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 stood at the edge, arms crossed, watching with the patience of someone who'd seen this play out a thousand times.

"All right, form up," he called, his voice carrying over the low hum of distant conduits and flickering HUDs. Boots tapped into line, steady against the packed earth.

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

Fenris gave a short nod. "That's enough for today. The next phase is waiting—beyond my watch, but yours to claim." His tone stayed even, but a faint pulse of possibility stirred in his chest.

He flicked open the system overlay. A quest marker blazed to life at the far corner of the yard, past the scuffed practice lanes and the battered dummies.

Players leaned forward instinctively, ghost-light from their HUDs washing across eager faces. This was always the turning point—when they thought the real journey was about to begin, never realizing it was just another loop of the same grind.

Fenris crossed his arms again and gave the go-ahead. The assistant's bright, chirpy voice rang out:

"Now show those training dummies you mean business!"

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

They jogged toward the row of rusted droids, hulking shapes frozen mid-swing, waiting. Beyond them, the path bent into the zone's simulated wilderness, the next phase hidden just out of sight.

Fenris turned away, boots crunching on gravel. Then he stopped. A familiar presence pressed close.

A presence. Familiar, sharp—like a plasma bolt from a trusty blaster. Intense. Alive. Impossible to ignore.

Seraph leaned against the stone wall at the far end of the yard, arms crossed, eyes bright. Her dark blue gaze caught the last of the fading light, steady and unflinching. The long brown jacket she favored—the one that always seemed to trail just right when she moved—hung loose around her frame, giving her the look of someone perpetually ready to step into a fight or vanish down a back alley. She wore her usual 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.

"Enjoying yourself, boss?" Her voice was light but laced with mischief, with challenge—the kind that cut straight through the static of routine.

Fenris grunted, his expression unchanged though his shoulders eased. Technically, Seraph was a freelancer—an NPC without bindings, free to roam or hire out to players. But she'd stayed. Stuck by him and Auri. In a world that rewrote itself daily, that choice mattered.

He arched a brow at her lounging pose. "You look comfortable. Forget you're supposed to be working?"

She smirked wider. "I was. Leveling my explosive handling skills. Y'know, in case I have to dismantle another bomb you wire wrong."

Fen rolled his eyes. "That was one time. Somebody's gotta keep things interesting."

Out on the grounds, the recruits hacked at dummies, their strikes steadier now, closer to rhythm than flailing.

"They're improving," Seraph said, watching them with a touch of real approval. "Better than that fiasco at the ruins. Remember when you nearly took my head off?"

Fen gave a short laugh. "You dodged too soon."

"I was dodging you," she shot back. "And Auri's proximity alerts didn't help."

Auri flickered in beside them, glowing smug. "For the record, I was rerouting a systems collapse while you two practiced slapstick in front of homicidal cyborgs. Points for style. Minus five for making me look bad."

Seraph's eyebrow ticked upward. "They were trying to kill us, Auri. Sorry if that ruined your performance review."

Auri sighed theatrically, shifting into a mock-heroic pose. "As long as you admit I was brilliant, 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.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

As the trio left the training grounds, they moved through the dusty town, footsteps echoing off worn stones. The roads were laid out like a half-forgotten dream—details skewed, never quite right, yet never corrected. Buildings hunched low along the street, squat and weathered, as if dropped there in a hurry. Rusted pipes coiled like lazy serpents along faded brick, vents hissing soft breaths of steam that vanished as quickly as they appeared. The place had the brittle feel of the Wild West rendered in code, jagged edges and unfinished corners reminding anyone who looked too long that this was never a world meant to be whole.

Auri drifted above them as a grinning, pixelated sun, her playful glow mocking the muted streets. Seraph caught the glimmer and laughed. "Oh, I meant to ask earlier—Auri, what did you mean about Fen breaking things again?"

Auri spun in midair, grin widening. "Didn't notice anything odd? How long were you watching?"

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

"Then you missed the real show." Auri leaned closer, glow flickering conspiratorially. "Fen here nearly took a player's head off. Blame the system glitch if you want, but it was close."

Fen gave a short grunt. "It wasn't intentional."

Auri's tone dipped into mock accusation, playful but edged. "Wasn't it? That blade was practically an inch away from making someone's day a whole lot shorter."

Seraph's brows rose, amusement shading her voice. "Almost killed someone? That doesn't sound like you, Fen."

Fen's jaw tightened. "It wasn't me. It was a glitch."

Auri snickered and morphed into the injured player, clutching her arm in overdone agony. "Crikey, me arm! My bloody arm!" she wailed in a terrible South Synth accent, complete with cartoon tears streaming down her face. "Poor kid probably thought he'd lose his whole wallet on the respawn fee." She spun back into her usual glow, smug as ever. "You should've seen the look."

Seraph chuckled, but there was a trace of seriousness behind it. "Still. A glitch like that… did the Overseers notice?"

Auri's glow dimmed for a fraction of a second before she forced a shrug. "I checked the logs. Nothing was flagged." She paused, then added with a crooked smile, "Which means either we're fine… or they're saving the fireworks for later."

Fen shot her a look, but Auri laughed, flickering back into a cartoonish grin. "Relax. If the Overseers were watching, we'd all be deleted already. Guess we're just that boring."

Seraph's chuckle joined hers, though her gaze lingered on Fen a moment longer. "Always dramatic, Auri. But maybe it wasn't just random. Maybe the system sent the glitch to spice things up. Maybe it's bored of the routine too."

She softened, voice gentler now. "Just don't go breaking it completely, Fen. Alright? We need you in one piece."

Fen managed a sardonic smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

They continued through the narrow lanes. The cantina's neon sign flickered behind them, casting erratic shadows while the low hum of voices drifted from its cracked windows. But the trio didn't linger—duty still tethered them to routine.

Cobblestones glowed faintly with the last light of the artificial sunset and neon. Fen studied the town he knew too well and wondered if the comfort he felt was home… or a prison cell. Buildings leaned inward, blocky outlines catching the fading hues of orange and rose. The place never changed, and that was its curse as much as its solace.

Auri drifted ahead, still bright as a sun, though her voice carried a thoughtful edge. "I'll keep an eye on things," she said, though they all knew it 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 beneath it lingered a rare softness—something close to concern.

Seraph's gaze flickered to Fen, a faint, teasing smile 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, twilight deepened, casting the town in gentle blues and purples. The afterglow of the synthetic sun lingered at the horizon, pixelated stars blinking overhead.

Fen paused—no patrols, no players, no glitches he couldn't push past. Just the low hum of vents and the rustle of a town that had long since given up. He and Auri walked on, his boots ticking softly against the stones, and for a moment, it felt almost… enough.

At the barracks door, he hesitated, hand hovering over the panel. "Earlier… when I almost took out that player—it reminded me of the glitches we used to see. Before everything changed."

Auri's glow wavered, faint but noticeable. "It's nothing. Just system hiccups."

"You know it's not," Fen pressed. "They used to happen, yeah. But not like this. This was different—and you felt it too."

Her light dimmed before she forced a shrug. "We're still here. That's what matters."

Fen frowned. "The glitches always come before something shifts. Like a warning."

"Echoes," Auri said softly. "That's all. Echoes of what the system can't hold together."

He studied her, suspicion flickering, but his thoughts slid away before he could catch them. "It doesn't feel like nothing."

Auri twirled back into brightness, morphing into a playful crescent moon. "Don't brood on me now, old man. You were about to ask if I wanted the top bunk."

Fen huffed a laugh, unease still coiled in his chest, and keyed the door. The barracks hummed around him, thinner somehow, like a layer of the world had been pulled back. He sat on his bunk, Auri's glow washing the walls in soft shifting light, but every time he pushed at the memory, it fuzzed out of reach.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" she asked gently.

"No," he admitted. "But… not tonight."

Her glow warmed into a small star. "Then sleep, Fen. Tomorrow's another day."

He closed his eyes, but the glitch lingered like a shadow—slipping further, waiting in the dark, ready to crack the world open. Or maybe it was just the ache of something important, already lost.

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."