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

Fen jolted awake with a sharp gasp, shadows and jagged obsidian shards clinging to his thoughts like cobwebs. His breath came in quick, shallow bursts as he blinked into the dim red light of the storage room.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder—firm, not threatening, but unexpected.

He reacted on instinct.

His fingers were already closing around the hilt of the blade beside him, half-drawn before a voice cut through the haze.

"Easy there," Sarge rumbled softly, not flinching. His tone was calm, steady—almost gentle—but the smirk that followed undercut the warmth. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Fen froze, exhaled slowly, and let the blade slide back into its sheath. Nearby, Seraph stirred, blinking sleep from her eyes. Their makeshift sleeping quarters—battered benches and faded booth cushions clustered like fallen dominoes—creaked under the motion. Slivers of neon filtered through cracked upper panels, casting long, bent shadows across the walls.

"Sarge?" Fen rasped, still groggy. "What…? I'm not exactly a light sleeper. How'd you get in here without waking us?"

Sarge's grin deepened, a glint of mischief flickering in the glow. "Let's just say I've got a few tricks left over from an old life."

He turned and began weaving through the cluttered space, gesturing casually toward the back corner.

"You think I'd build a bolt-hole like this with just one way in or out?"

Fen frowned and glanced at the door. Their slapdash barricade they had set up the night before—an upturned table and a few chairs—was untouched. Not even a wobble.

He shot Seraph a look. She was fully upright now, hair a wild halo, one brow raised in silent question.

"You didn't come through that," Fen said flatly, pointing to the door. "So how?"

Sarge didn't answer—at least not right away.

Instead, he crossed the room, gesturing for the two to follow. His strides were quiet, deliberate, weaving a practiced path through the clutter until he stopped at an old walk-in refrigerator tucked into the shadowed corner. Its surface was dull and scarred, the handle crooked, dust clinging to it like it hadn't been touched in cycles.

Seraph tilted her head, arms crossed. "What is this? You're hoarding ice cream sandwiches down here?"

Sarge flashed a crooked grin. "Now that would've been smart."

He opened the fridge with a theatrical sweep. Inside: empty shelves, a scuffed floor, and the faint stink of long-forgotten food service. He stepped back, gesturing as if he'd just pulled off a grand reveal.

Seraph squinted. "Okay... what exactly am I looking at?"

"Nothing," Sarge said, tapping the temperature dial with precise fingers. "That's the point."

He paused, then added with a smirk, "Now watch this."

He adjusted the thermostat on the wall like a combination lock. A low hiss echoed through the floor. Then came a mechanical click—and the section beside the fridge shifted. A hidden hatch slid open, revealing a narrow stairwell bathed in soft crimson light.

Fen's eyes narrowed. "You designed this place."

Sarge gave a shrug that didn't quite hide the pride behind it. "Let's just say I don't make a habit of leaving only one exit."

The hatch pulsed faintly, casting a subtle glow that made the air below feel warmer—and weirder. Seraph peered down, then arched a brow.

"Please don't be some creepy sex dungeon thing," she muttered.

Sarge let out a dry chuckle. "Please. I've got higher standards than that. Besides, I wouldn't put something like that in a dump like this."

Fen stepped forward, squinting into the red light. "Tell me this doesn't lead to a room full of corkboards and string connecting evidence that proves birds are government drones."

Sarge winked. "Only on Thursdays."

He let the silence breathe just long enough before adding, "Fridays are for running Voight-Kampff tests on customer service reps. You'd be surprised where the AIs hide plants these days."

Seraph shot Fen a look, lips quirking into a tired half-smile. "If we die in here, I'm haunting you."

Fen rolled his eyes, but a reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Guess we're committed now."

Sarge gestured grandly toward the hatch. "Welcome to my humble little side project. Go on—have a look."

Fen descended the ladder first, boots clinking softly against the metal rungs. As his head dipped below the threshold, the glow brightened, and the quiet hum of active terminals reached his ears.

The room below was nothing like the mess upstairs. Sleek terminals glowed with cascading code, processors lined the walls like quiet sentinels, and thick cables fed into a central console that looked more cockpit than workstation.

Fen's breath caught.

"This... this is a skimmer rig," he said, voice low.

The term skimmer carried weight in the SynthNet. Hacking outright was impossible—at least, not in the traditional sense. The system was designed to self-heal, an ever-evolving weave of code that defied direct manipulation. But nudges? Those were different. Skimmers operated in the shadows, pushing the boundaries of what could be altered. A minor tweak to a data stream here, a redirected packet there. With enough finesse, they could glean secrets from private sectors, reroute funds through blind spots into ghost accounts, or even siphon credits from players who wouldn't notice a fractional deduction.

Fen turned to Sarge, something clicking into place—sharp and sudden. The man's bearing from the day before—calm, controlled, always seeming to know just how to act—wasn't the demeanor of a soldier, but something else entirely. He wasn't military. No, this man was something more fluid, more adaptable.

A spook.

The word carried weight. Someone who could vanish into a crowd, ghost through firewalls, pull secrets from the SynthNet's deepest layers without leaving a trace. Fen looked at him again and felt the certainty settle. If Sarge wasn't still one, he'd definitely been one once.

His eyes scanned the room again, taking in the humming banks of terminals, the rigged code arrays, the sheer density of the setup.

"Where's Auri?" he asked, brow furrowing. "She'd be geeking out over this. Seraph—did you see her this morning? Is she still resting?"

Before Seraph could answer, a quiet whir spun through the air. The emergency red lights flickered, then snapped into a bright, sterile white that flooded the room. Slowly—deliberately—a high-backed chair spun around from its central position in front of the main console. Reclining in it like a bored villain from a bad holo-vid, Auri offered a devilish smile. One hand casually stroked a floating holographic cat, which purred as if on cue.

"Oh, so you've discovered my lair," she declared in a voice soaked in mock menace. "The joke's on you—it IS an elaborate trap!"

Corny red lasers flickered to life behind her, casting diagonal beams across the rig like a bad theme park attraction. Their soft hum added an absurdity to the moment.

"What the everloving code do you mean your lair?" Sarge demanded, his composure cracking for the first time. His voice was incredulous, hands gesturing wildly. "How did you—what are you—" He sputtered, at a complete loss for words.

Fen pressed a hand to his temple and sighed—not with irritation, but with the kind of long-suffering patience earned only by watching someone go too far so many times. He could already see where she was headed next, and they needed to pull her back before the punchline dragged itself off a cliff.

"Auri, enough," he said, his voice dry but not unkind. "You got your moment. Don't run the bit into the ground."

Auri slouched, her glow dimming theatrically as the lasers fizzled out with a final pop. The holographic cat vanished with a meow of protest.

"You're no fun, Fen. What, do you want me to just sit quietly in the corner like a good little AI? How about letting me enjoy myself for once?"

"I'm serious, Auri," Fen said, rubbing his temples. "Just... tone it down, would you?"

Sarge shook his head, regaining a sliver of his composure as he stared at her. "Seriously," he asked, pointing at the high-tech chair she'd somehow conjured, "how did you even get in here? You weren't here when I came through a few minutes ago."

Auri stretched lazily, her glow flickering as the chair spun in a slow circle. "Caught a glimpse of you sneaking out earlier—very Solid Snake of you. Honestly, I half expected a cardboard box to scoot across the floor. Naturally, I had to see what you were hiding down here. This setup?" She gestured at the rig. "Not bad. Real cutting-edge stuff. Bit dramatic on the lighting, though. Definitely has a villain-lair vibe—but I'm into it."

Sarge pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that Fen was pretty sure wasn't fit for polite company.

Fen leaned against the console with a sigh, the absurdity of it all settling over him. "Auri, maybe just give people a heads-up next time before hijacking their secret lair?"

Auri winked. "Where's the fun in that?"

Sarge cleared his throat, cutting through the lingering awkwardness. "Before my super-secret reveal was so rudely interrupted—" he shot a glance at Auri, who responded with an unrepentant bow "—this is what I wanted to show you."

He gestured broadly at the rig. The hum of processors filled the space like a mechanical heartbeat, the air tinged with faint ozone and sterile light. The contrast from the dusty chaos above was stark—down here, everything gleamed with purpose.

Sarge leaned against a nearby console, arms crossed, gaze level. "I'll be honest. I spent most of the night weighing whether or not to bring you down here." His eyes moved from Fen to Seraph to Auri, thoughtful but unreadable. "Letting anyone see this place—talking about my past—that's not something I do lightly. But if the AIs already have eyes on you, I figure I'm already boots-deep in the muck with you. If I get caught helping you, they'll find this rig anyway. Might as well make sure you know what I've got… and who I am."

Fen shifted his weight, then spoke quietly. "We appreciate it. Really. But you sure you want to get involved like this?" He nodded toward the rig, then toward the hatch above them. "This isn't just us crashing in your storage anymore. You're putting your saftey on the line—hell, maybe your life. If you want to back out now, we would understand."

Sarge waved him off with a dry chuckle. "Kid, if I wanted to back out, I wouldn't have shown you all of this. My mind's made up. And one thing about me—if I'm in, I'm all in." He grinned. "Besides, I don't get many excuses to play with my skimmer toys these days."

Fen's gaze drifted to the rig, the soft hum of the machines underscoring a growing sense of realization. He hesitated, choosing his words with care.

"About that... are you a...?" He trailed off, uncertain how to finish. It felt too direct, but the thought was already out there.

Sarge's grin widened, knowing. "You were about to say spook, weren't you?" The word settled heavily between them. "You're not wrong. Died-in-the-wool, certified spook, through and through." He gave Fen a wink that hovered somewhere between playful and dangerous.

Fen frowned, not quite ready to let it go. "So what does that actually mean? What is a spook, really?" He glanced at Seraph, then back at Sarge. "Everyone hears the stories, sees the holos... but I've never really understood what you people do."

Sarge's expression shifted, more thoughtful now. "We wouldn't be much good at the job if people did."

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He pushed off the console and folded his arms again. "There's not much need for traditional war in the SynthNet anymore. No famine, no real scarcity. Death's just a reset. But war didn't end. It evolved—became subtle, strategic. Shadows instead of battlefields."

Seraph leaned in, arms folded, her eyes narrowing with interest.

Sarge rested a hand on the edge of the rig, fingers drumming absently against the metal as he spoke.

"In the real galaxy—the one outside all this code—wars still burn over fuel, water, oxygen. Out there, you fight to live." He glanced toward the glowing interface. "In here? It's a quieter kind of war. Slower. But no less dangerous."

Fen nodded, listening intently. He'd heard whispers before—stories of invisible conflicts in the SynthNet, empires shifting without a single shot fired. But Sarge didn't speak like someone reciting a rumor. He spoke like someone who'd bled for it.

"People like me," Sarge continued, "don't deal in firepower. We deal in access. Disruption. One misrouted data packet at the right moment can take down a city. One skimmer—placed just right—can destabilize an entire faction."

Seraph raised an eyebrow. "You're saying you can wreck entire governments by shuffling the digital paperwork?"

Sarge gave her a crooked smile. "Not quite so dramatic. But close. The right whisper in the right inbox? The right asset exposed? You'd be surprised how fast things collapse."

"Give me a blaster any day," Seraph muttered. "At least then you know who's aiming at you."

Sarge's smile didn't fade. "Ah, but that's the trick. You never see us coming. It's not about being honest or fair—it's about winning. A blaster leaves a trail. I leave questions."

The hum of the rig deepened slightly, its rhythm almost meditative. Stark white light bathed the room, casting shadows that moved and bent with each flicker of the cooling fans. The whole place felt too aware—like the machinery itself was listening.

Fen cleared his throat. "So… are you still active? Or did you walk away?"

Sarge's expression darkened for a moment. "I tried. Took a contract I didn't think I'd survive—figured if I walked away from that, I'd earned my peace." He gestured toward the rig. "But the work has a way of sticking to you. Now I keep to the edges. Set my own terms. If I'm going to point a blade at the dark, I want to be the one choosing where it lands."

Fen glanced at Seraph, then back to Sarge. "But how is that not common knowledge?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "You're saying people like you have been shaping the SynthNet for years—and no one talks about it?"

Auri drifted in from behind one of the terminals, her glow pulsing gently as she chimed in. "That's how you know they're good at it," she said, voice airy but edged with something closer to admiration. "You don't see the quiet ones coming. You just feel the fallout."

Sarge gave a low chuckle. "Exactly. We weren't meant to be noticed. We were ghosts—quiet threats behind louder conflicts." He glanced between them. "If you ever realized one of us was in the room, it meant someone on our side was already screwing up."

A beat of silence passed. Even Auri's glow seemed to dim slightly, the levity from before settling into stillness.

Then Sarge clapped his hands, the sound sharp in the quiet. "But enough about me. You've got a storm overhead. If we're going to weather it, we've got work to do."

Fen leaned forward, still digesting what he'd heard. The unease hadn't vanished, but it was tempered now by something else—respect.

"Alright, Sarge," he said. "What did you have in mind?"

Sarge leaned back against the console, arms crossed. "Me and my associates will dig. Cross-reference incident data, comb through skimmer logs, backtrace packet transfers from the tutorial shard. Someone left a trail, even if they don't know it yet." He nodded toward the rig. "If we follow it long enough, we'll find out who wanted you dead."

Fen stayed quiet, jaw tight. He didn't look away, but the weight behind his silence said more than words could.

Seraph crossed her arms. "You make it sound like there's a clear reason someone targeted us. But why trigger a full sector collapse just to grab one guy?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Sarge said. His eyes flicked to Auri. "But you were plugged in deeper than the rest of us. What do you think?"

Auri floated forward, her glow dimming at the edges. "The refinery squad wasn't sent by the system," she said quietly. "When I was tethered to Siren, I pulled fragments from the decision logs. The AIs found Fen. Somehow. Even with the masking protocol I've been using for dozens of cycles—they still saw him. Slipped past me." Her glow pulsed with a flicker of shame. The rift anomaly? It was deliberate. Built and dispatched to carry out their will—to eliminate Fen and capture me."

Fen's expression didn't change, but the tension in his posture sharpened.

"I checked the logs," Auri continued. "The AIs were surprised when the refinery team showed up. No directives. No predictive routing. Which means whoever they were, they weren't working with the AIs."

Sarge's expression sharpened. "But they showed up fast. Too fast."

"Exactly," Auri said. "They were listening. Watching the AIs in real time. Had to be. The system was reacting to Fen—and someone else caught the signal."

Sarge nodded slowly, thoughtful. "That actually narrows it down. Real-time surveillance on high-tier AI activity? That's not just anyone. There's only a handful of outfits even capable of intercepting system traffic like that—and fewer who could do it without setting off alarms."

Sarge pushed off the console, arms still folded. "Let's back up for a second. You keep saying 'the AIs' like they're a single entity. But that's not how the system works. So who's actually gunning for you?"

"Siren, for sure," Auri said, her voice thoughtful. "And maybe a few others from the higher tier intelligences."

Sarge's brow arched. "Others?" His voice sharpened with interest. "No one gets to peek behind that curtain. I spent cycles trying to find rumors, corrupted logs, lost servers all of it led to dead ends. You're saying you know what's up there?"

Auri floated a little higher, glow tightening. "They're not a monolith. Think of them as a council—each one a specialized executive intelligence, responsible for different layers of the SynthNet. Siren handles systemic integrity. Others oversee player management, simulation logic, infrastructure control. Independent minds, but loosely networked. They vote, negotiate, override each other depending on protocols."

She glanced at Fen, then back at Sarge. "S.I.R.E.N.—Stability, Integration, and Regulation Executive Network. She's the one who flagged us. Her job is to maintain coherence in the SynthNet. Patch breaches. Contain anomalies. Erase threats."

"And Fen qualifies as a threat?" Seraph asked, skeptical.

Auri hesitated. "It's… complicated." Her glow pulsed once, slow and dim. "They weren't just looking for him. They were looking for both of us. We've been off-grid together a long time. Long enough to attract attention. The system doesn't like unresolved patterns."

Sarge narrowed his eyes. "So what makes you two so special? Why target you specifically?"

Auri's glow dimmed slightly, her tone measured. "They called Fen an exile. Me, an irregularity. Make of that what you will."

Seraph leaned forward, frowning. "Exile?"

"It's anyone's guess," Auri said quickly, with just enough confidence to sound like she believed it. "But the pattern is clear—they didn't flag us until we were together. Whatever they think he is, or I am, our bond triggered something. I think that's what made them move."

Fen looked away, the weight of it pressing in. He hated the evasion. Hated the half-lie. But even he didn't know what the full truth was yet—and until he did, silence felt safer.

Sarge let out a low whistle. "So one—or maybe a few—of the AIs acted without consensus?"

Auri nodded. "Had to. They took advantage of us showing up on the grid and moved faster than the council could. The Overseers don't make hasty decisions, not together. This has rogue element written all over it."

Sarge shifted his weight. "Alright. That's the AI side. What about the strike team? Who were they with?"

Auri's glow pulsed faintly. "Separate op. Had to be. Siren was still growing the rift when they hit. No system tags, no clearance. Someone else heard the chatter and pounced. Probably thought they could get to Fen before the Overseers decided what to do."

Sarge's brow furrowed. "Enemy of yours?"

Fen stayed quiet. Auri answered for him. "Maybe. He's made a few. Could've been a bounty. Could've been something older. But they weren't there for me or Seraph. The sniper pinned her down, but they sent the mech straight at Fen."

Sarge frowned. "So they came for him… and the AIs responded by expanding the rift?"

"More like panicked," Auri said. "Siren overrode containment protocols and tried to wipe the whole sector clean. That's when the other Overseers noticed. Someone stepped in, shut the collapse down mid-sequence, and let the evac ships through." She paused, her glow dimming. "But by then… James was already gone. And someone needed a scapegoat."

A heavy silence settled in the room. Fen stared at the floor, jaw tight. Auri hovered closer but didn't speak.

"They couldn't cover it up," she added quietly. "Not with James. His body was found in the real—fried in his rig. The first confirmed neurodeath in the SynthNet in generations. It made waves. Headlines. Someone had to take the fall."

Sarge exhaled. "That's a lot of smoke. Not a lot of fire. But it's a start. I'll see what I can dig up." He turned to the rig, fingers trailing across the edge of the console. "Names, affiliations, packet traces—anything I can get. Someone left a trail."

He paused, then looked back at Fen. "Anyone come to mind? Old grudges?"

Fen and Auri exchanged a glance.

"Could be," Fen said slowly. "I've made a lot of enemies over the cycles. Could be someone from way back."

Sarge held his gaze a beat longer than necessary. "Right," he said finally. "Well, if you remember anything useful, let me know."

He stepped fully into the rig, powering up the console.

Seraph crossed her arms. "So what do we do in the meantime? Twiddle our thumbs?"

Sarge chuckled, the tension breaking. "You could. Might even be good for you to take a breather. But no, not really." His grin turned sly, a glint of amusement creeping in. "You're freelancers, right? You'll figure out how to keep yourselves busy."

"Good," Seraph said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "What do you know about NPC for Hire?"

Sarge's grin faded as he turned back from the console, brow furrowing. "That place? High-end freelance NPC placement service. They're legit enough, I guess—if you can stomach the whole 'sell your skills to the highest bidder' model. Jobs range from basic courier work to… well, let's just say some contracts get real morally flexible."

Fen groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Figures. I've been assigned to jobs by the AIs through firms like that before. The system loves using them as a buffer. Half the time, the players who sign up are clueless. Other half? They're exploit-happy psychos looking to LARP their power fantasies."

"So you've worked gigs like this?" Sarge asked.

"Not that exact place," Fen clarified, rubbing his temples. "But yeah. Same business model. Last one stuck me with a fresh hardcore kid who thought he was the Chosen One. Hired me to lead his 'epic fantasy quest.' I spent two weeks in a cloak waving a stick around while he triggered every trap I told him not to touch."

Seraph arched an eyebrow. "Let me guess. You died gloriously in the final act?"

"Please," Fen muttered. "I faked my own death halfway through and told the player to 'fly, you fool.'"

Auri burst out laughing, her glow brightening. "There's no way he got the reference."

She drifted a little closer, grin softening. "Still. You were paying attention when I made you watch the trilogy."

"Didn't have a choice," Fen said. "You paused every ten minutes to quiz me."

"And you passed," she said, mock-proud. "Barely."

"I'm just saying," Seraph cut in with a smirk, "I bet you looked great in the cloak."

Auri blinked into view, her glow dim but her tone razor-sharp. "Fen the Wise. Cloaked Wanderer. Might need a brand refresh, though—ditch the stick, add a marble white staff. Maybe flowing robes."

"I swear to code," Fen muttered, "we're supposed to be avoiding attention."

"Exactly," Sarge said, his tone turning serious. "And that's why this might actually work. Places like NPC for Hire are chaos incarnate—contracts flying in and out, no one watching too closely. Take a low-profile gig, lay low in the noise, and nobody bats an eye. Meanwhile, I'll be digging into the mess from down here. But that's gonna take time. At least a couple of days."

Fen frowned. "Do we really not have another choice?"

Sarge lifted a brow, arms spreading in mock apology. "Sure you do. Sit around, burn what few creds you've got, and hope no one notices you loitering in the most surveilled city in the Net. Totally up to you."

"I've got twenty creds to my name," Seraph said dryly. "That'll maybe cover a vending machine meal. You?"

Fen sighed. "Not much better. And Auri…" He glanced toward her. "Her rebuild's going to take time. We're not just killing an afternoon here."

Auri floated closer, her glow faint but focused. "Sanctuary setup is no small feat, people. I'll be tapping every line of code and spare shred of memory I've got. Think of it as... me taking a very glamorous offline nap. A stylish, work-intensive nap… okay, that doesn't work as an analogy, but you get it."

Sarge arched an eyebrow. "And you're sure you trust them to handle things while you're out, Auri?"

"I trust them more than I trust most of my code," she said with a smirk. "But don't worry—I'll leave instructions. Just don't let Fen near any critical systems. He gets grumpy when his UI isn't color-coded, so make sure he sets it up right every morning."

"Hey," Fen muttered.

Sarge chuckled and leaned back against the console. "Listen, I get it. You're not thrilled about freelancing. But credits talk—and right now, yours are whispering. This city's good at ignoring the quiet and needy. Think of this gig as a way to keep the lights on while I track down whoever lit the fire."

He tapped a glowing panel beside him. "Toys like these don't come cheap. Every spare credit I make goes into keeping this rig online. It's not just about having the best gear—it's about staying one step ahead."

Auri narrowed her glow. "And does it actually make you credits? Or is this just a very fancy hobby with a lot of dangerous side quests?"

"Used to be both," Sarge said with a grin. "Now? Mostly the second one. But not with the kind of work I'll be doing digging into the incident—finding out who's gunning for you. I'll be running full steam, and that means closing the Retro for a few days. So, I'll be taking a cut of whatever you make. Gotta keep the lights on."

"That's fair, Sarge," Fen said. "Don't want you going into the hole on our account. We'll pay you back. And—Harlan—thank you. For all of this."

Sarge paused, then gave a small nod—gruff, but genuine. "Don't mention it, kid. Just don't waste the head start."

Seraph crossed her arms. "So what, we're just supposed to post ourselves on some sketchy NPC board and hope for the best? I know I was the one who found it, but it sounded like a better idea before we actually talked it through."

"NPC for Hire isn't that sketchy," Sarge said with a half-shrug. "Well... okay, it's a little sketchy. But it's got high turnover and low oversight. You'll blend in fast. And let's be honest—you've both done worse. You'll manage."

Auri flickered into view, her glow steady. "I'll come with you—help scope the place out, make sure you two find a mission that's actually your level. Maybe guarding sheep or something."

Fen and Seraph both gave her the same flat, unamused look.

Auri grinned. "Think of it as a parting gift. I'll personally make sure no one over there takes advantage of you. And then, my sweet, fragile summer children... you'll be on your own. Survival mode activated."

Sarge chimed in with a smirk. "They grow up so fast, don't they?"

"They really do," Auri sighed, wistfully.

Fen and Seraph's glares deepened.

Finally, Fen dragged a hand down his face, then gave Sarge and Auri a resigned look. "Alright. We'll check out NPC for Hire. But I swear, if they try to put me in wizard robes—"

"What if it comes with a matching staff?" Auri called after him, her grin practically audible as she spun lazily in the air.

Fen didn't break stride. "Then I'm setting the place on fire."