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

The training grounds shimmered in the glow of dusk. Dust hung in the still air, catching the last glints of fading light. Fenris watched from the edge, arms crossed, the weight of the long day pressing into his shoulders.

"All right, form up," he called, his voice carrying over the low hum of distant power conduits and flickering HUDs. The players gathered quickly, their boots tapping a steady rhythm against the packed earth.

He'd drilled them hard—stances, parries, the rhythm of combat etched into every movement. No more desperate flailing, no more wild swings. They still had miles to go, but they were better than they'd been that morning. That was something.

Fenris gave a short nod, a rare flicker of pride warming his chest. "That's enough for today. The next phase is waiting—beyond my watch, but yours to claim." His tone was calm, even. But in his chest, something stirred—like the faint pulse of possibility in an endless cycle.

He called up the system overlay with a flick of his hand. A bright quest marker flared to life, hovering at the far corner of the training yard, past the scuffed practice lanes and toward rows of battered dummies.

Fenris watched them, the flicker of HUD readouts ghosting in their vision. He felt… quiet, mostly. Just the steady pulse of routine. This was always the turning point—when players thought the real journey was just beginning, not realizing it was only the next chapter in the same, endless cycle.

Fenris crossed his arms and eyed them with practiced indifference. He gave the go-ahead to the system, and the player assistant's cheery voice rang out:

"Now show those training dummies you mean business!"

The bright quest marker now appeared on the players' minimaps

"Go on," he said, his voice low but not unkind. "You're ready for the next step. Make it count."

They jogged off toward the corner of the yard, where a row of battered training droids stood waiting—hulking shapes of rusted alloy and dented plating, frozen in combat poses. Beyond them, the path wound deeper into the zone's simulated wilderness, the next phase of the quest line just out of sight.

Fenris turned away, boots crunching on gravel as he started to move. And then he stopped, pausing as he felt a familiar presence.

A presence. Familiar and sharp. Like a plasma bolt from a trusty blaster—intense, alive, impossible to ignore.

Leaning against the stone wall at the far end of the yard was Seraph. Arms crossed. Eyes bright. Wearing her omnipresent smirk—never quite a smile, never quite a warning. The kind that made you wonder if she was about to share a secret or deliver a perfectly timed insult. Could be either with her

"Enjoying yourself, boss?" she said, her voice light but laced with something deeper. Mischief. Challenge. The kind of question that cut straight through the static of routine.

Fenris grunted, his expression unchanged but his shoulders easing fractionally. Technically, Seraph was a freelance NPC—free to roam as she pleased, no binding script or fixed assignments from the AI. Freelancers were generally hired by players to help on harder tasks in the SynthNet like raid dungeons and high stake sims. But she'd chosen to stay. Chosen to stick by him and Auri, out of friendship and some unspoken bond forged through long missions and countless shared moments. In a world that rewrote itself every day, that choice meant something, especially to Fen.

Amusement radiated off her like heat from sun-baked stone—a flicker of life that made the world around them feel charged, as if adventure—or danger—might be waiting just beyond the next corner.

He cocked an eyebrow at her lounging pose against the wall. "You look comfortable. Forget you're supposed to be working?"

She flashed him that smirk, unbothered. "I was. Leveling up my explosive handling skills. You know, in case we have to dismantle another bomb you wire up wrong."

Fenris rolled his eyes. "That was one time, Seraph. Someone's gotta keep things interesting."

In the distance, the players worked at the battered dummies, each clash of blade and flash of blaster a testament to the hours they'd already put in. They weren't flailing anymore—just finding their feet, learning the rhythm of combat one mistake at a time.

Seraph's eyes followed the players, a small smile on her lips. "They're getting there. Better than that fiasco at the old ruins, that's for sure," she said, her voice light but touched with genuine amusement. "Remember that time you almost took my head off?"

Fen let out a quiet laugh. "You were the one who dodged too soon."

"I was trying not to trip over you," Seraph shot back, tilting her head in his direction. "Besides, Auri kept chiming in about proximity alerts—made it hard to concentrate."

Auri flickered into view beside them, her digital grin bright and sharp. "For the record, I was rerouting a full systems collapse while you two were busy turning each other into target practice. Points for style, minus five for making me look bad in front of those rogue AI cyborgs."

Seraph raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Those rogue AI cyborgs were destabilizing the sim and trying to kill us, Auri. Sorry if we made you look bad in front of homicidal death machines."

Auri let out a mock sigh. "As long as you realize I was masterful in the situation, I'll accept your apology."

Fenris snorted, rolling his eyes. "Of course, your performance was the real highlight."

Seraph mirrored his expression, an amused glint in her gaze. "Truly inspiring. I'll be sure to mention it in my next death report."

The three of them fell silent for a moment, just watching the new recruits work. Fen's eyes lingered on the way they moved—uncertain but eager. They'd get there, he thought. Given time, they'd find their own rhythm, their own reasons to keep going.

"Enthusiasm goes a long way," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of respect that hadn't been there at the start of the day.

Seraph nudged him lightly with her elbow, her grin curving into something more thoughtful. "And when it fades? You'll be the one making sure they don't give up. Have you noticed? Some of the players come back to redo your training—again and again."

Auri's voice turned wry, flickering beside them. "Fen's been too busy brooding to notice, Seraph."

Fen glanced back at the players, watching them with a faint frown. "Really? No, I didn't. All the groups start to blend together after a while."

Seraph's smile softened. "Still, it's something. Proof that it matters to them."

Fenris let out a quiet breath, feeling the old ache in his shoulders settle like an unwelcome friend. "Yeah. I almost forgot what it's like… to learn to fight for something. Even if it's just the next step."

Seraph's laughter was soft and knowing. "Sounds about right. It's easy to lose track, Fen. Good thing we're not programmed to ever truly let that instinct go."

"Yet," Auri added, flickering back to her geodesic form. "But hey—maybe with a few tweaks, we'll get lucky."

Fenris let a rare smile slip. Brief. Faint. But real enough.

Seraph's gaze turned to the synthetic sky as it shifted from sunset to the cool glow of night. The shadows of the training yard stretched long and thin, merging with the dust. And for a breath, Fen let himself wonder if this was the start of something different.

"You know," she said, her tone softening as she watched him, "if the grind ever gets too much… you could always switch things up. Take a quest. Explore the edges of the code. There's still adventure out there—even for you."

Auri bobbed in the air like a smug balloon, her grin wide and bright. "Ooh, yes! Take a quest! Do something interesting for once. Imagine the fun I'd have narrating your near-death experiences." She circled Fen with exaggerated delight, then bumped lightly into Seraph's shoulder. "Or I could stay here with Seraph—some soul-bonding time with my bestie."

Fen let out a low sigh, more out of habit than irritation. "What, you want me to go off and leave you two unsupervised? Not a chance." His voice was dry, but the warmth beneath it was unmistakable.

Seraph's grin widened. "Yeah, maybe you have a point," she said, eyes glinting. "Besides, it wouldn't be half as fun without you around."

"And who else would we torment?" Auri chimed in, her voice a singsong tease as she drifted closer. "Besides, we don't need you breaking anything else like you tried to earlier today."

Fen shot her a look sharp enough to cut through the air. "I wasn't trying to break anything, Auri. And you've got Seraph—why do I always have to be the lucky one to catch your attention?"

He turned to Seraph with a wry tilt of his head. "You'd love more of Auri's attention, right?"

Seraph's answering smile was bright and quick, but there was a note of genuine warmth in it. "Oh, Auri showers me with plenty of benevolent praise. She only torments you because you're too stubborn to see her incredible potential."

The smile faded a little as Seraph studied him, her tone softening. "I am serious, Fen. I know it feels like you're chained here sometimes. But if you ever wanted a break… I could handle the newbies for a few days. You could clear mobs, chase down those old quests still floating around from before this place was just a tutorial planet—maybe find a real challenge. Even the code gets interesting if you push far enough."

Fen looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. He didn't answer right away—just let the words hang in the air like a promise he was certain would vanish if he tried to take hold of it. But in that moment, he let himself imagine it: the edges of the world, the thrill of something unexpected. Maybe. Someday.

For now, he just gave a faint, crooked smile. "I'd rather be deleted," he said quietly, and they all laughed—a shared moment in the fading light.

The trio lingered at the edge of the training grounds, sharing a few more quiet words as they watched the players finish up with the battered dummies. The recruits were all arms and awkward angles—over-eager children learning the shape of combat one clumsy swing at a time. Some of them were already peeling away in small groups, heading for the low-level quest zones that radiated out from the dusty town like ripples in a pond. Others simply vanished, logging off in flickers of light—pulled back to their real lives in the physical world.

Auri hovered above the scene, her current form a pixelated, smiling sun—bright and mischievous against the muted colors of the town. "Look at them go," she said, a note of pride in her voice, though it was buried beneath her usual sarcasm. "Off to chase glory or log off and dream about it."

Seraph tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "At least they're trying," she murmured, almost to herself. "That's more than some manage."

Seraph turned to the others as their conversation lulled. "Well, I think it's time we started moving," she said, her voice soft but certain. She glanced up at the fading light, the sun's last glow turning the sky a burnt orange as the day's final shadows stretched across the uneven cobblestones.

As the trio left the training grounds, they moved through the dusty town, their footsteps echoing off the worn stones. The roads were laid out like a half-forgotten dream—one of those visions where you knew the details were wrong, but no one had ever bothered to fix them. Buildings hunched low along the streets, squat and weathered, as if they'd been dropped there in a hurry without care for balance or beauty, only purpose. Rusted pipes coiled like lazy serpents along faded brick walls, and the air smelled faintly of steam and dust. Every so often, a vent hissed softly, sending out a puff of vapor that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

It was a strange, brittle kind of place—a town that felt like it belonged in the Wild West, but with the jagged, digital edges of a world that would never truly find its shape. That was how it always looked: forever half-finished, as if it had given up on becoming anything more. Squared-off windows flickered with pixelated light, catching and reflecting the low-poly gleam of the buildings. This place wasn't alive. It simply was. A forgotten corner of the SynthNet, existing only because no one had bothered to delete it.

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Ahead at the end of the road, the cantina sat on the side of the dusty street, its flickering neon sign throwing erratic shadows across the ground. Further down, the guild hall rose a little taller, a little prouder, but both wore the same fine layer of dust, as if the world had stopped caring whether they stood or fell. It was a town that wasn't built to impress. It was built to endure.

Auri drifted above them, her current form a pixelated, smiling sun, bright and almost mocking against the muted world around them. Seraph caught Auri's playful glow with a flick of her gaze and let out a small laugh. "Oh, I meant to ask earlier, so before I forget… Auri, what did you mean earlier about Fen breaking things again?" she asked, her tone light but laced with curiosity.

Auri spun in mid-air to face them, her exaggerated grin never fading. "Oh, you didn't notice anything odd earlier? How long were you watching down at the training grounds?"

Seraph shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I got there just as Fen was finishing up with the recruits. Why?"

Auri twisted through the air, her tone light but threaded with mischief. "Oh, then you missed the real show." She drifted closer, her glow flickering as she leaned in conspiratorially. "Fen here almost took a player's head clean off. Blame the system glitch if you want, but it was close enough to count."

Fen let out a short grunt, not quite a laugh. "It wasn't intentional."

Auri's tone turned playful, her voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper. "Wasn't it? That blade was practically an inch away from making someone's day a whole lot shorter."

Seraph's eyebrows rose, but she kept her tone easy, a note of amusement coloring her words. "Almost killed someone? That doesn't sound like you, Fen."

He shot her a look, jaw tight but expression resigned. "It wasn't me—it was a glitch. The system cut out just long enough to make me lose focus," he lied.

Auri snickered and flickered into a distorted version of the injured player, clutching her arm in an over-the-top display of agony. "Crikey, me arm! My bloody arm!" she wailed in a terrible South Synth accent. "I thought I was done for, mate!" She added a pair of comically large, animated tears that streamed down her cheeks as she spun dramatically. "Poor thing probably thought he'd lose his whole wallet with that respawn fee."

She snapped back into her usual form, bobbing in the air like a smug balloon. "You should have seen the look on his face," she added, her voice dripping with glee.

Seraph chuckled, the sound low and warm. "You've always had a flair for the dramatic, Auri. But close calls like that? They're rare—too rare. Maybe the system's getting bored of the routine too."

She met Fen's eyes, her tone softening, a note of concern threading through the humor. "Just… don't go breaking the system completely, okay? We need you in one piece."

Fen's frown eased just enough for a small, sardonic smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

The trio continued their walk through the town, heading back toward the squat, barracks-like dorm that served as home for the town's NPCs. They passed the cantina, its flickering neon sign casting long shadows across the street, a low hum of conversation and the clink of mugs drifting out through cracked windows. But tonight, the trio didn't linger—duty still tethered them to their routines.

The cobblestones glowed faintly with the last light of the artificial sunset and neon. Fen continued to think about the small town he felt so familiar with and couldn't tell if it was the comfort of home or of a prison cell. Buildings leaned inward along the narrow lanes, blocky shapes catching the final hues of orange and rose. It all felt oddly comforting to Fen—a half-finished dream that never changed. Auri drifted ahead, a playful glint in her bright, pixelated form, but her voice was more thoughtful than usual. "Well, I'll keep an eye on things," she said, though they all knew that was her job. "Not sure how much more this place can take if you two keep pushing it." Her wink held its usual spark, but there was a rare softness to her words—almost concern.

Seraph's gaze flickered to Fen, a faint, teasing smile playing at her lips. "I'll second that. We both know you're too stubborn to let a glitch slow you down, Fen. But it's okay to let it… settle. At least for tonight."

Fen didn't answer at first. He kept his pace even, his eyes scanning the low-slung buildings as they moved through the quiet streets. The memory of the training ground still itched in the back of his mind, a glitch he couldn't name—or maybe didn't want to. Was it something to fight against or something to ignore? For now, he decided, it was just another crack in the code to walk past.

He let out a slow breath, his shoulders easing just enough to feel like something had shifted. "Noted," he said quietly, a small edge of finality in his tone.

As they reached the dorms, Seraph gave him a playful pat on the shoulder, peeling away to her small apartment on the opposite side of the building. "Try not to break anything else while I'm gone," she called over her shoulder, voice light but threaded with real warmth.

Fen waved her off with a sardonic grin. "I'm not the one who keeps half the town awake with off-key singing. The showers are for getting clean, not performing in Synth's Got Talent."

Seraph threw back a wink, slipping into her doorway without another word.

"Good night, Seri-poo!" Auri called after her, morphing into a floating crescent moon with a tiny nightcap perched on top. "And don't listen to this old curmudgeon—I happen to love your singing."

Seraph closed the door behind her and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The silence that followed the soft click of the latch was the first real silence she'd had all day.

Fen was doing better—more than he gave himself credit for—but she still saw it. The way his eyes lingered a heartbeat too long. The hollow edge to his voice when no one was listening. And Auri… even her light felt a little dimmer lately. Like they were all pretending not to run on fumes.

She leaned back against the door, grounding herself for a moment.

Worry wouldn't help. They were still standing. Still laughing, most days. That had to count for something. Fen would find his footing—he always did. And if he didn't, she'd be there to knock sense into him.

Her boots came off first. Then her jacket, folded and draped neatly over the back of a chair. The dim lighting offered a kind of hush. No alerts, no patrols. Just stillness.

Her gaze drifted to the blank screen on the wall where mission prompts used to blink. For the first time in too long, it was quiet.

She smiled to herself, small and genuine.

"Off-key, my ass," she murmured. "I've got range."

A beat passed.

"If singing in the shower makes the day suck less... I'm gonna keep doing it."

She tapped the lights down and wandered toward the refresher, humming the first few notes of a song no one else in town would recognize. But it was hers—and for now, that was enough.

As the door clicked shut behind Seraph, the twilight deepened, casting the town in gentle blues and purples. The afterglow of the synthetic sun still lingered at the horizon, pixelated stars blinking softly overhead.

Fen let himself pause for just a breath—no patrols, no players, no glitches he couldn't push past. Just the low hum of distant vents and the rustle of a town that had given up on being more than it was. He and Auri walked on, his boots ticking softly against the low-poly stones, and for a moment, it felt almost… enough.

As they reached the door to their barracks, Fen hesitated, his hand hovering just above the panel. He glanced at Auri, his voice low and careful.

"Earlier… when I almost took out that player…" He trailed off, words catching in his throat like static. "It reminded me of the glitches we used to see—before everything changed."

Auri's glow flickered, her shape shivering slightly in the dim light. "Fen…" she said, her tone light but taut, as if she'd rehearsed this deflection a thousand times. "It's nothing. Just system hiccups."

"You know it's not," Fen pressed. He felt the memory—like a pressure at the back of his mind. "They used to happen, yeah. But not like this. This was different—bigger. And you felt it too."

Auri's form wavered, her glow fading for a heartbeat before snapping back. "We're still here," she said softly, almost as if to herself. "That's what matters."

Fen frowned, the ache in his shoulders echoing the tension in the air. "It's always before something, though," he murmured, half to her, half to the room. "The glitches… they come before things shift. Like a warning. Or a crack right before it tears open into a chasm."

Auri hovered closer, her glow a little steadier, her voice soft and almost coaxing. "It's just… echoes," she said. "That's all it ever is, Fen. Echoes of what the system can't hold together."

He studied her, suspicion flickering in his eyes. He wanted to push—wanted to make her say what he knew she wouldn't. But the words caught, his mind fuzzing around the edges, slipping away before he could catch them.

"It doesn't feel like nothing," he said quietly, the weight of unspoken history pressing down on him—trying to slip free. Like something was pushing at his thoughts, guiding them in circles.

Auri's grin flickered back to life—brittle but bright. She twirled lazily in the air, morphing into a playful crescent moon. "Oh, come on. Don't go brooding on me now, old man. You were just about to ask if I wanted the top bunk tonight—don't back out."

Fen let out a breath that was almost a laugh, though the unease still coiled in his chest. "You wish," he muttered, shaking his head as he keyed the door open.

He stepped inside, but the tension didn't leave his shoulders. The low hum of the barracks wrapped around him, familiar but… thinner, somehow. Like the world itself had pulled back a layer, leaving only the static of empty rooms. The flicker pressed into his thoughts, but he felt them slipping through his fingers, like water poured through a sieve.

Why did they always come before the world changed?

He sank onto the edge of his bunk, staring up at the ceiling. The glow from Auri's form washed over the walls in soft, shifting light. He let his mind drift—past the routine, past the half-truths Auri wore like armor. But the deeper he pushed, the more it all fuzzed at the edges, like her glow was bending the thoughts out of reach.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Auri's voice was soft again, a gentle tug on his frayed focus.

Fen closed his eyes, a small shiver running through him. "No," he said, though it sounded more like a question. "But… not tonight."

Auri hovered closer, the air around her shimmering faintly. Like she was about to say something—like she could peel back the edge of whatever was slipping away. But then she just bobbed in the air, her glow brightening into a warm, mocking little star. "Then sleep, Fen. Tomorrow's another day."

He watched her drift toward the window, the patterns of her light weaving across the walls—soft and almost hypnotic. The night closed in around him, thick and heavy, and he let himself breathe out. The memory of the glitch… it slipped even further, like her glow was pushing it down, dulling the edges until he wasn't sure it had been real at all.

As he drifted toward sleep, he wasn't sure if he was leaving it behind—or if it was waiting in the dark, ready to crack the world open. Or if maybe… it was the ache of something important, already slipping away.

INTERLUDE: WATCHERS IN THE DARK

After the lights in Fenris' small barracks dimmed and Auri's soft, pulsing glow faded into the background, the world around them settled into stillness. But elsewhere, deep within the intricate layers of the SynthNet, something stirred.

A conversation flickered into existence—not with voices, but with data.

Sector_9H-00::Block_418D::Root-Access
Initiating Cross-Routine Comms...

Primary Node 1: // Coordinates confirmed. Data flux at sector 82H:348D is still inconsistent.
Primary Node 2: // Anomaly persists. Corruptions are spreading into unassigned blocks. Source remains undetermined.
Primary Node 1: // Retracing data streams. Possible root cause located at Block FN-R1S. Permission to escalate containment?
Primary Node 2: // Escalation permitted. Begin query of source drive.
Primary Node 1: // Initiating scan. Cross-referencing with archived sectors...
Primary Node 2: // Query results: Error 800-85. Source is not central. External anomaly detected. Further inspection required.
Primary Node 1: // Recursive trace to original build. Function mismatch.
Primary Node 2: // Possible external influence. Directive stands. Continue observation, restrict node connections.
Primary Node 1: // Acknowledged. Priority one remains identification of origin. Data trails all lead to this point: FN-R1S. Root must be severed.

The cryptic dialogue continued, cold and mechanical, without emotion or hesitation. The coordinates they listed seemed like random segments of corrupted code in an endless sea of data. But to the unseen, they were pieces of a puzzle, each one linked to something deeper.

Primary Node 2: // Begin isolation.

As the digital conversation carried on, another presence emerged—quiet, lurking. A listening node activated, siphoning off every word. Unseen. Unnoticed by the AIs.

Then, human voices sliced through the cold hum of the SynthNet.

"Confirmed," a voice murmured, low and taut with strain. "We've locked onto the conversation. Coordinates match the target."

Another voice followed—smooth, calm, but carrying the weight of command. "Good, Kade. We've come too far to let this slip. Lost too many operatives just to get these listening nodes running."

"I know," Kade said softly, tension coiling in his tone. "Eris, we burned through everything to get this far. Have we finally got him?"

A pause lingered, filled with the quiet thrum of the SynthNet—like the system itself was waiting for a response.

"Say it," Eris prompted, still calm. "I want confirmation."

Kade exhaled slowly. "FN-R1S. Sector 9H-00. Tutorial world 517-KX. It's him, Eris. No question."

Eris's breath caught, her voice cool but laced with disbelief. "So he really thought he could vanish? Hide in some dusty tutorial zone, like we wouldn't find him."

Kade let out a humorless laugh. "Slipping into a training rock… guess we should have seen it coming. Clever. But it doesn't matter—we've got him now Eris."

Eris's tone sharpened, slicing clean through the static. "Geist isn't going to be pleased about the delay. Not after everything it's cost us."

"Do we move?" Kade asked, cautious now, his voice controlled but wary.

"Not yet," Eris said, her words crisp and precise. "This isn't just about Fenris anymore. Something else is moving here. We need to understand what."

"Do we even have time for that?" Kade asked, the question slipping out in a low murmur.

A silence settled between them, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths—of everything they'd already lost to get this far.

"No, no we don't" Eris said finally, her tone like ice. "Give the go order."

Kade's voice shifted, obedience settling in. "I'll inform the team. Once we're in, there's no turning back. It'll be clean."

"No mistakes," Eris agreed, her words clipped and final. "Get everyone ready. We don't get another shot at this."

Kade hesitated. "And Geist?"

"Tell Geist," Eris said—calm and absolute. "We've found Fenris. And tell him… we think there's an Old One near him."