dimmed again. "That's why I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want you to look at me like... this."

Fen's voice softened. "You should've told us how bad it was. You're not alone in this. If you're hurting, we won't walk away."

She let out a half-hearted scoff. "Well, if you did, I wouldn't blame you. I'm useless like this."

Fen shook his head. "You'll never be useless. We don't keep you around for the tricks and cloaking fields. We stay close because we care. Because we love you. You're one of us, Auri."

Seraph nodded. "Sweetheart, you're our little piece of crazy. And together? We're one big, beautifully broken mess. We walk this road together. Always."

She leaned her head against Fen's shoulder, smirking. "Plus, who else is gonna keep this one's ego from expanding like a supernova?"

Auri laughed—a real one, light and sharp despite the fading glow. "Together," she said, her voice quiet but sincere. "I like that."

Her flickering stabilized just enough to float beside them again.

"Now let's find that diner," she added, wryly and wearily, "before another hovercar tries to make me into a hood ornament."

And with that, the trio pressed on—past gleaming towers, through crowded walkways, toward a place just quiet enough to breathe.