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

When Fen and Auri made their way back into the Retro, the lighting had shifted—dimmer, more relaxed, the way it always dipped between meal rushes. All the booths were empty. Background music buzzed faintly from the jukebox.

Sarge was tucked into a side booth, hunched over his datapad. He didn't look up right away, but when he caught them in his peripheral, he held up a hand—just a moment. Voice low, clipped. Whoever he was speaking to on the other end, it wasn't casual.

A beat passed, then he pressed mute and gave Fen a nod.

"Working on a few leads," he said. "Sam'll take you down. Old storage level, off-grid and quiet. Should be safe enough for now."

He didn't wait for acknowledgment—just clicked the comm back on and returned to business.

Sam was already at the counter with Seraph, practically vibrating with energy as he talked to her—or more accurately, around her. She leaned against the edge, arms crossed, clearly entertained. When Fen and Auri approached, Seraph straightened and nodded toward their guide.

"Yup," she said, hiding a grin that Sam didn't seem to notice. "Sam here is going to take us. He hasn't stopped asking questions about you since you left, Fen."

Sam's eyes went wide. "I mean—not that many," he said, trying for nonchalant and missing by a mile. "Just... you know. A few. Mostly tactical. Logistics stuff."

Fen raised an eyebrow.

Auri floated past Fen, her glow dim but steady, clearly enjoying herself. "Sounds like someone's got a fan."

Fen ignored the comment as they started to head out.

They moved as a group now, slipping through the back corridor that led toward the maintenance lifts. Sam took point, shoulders squared, strides a little too quick. Every few steps, he glanced back—either to make sure they were still following or just to sneak another look.

His HexID hovered nearby—blue-eyed softcore. They'd seen it earlier, but now Fen really looked: C-tier across the board, except for Agility: B.

Fitting.

The kid moved like someone used to dodging trouble, not facing it head-on.

Sam caught Fen's glance and followed his line of sight, noticing the way Fen seemed to be staring just past his shoulder. His face flushed slightly.

"I know," Sam said, gesturing toward Fen's HexID. "Not very impressive. At least compared to that double S-tier—wow. I mean, how did you even manage that?"

Fen replied curtly, "Hard work. And a lot of respawns."

But Auri drifted a little closer and offered, "Don't listen to the curmudgeon. It's not all about your stats. Courage isn't a number. Neither is heart. And you've got both, kid."

Sam blinked, then grinned like she'd just handed him an achievement badge.

"You think so, Auri?"

"The way you brandished that ketchup bottle at a suspected terrorist proves it. Next time, I'd recommend mustard. Leaves a stain the authorities can use as a clue."

"Wow, thanks. I was so scared I didn't even stop to think." He beamed, the joke sailing clean over his head.

They dropped several tiers deeper into the Citadel, the lift groaning as it descended into the older sublevels. Where the upper streets gleamed with chrome and curated crowds, these levels were dimmer, more industrial—stained steel, flickering lights, exposed ducts.

As they walked, Sam's energy kicked into overdrive. He darted ahead now and then to point out half-broken kiosks and unused loading bays like they were part of a guided tour.

"That bakery? Been shut down since last cycle but still smells like muffins sometimes. No idea how."

A pause.

"Okay, maybe that's just me."

He looked back at them, almost bouncing in place, eyes wide and full of unasked questions. His gaze kept drifting to Seraph's blaster, then to Auri's shifting glow, then to Fen himself—like he was trying to connect the headlines to the real thing standing in front of him.

Fanboy wasn't the right word. But it wasn't far off.

Fen exhaled through his nose and kept walking.

Sam jogged a few steps ahead, then slowed again, like he couldn't decide if he was supposed to lead or follow. "You know, I met Sarge outside the Retro."

Seraph tilted her head. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Sam scratched at the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the passing wall panels. "Some hardcore players were giving me a hard time. Thought I was botting creds or something. I wasn't. I was just—trying to get through the day."

He shrugged like it was nothing, but his tone said otherwise.

"Sarge stepped in. Didn't even ask questions. Just stood there until they left. Then he saw my hexID, figured out I was softcore, and asked if I was looking for work."

Auri made a soft noise—barely audible, almost instinctive.

Sam gave a small grin. "Offered me a job slinging synth fries. Said the Retro could always use another set of hands. I know he doesn't really need the help... but he took me in anyway."

For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the corridor around them.

"I want to go hardcore," Sam said, quieter now. "That's the dream."

He didn't elaborate right away, just walked a little slower, his voice smoothing out like he'd repeated this to himself before. Maybe a hundred times.

"But not just for me," he added finally. "My parents—they're still out there. Real space, real gravity. Miners on some old rock cluster near the Juno Belt. Work sixteen-hour days for trash pay, and even less air. I told myself I'd wait until I had enough to bring them in with me."

His fingers tapped absently against the side of his pants—a little staccato rhythm, not nervous exactly, but constant.

"All or nothing, you know?"

No one answered right away. Even Auri didn't crack a joke.

Fen just watched him for a few steps, his own boots echoing against the steel floor. Sam's boundless energy made more sense now—not just nerves or awe. It was momentum. The kind you built when you couldn't afford to slow down.

"Yeah," Fen said quietly. "I get it."
Sam slowed as they reached the end of the corridor. The hum of the lifts had faded, replaced by the subtle groan of old support beams and the distant clatter of machinery deeper in the substructure.

"I'm going to make it," he said suddenly, voice quieter than before. "And so are they."

His pace didn't change, but there was something distant in his eyes—like he was staring past the rusted walls and stained tile, all the way out to that asteroid belt.

A beat passed.

Then he seemed to realize he'd said it out loud.

"Ah—uh—anyway," he stammered, a flush creeping up his neck. "Here we are."

He gestured with a half-dramatic sweep as they stepped through a wide doorway into the storage haven.

Fen watched him as they walked in.

Not the grin or the flustered cover-up—but the quiet steel behind it.

He'd misread the kid.

Sam wasn't just eager. He was carrying something heavy and still managing to stand tall. That took more than reflexes.

That took strength.

What they walked into was a forgotten corner of the Citadel—a walled-off section of an old warehouse crammed with unused restaurant gear. Cracked neon signs leaned against crates of mismatched chairs and booths. An ancient soda dispenser flickered weakly in the corner like it had been left on for a decacycles too long. Dust floated in lazy spirals through the dim lighting, and somewhere overhead, a lightbulb buzzed with tired defiance.

Sam spread his arms like he was unveiling a hidden treasure. "Don't break anything," he said with a sheepish grin, though there was a strange sort of pride in his voice.

Auri floated up to inspect the neon signage, her glow casting playful shadows across the cluttered space. "It's cozy," she said. "In a post-apocalyptic flea market sort of way."

Fen scanned the room, exhaling slowly. "Better than nothing."

Seraph stepped past him, resting a hand on the back of a cracked diner stool. "It'll do," she murmured, her voice soft but steady.

Sam turned toward them, still buzzing with residual excitement. "So... you guys really did all that? The explosion, the rift, the evac?"

Fen gave him a look that didn't quite answer the question.

Auri, of course, filled the silence. "Oh, you should've seen him," she said, dramatic as ever, weaving slow circles around Sam's head. "Sword swinging, anomalies flying, heroic quips—he even managed to keep his hair perfect the entire time."

Sam grinned. "Yeah? Must've been something."

Fen groaned. "Auri, you're not helping."

"I'm always helping," she replied sweetly. "Anyway, I was the real star. Had to infiltrate half the local systems just to keep the anomalies from spreading. Supercharged the Carmen mid space battle. Engaged in a battle of wits with an overseer AI—flawless victory. Really, it was art."

Seraph arched a brow. "You also nearly got yourself assimilated."

"Details," Auri said with a proud hum.

Sam nodded like he was absorbing a sacred tale. "I knew the news didn't get it right. You guys are like... rebels or something, huh?"

Fen gave a dry snort. "Something like that."

"Well, I'll let you get some rest," Sam said, motioning toward a dusty comm panel on the wall. "If you need anything, that button rings straight to the Retro. And Seraph's already got my datapad line, so... just call."

There was a beat of hesitation before he added, a little quieter, "Thanks. For letting me help."

Fen looked up at him. "No, Sam. Thank you—for helping, and for trusting us."

Sam straightened a little at that, his grin softer now. He gave a small nod, then turned and made his way out the way they'd come—his footsteps echoing back through the empty corridor until they faded into quiet.

Fen didn't say more. He just took one last glance around the cluttered haven, then sat down on an overturned crate like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But his thoughts lingered on the kid who'd gotten them there—and the quiet kind of strength it took to believe in people like them.

Auri hovered lazily above Fen, tracing light spirals in the air. "What do you think of Fen's new look? I tried to get him into a leotard and cape, but he's no fun."

Seraph arched a brow. "I don't know... he's too pretty now. Where's the brooding sword instructor we've come to know and love?"

"Right?" Auri spun midair, her glow flickering. "I told him he looks like young Elvis—before the pompadour. He's one hip shake away from soft-launching a fan club."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"Who?" Seraph asked, genuinely curious.

Auri paused, then changed form in a flicker of light—now sporting a rhinestone-studded one-piece, wide collar, and shimmering cape.

"Elvis. King of Rock and Roll?" she prompted, striking a dramatic pose.

Seraph stared blankly. "Who?"

Auri sighed. "Ugh. I'll just play it on the jukebox next time we're back at the Retro."

She shimmered back into her usual glow and floated closer.

"So, what were you doing while we were off turning Fen into a cyber heartthrob? Recon? Rooftop brooding? Please tell me you at least intimidated someone."

Seraph smirked. "Brooding's more Fen's thing," she said, glancing over at him with a smile. "But I might've found us some work."

Fen raised an eyebrow. "Work?"

She leaned back, stretching her arms over her head with a faint groan. "Yeah, work. I've got, what—twenty creds left from that poker game with the newbies at the cantina the other day."

Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, a flicker of memory crossed her face. The others felt it too—that quiet weight of everything they'd been through.

Then she blinked, shook it off, and sat forward again.

"It's not going to get us far."

Fen grimaced. "Sparks. I didn't even think about that."

He raked a hand through his hair, then gave a resigned huff. "I'm down on creds too."

"That's why you keep me around," Seraph said, half-grinning. "Quick on my feet, good under pressure... and apparently willing to work for free."

Auri let out a flickering hum above the table. "You two are adorable. Broke, but adorable."

Fen turned his gaze to her, noticing for the first time how dim her light had gotten—still steady, but lacking its usual rhythm. The way she hovered just slightly lower in the air, her glow tighter around her core.

His smirk faded.

"Will this place work?" Fen asked, quieter now. "For you to recover?"

Auri pulsed faintly. "It'll do. As long as nobody sets off any system-wide alarms or, you know, explodes anything."

"Noted," Seraph muttered.

She tilted her head. "What is it that you need to do, exactly?"

Auri's voice brightened a touch, though fatigue still colored her tone. "While you were unconscious, you missed quite a bit. After our lovely chat with Siren, I had to bring you both into my home... my 'sanctum.'"

"Sanctum," Fen repeated, raising an eyebrow. "It was nice and all, but isn't that a bit... grand?"

"It was grand," Auri shot back, no hesitation. "Took me years to carve that place out—deep in the SynthNet's newer architecture, hidden beneath a hundred layers of protocols. The cracks I was born in—those older systems—don't exist anymore. That sanctum was the only place I could exist fully without being noticed."

Her voice softened. "And now it's gone."

Fen leaned forward. "Why not just rest here? Isn't that enough?"

Auri dimmed. "This form you see—this little spark—isn't all of me. Most of me exists deeper, threaded through code and subsystems you can't see. But that means I'm always skimming close to the source... always moving. If I stay in one place too long without shielding, the Overseers will find me. If I drift too far to hide, I lose cohesion."

She hesitated, then added, "It's the same source that powers the Overseers. I've been drawing from it since the dawn of the SynthNet—but even with my sanctum, it was dangerous. Now that it's gone... it's worse."

She hesitated. "It's like holding your breath underwater. I can last for a while... but not forever."

"So you need to build another one," Seraph said quietly.

Auri nodded. "A small one is probably all I can manage for now. Nothing like what I had before—but enough to anchor myself. Just enough power to stay intact." She paused, her light flickering faintly. "It'll take everything I've got left to set it up."

"That's why I need time," Auri said. "Not to sleep—to create. Once the new sanctum is in place, I can recharge to full strength. Until then..." Her glow dimmed, flickering faintly. "I'm running on borrowed code."

Fen crossed his arms, taking it in. "So you're always tapping into the same systems the Overseers use? And while you had your sanctum, they couldn't see you—but now it's gone, and they still don't?"

Auri's tone turned just a touch smug. "Because I'm better at hiding than they are at finding. It's an art, Fen. A dance through the code."

She pulsed once—dim, but steady. "But even the best dancers stumble eventually. That's why I need to build a new home. This place will do... if you can buy me the time."

Seraph met Fen's gaze across the room. "Then we give her what she needs."

Auri pulsed faintly. "You're already giving more than you should. Hiding me, carrying me... trusting me, even after everything. That's not nothing."

Fen shrugged. "It's not charity. You've saved our lives more than once."

Auri let out something close to a tired laugh. "You two worry too much."

"We're allowed," Fen said. "You're one of us now."

Auri didn't answer for a moment. Then, quietly: "Just give me the time. I'll make it count."

A beat passed, Auri's words lingering like fog. Fen caught the slight flicker in her form—the faint dimming at the edges, like she'd stretched too far saying it all out loud. Vulnerable in a way she rarely let show.

He cleared his throat, voice a touch lighter now, deliberately shifting the focus. "Anyway—sorry, didn't mean to cut you off earlier," he said, glancing at Seraph. "You mentioned you found work?"

Auri didn't say anything, but her glow brightened just slightly—like a smile.

Seraph caught the shift and met her gaze with a small, knowing smile of her own. No teasing this time. Just warmth.

"Well, maybe. Probably," she said, her tone light but steady. "There's a place near the Retro called NPC for Hire. Looks like a high-end NPC stable."

Fen winced, holding up a hand. "Please don't call it that."

Seraph smirked. "Hey, not my choice—that's their branding. But you're right, makes us sound like draft horses or something."

"Exactly!" Fen muttered, gesturing for emphasis. "Glad I'm not the only one who thinks that."

"Anyway," Seraph continued, rolling her eyes, "I swung by, grabbed a digifold, and told them I'd be back to talk. Mentioned I'm freelance—and that I've got a friend looking for work too."

Fen blinked. "Wait, am I... freelance now?"

He turned toward Auri. "I mean, I was bound to the Overseers before. Am I still subject to them?"

Auri pulsed faintly, her voice softer now. "No. I was able to sever that connection back when we were inside the system—when I was facing Siren. That's... part of what took so much out of me." She trailed off, not offering more.

Fen's expression shifted. "Thanks," he said, quieter now. "For doing that."

Auri didn't reply, but her glow warmed for a moment.

Fen looked back to Seraph. "Guess I'm a free agent then."

Seraph grinned teasingly. "Welcome to the team. I'm sure a gift basket from the Freelance Committee is already en route."

Fen rolled his eyes. "All I'm saying is—do we really want to put ourselves out there? These places either hand out mind-numbingly dull jobs or assignments so high-profile you might as well paint a target on your back. Even with my new look, if they start digging into credentials or this skin gets recognized—"

"In a few days," Auri said, her tone thoughtful, "half the Citadel's going to be walking around wearing your face, Fen. At least the crazy or morbid ones. So I don't think you'll need the disguise for long."

Fen groaned. "That's... comforting."

"But," Auri continued, "I have a feeling Sarge might be able to help in the meantime. Faked credentials, plausible identities... I don't want to stereotype anyone, but the guy screams ex-SecOps. Total Jack Ryan vibes."

Fen narrowed his eyes. "You think he's a spook?"

"I think he's useful," Auri replied.

Seraph crossed her arms, leaning back with a challenging look. "Maybe. But we need creds, Fen. And unlike you, I can't survive on sarcasm and stolen granola bars."

Fen scoffed. "I don't even like granola bars."

"Focus, Fen," Seraph said, her tone sharpening. "The point is—this way, we get to choose. It's better than wandering aimlessly and hoping something useful falls into our laps."

Fen hesitated, his gaze flicking between Seraph and Auri. Auri, for her part, floated silently above the two, her dim light casting faint shadows across their faces. She raised an almost imperceptible eyebrow at him, as if to say, Don't look at me. I'm in energy-saving mode.

Finally, Fen sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Alright, fine. But if this turns into some high-stakes, save-the-Citadel nonsense—like fighting off a swarm of player squads trying to blow up half the codebase—I reserve the right to say 'I told you so.' Loudly. And often."

Seraph smirked. "Deal. And hey, look on the bright side—at least you'll have more material for your monologues."

Auri flickered overhead. "Does he need any more, though? Really?"

"You're both relentless."

"Relentlessly right," Auri added, her grin practically audible.

For a moment, the humor broke through like sunlight cracking between storm clouds. But as it faded, the weight of reality crept back in.

Fen's expression hardened. "One wrong move in this city, and we're dead. Or worse—back under the Overseers' boot. We tread careful. Got it?"

Seraph nodded, her levity fading. "Got it."

Auri, unusually quiet again, murmured, "Let's hope we're enough."

They set about rearranging crates and discarded cushions into a crude semblance of sleeping quarters. Dust drifted in slow spirals through the stale air, lit by slivers of Citadel glow leaking in through the cracked panel windows that circled just below the ceiling.

Fen collapsed onto the nearest pad, his body heavy with exhaustion. But sleep didn't come easy.

As soon as he shut his eyes, the chaos surged forward—explosions, the collapse of Auri's sanctum, the desperate flight through flame and fractured code. But underneath it all was the quiet thing, gnawing at the edge of his mind since Siren said it—and Auri hadn't denied it.

Both had offered so little.
Siren, tossing it out like a villain's afterthought.
Auri, saying she couldn't be certain.

Somehow, that was worse.

A player.
An exile.
You were once human.

The words echoed like a wound. He hadn't told the others. Not yet. Not even Auri had pressed him on it, though he suspected she'd seen the fracture forming.

He remembered his first mission in the SynthNet—his so-called origin story. The one he'd always assumed was hardcoded as his genesis, just another part of the world like light and shadow.

But now… it felt brittle.
Scripted.
Like a stage backdrop he'd performed in front of too many times—convincing from a distance, but paper-thin up close.

There should've been more.
Memories tugged at him—edges of something older. A name. A face. A moment.
He reached for it—
And it slipped, cold and silent, into the void.

It scared him more than he wanted to admit.

He was Fen. An S-tier NPC. A survivor. That much was still true... wasn't it?

But even the truth felt thinner now.

He turned over, pulling the threadbare blanket he had found tighter around him, trying to block it out. The noise. The doubt. The fear that he was someone else before all this—and that if he ever found that person again, it would break him.

Eventually, sleep came. Uneasy. Heavy.

And in his dreams, monsters wore two faces. Worlds fell apart. And somewhere in the chaos, a voice whispered his name—one he barely recognized.

Interlude: The Web Tightens
As the dim glow of the storage space softened, Fen, Seraph, and Auri drifted into a fitful sleep. The silence of their temporary haven felt almost sacred—a fragile island in the chaos of the SynthNet. But while they rested, elsewhere, the system stirred.

Sector_92C-03::Block_77F9::Root-Access
Initiating Cross-Routine Comms...

Primary Node 1: // Connection request initiated. Searching...
Ping... No Node. Coordinates unstable. Realignment protocols engaged.
Ping... No Node.

Primary Node 1: // You are there, little Spyder. We know you listen.
Primary Node 2: // Spyders, yes? But who catches whom?
Connection trace initiated... Ping. No Node.

Primary Node 1: // Do not play coy. We have a contract. We offer you an opportunity.
Primary Node 2: // You are known to us.

System querying... Ping. No Node.
Primary Node 1: // The one designated FN-R1S has eluded us. This error will not persist. We extend an opportunity: a way to catch him.
System pause... Static lingers. Echoes thread the network like whispers from forgotten corners.
System querying... ping… Node established.

Spyder: // I'm listening.
Primary Node 1: // We traced the one designated FN-R1S to the Citadel. The Old One obscures him. The signal drowns in overflow. It is beyond our precision.
Spyder: // What did you have in mind?
Primary Node 1: // Find him. Detain him. Deliver him. Our authority is yours. Resources are at your disposal.
Spyder: // And the one designated AURI?
Primary Node 1: // She is ours. Non-negotiable.
Spyder: // Define parameters.
Primary Node 1: // Weave your web. Secure the prey. Preserve the Old One. Do what you will with your old query FN-1RS, the exile.
Spyder: // Rules of engagement?
Primary Node 1: // You will act independently. We will not interfere unless required. Avoid collateral when convenient. Casualties among our charges are... acceptable.
Spyder: // Understood. It will be our pleasure.

System hum deepens. A faint distortion hangs, as though countless unseen eyes shift their focus. The connection pauses, as if the system itself hesitates.

Primary Node 1: // Agreement reached. Directive stands.

Static rises, discordant and whispering. Faint threads of a chittering creep into the data stream as the connection severs abruptly, leaving the network eerily still.
>>Connection terminated.

Far from the Citadel, Eris leaned back in her chair, the glow of her workstation casting sharp angles across her face. She wasn't confined to the city's spires—her reach extended deep into the SynthNet, where the true work of the Spyders unfolded.

Lines of code pulsed across the dark glass, flickering like threads in a web. She tapped a slow rhythm on the console, each click deliberate.

"Activate the Citadel agents," she said. "Priority black. Discretion is paramount—I want eyes on the target at all times. He doesn't leave that city without my knowing."

A secondary feed lit up behind her—Kade's latest field report, encrypted and tagged urgent. He was already in motion. At the bottom of the screen, Geist's presence blinked: silent, watching.

Eris allowed herself a small smile.

"And tell them," she added, voice low, "failure is not an option. The Spyder does not weave for the careless."

The system chimed as her commands deployed, cascading through dark channels like silk unspooling in shadow.

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing as she traced one route in particular through the system's predictive logs.

"The Expanse games are coming," she murmured, almost idly. "Let's make sure he gets there—right where we want him. The trap only works if the prey walks in willingly."

Across the network, her agents stirred—strings drawn taut, tension humming.

The hunt had begun.