NOVEL NEXT Chapter 3: Fetch Quest
The soft chime of Auri's voice filtered into Fenris's half-asleep brain, starting with a gentle melody, something almost pleasant. "Good morning, Fen! Time to rise and grind, as the players say."
He groaned, turning over in his narrow bunk, pulling the thin blanket up over his head. He knew where this was going—where it always went. The same morning ritual, the same forced cheer, the same small comfort that had played out in his little corner of the SynthNet for cycles now.
"Come on," she continued, her voice light and cheerful. "There's a beautiful day of mediocrity waiting for you. Don't keep it waiting."
The blankets did little to muffle her. The gentle melody shifted to something with a bit more rhythm, pulsing lightly through the cramped room.
"Up you get!" she chirped, now forming into a small sun, its pixelated rays bouncing off the low-poly walls. "Come on, before I start playing the whole ABBA's Greatest Hits album. You know how much you love that."
Fenris groaned louder, rolling to his back, one arm slung over his eyes. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I would," Auri teased. "You've got about five seconds before the musical number kicks off. Four… three…"
He sat up with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Alright, alright. I'm up. You win."
Auri winked out of her sun form, now hovering as a cheerful, floating mug of coffee. "Victory tastes so sweet."
Fenris swung his legs over the side of the bunk, his bare feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud. The place was cramped—somewhere between a barracks room and a forgotten apartment. The walls were a faded beige, like the inside of an old, abandoned server farm. A single window overlooked the dusty courtyard below, letting in a sliver of artificial light that never quite reached the corners of the room. It wasn't much, but it was his. A little island of routine, with all the charm of a forgotten server left to rot in the back of a datacenter.
He made his way over to the tiny kitchenette, where function reigned over form. A synth-stove, a cabinet that liked to open on its own, and a battered old coffee pot that had somehow become his most prized possession. He grabbed the pot, flipping the switch with a click that felt oddly satisfying.
"Coffee, huh?" Auri teased, swirling beside him, still in the form of a steaming mug, virtual steam curling lazily in the air. "You'd think after all these centuries, humanity would have evolved past the need for that."
Fenris grunted, filling the pot with water. "After all these years, I'm still not sure what's more essential—oxygen or caffeine. Or whatever this… simulation thinks passes for caffeine."
The synthetic brew began to bubble and hiss, the smell of it filling the room. Rich, bitter. Oddly grounding. For all his programming, Fenris found it comforting—maybe it was some leftover echo of the real world, or maybe it was just a habit the SynthNet had built into him. Either way, it was real enough for him.
"Funny, isn't it?" he muttered, leaning back against the counter. "All this progress, all these centuries. From one rock floating through space to this—a galaxy-spanning distributed network. And still, coffee remains vital to existence."
"Humans and their habits," Auri said, floating as a spoon stirring an imaginary cup. "The human race may have left Earth behind, but they never could shake the addiction. Kind of poetic, really."
Fen let out a soft snort, reaching for a chipped ceramic mug—one of the few actual textures that didn't feel like it was made of code. "Poetic's one way to put it. Another is that it's just… human. Even for those of us who aren't."
Auri tilted her head in that curious way she did when she was probing for a deeper answer. "Why do you think you need it, Fen? You're an NPC. You're not supposed to crave things."
He hesitated, pouring the coffee and taking that first, bracing sip. It was hot and strong, the kind of burn that made him feel—if only for a moment—like he was real. "Funny thing about that," he said, voice low. "Back in the early days, NPCs were… well, puppets. Lifeless. Scripts that ran in circles until the next patch wiped them clean. They didn't eat, didn't sleep. Hell, they didn't even have faces half the time—just empty masks running routines."
Auri flickered, her spoon form pausing mid-stir. "I know that history. I was there for… most of it." she said, seeming lost in thought. "But I never really paid attention to the patches and updates to the NPCs until I met you."
"Yeah," Fen said, setting the mug down and moving to rummage in a cabinet for something that passed as breakfast. "It changed when the first players started uploading their consciousness fully. They burned themselves into the system. And the overseer AIs noticed. They saw that… spark. The echo of wanting something more than just following a script."
He found a ration pack—some kind of synthetic oatmeal that he assumed tasted vaguely of cardboard. He tore it open and dumped it into a bowl and added hot water. "So, the AIs started… borrowing. Little pieces of those players. Habits, preferences, the simple joys and frustrations that made them human. They coded those traits into us. Eating. Drinking. Even something as dumb as needing coffee to face the morning. Made us feel real to the players. More grounded."
He ran a hand through his hair, chewing his food then continuing. "And after a while? Those lines blurred. Enough code revisions, enough centuries… and there's not much difference left between an NPC and a player. Except for the obvious, of course—like how I don't get to choose where I end up, or how many times I get reset."
Auri drifted closer, her avatar shifting into the form of a small, inquisitive sprite, hovering by his shoulder. "How do you know all this, Fen? You've never been one to volunteer for history lessons."
Fen let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Misses Organa told me. She's been around since… well, since before the first generation of players even thought to look behind the curtain. She remembers the days when the NPCs were just mechanical puppets—no spark, no soul."
Auri's eyes narrowed playfully. "Calling her old, are you?"
"Not at all," Fen said with a smirk. "Just… experienced. She's seen this place twist and grow more times than I've had to reroll my daily quests. And she's one of the few who still bothers to remember the stories that make the rest of us feel… worth it." His voice softened, a hint of something almost reverent. "She used to say that history's just another kind of code—layered and messy, but if you learn to read it right, it'll tell you everything you need to know."
Auri blinked, her expression thoughtful. "That sounds like her."
Fen nodded, returning to his food. The oatmeal was still too uniform, too perfect in that artificial way. But it was hot, and it was food, and for a moment, that was enough.
As he ate, he let his thoughts wander—tracing the tangled lines of code and memory that made up his world. The daily grind wasn't just a routine; it was a promise. A promise that he could keep moving, keep choosing—no matter how many times the system tried to remind him he was just an echo. The taste of the coffee, the dull scrape of the spoon against the bowl—these little rituals made him feel anchored. More than just an NPC. More than a pawn in some half-forgotten game.
And that was worth getting out of bed for.
He took a slow sip, letting the heat spread through him. The coffee wasn't real, not in the way it had been on Earth. But the SynthNet had learned to mimic flavor so well it felt close enough—like a ghost of something real. "If we were still counting Earth years," he murmured, "it'd be somewhere around 2350 by now. Not that it matters much anymore—except to the business sectors and the old AIs who still think time's a ledger. That's why, in the SynthNet, time's measured in cycles. Every time the overseers push out another update or patch, the world changes a little—and some people still take note."
He watched the swirling liquid in his mug. "And the players," he said quietly. "They keep coming. Uploading themselves. Trading dying worlds for the safety of the net. Parts of the real galaxy are husks—polluted, war-torn, overrun with corporate fiefdoms clinging to their last scraps of power. So they come here. Looking for something that feels more like living, even if it's all made of data."
Auri's form shifted again, settling into the shape of a small, curious sprite. "Why do you think they stay? Why give up everything for a world that only exists because the overseer AIs let it?"
He smiled faintly, setting the cup down. "Because here, you get to choose who you are—at least for a while. And for most people, that's enough. The SynthNet… it's better than the cramped, poisoned cities outside. Here, they can live out a hundred lifetimes in a thousand worlds. And for the ones who can't stomach the risk—well, the safe zones are always there."
Auri's voice softened. "And for you?"
Fen hesitated, then shrugged. "For me, it's the only life I've ever known." He ran a hand through his hair, the quiet of the morning settling around them. "I don't get to choose where I end up, or how many times the system rewrites me. But I get to be here. I get to see it all. That… that's something."
Auri hovered nearby, her bright form dimming in the muted light. Her voice was soft, almost too soft. "It is?" she said, her words trailing off. "Even if you're just another thread in the weave?"
He nodded, oblivious to the note of wistful curiosity in her voice. But there was no resentment in his own—just a quiet resolve. "A thread's still part of the whole," he said. "And as long as I'm here, I'll keep pulling at the edges. Just to see what unravels."
He stood, finishing the last of his coffee and tossing the mug into the small sink. The sound echoed in the little room—a note of finality. "Come on," he said, glancing at Auri with a wry smile. "The day's not going to wait for us to finish waxing philosophical."
Auri brightened, her playful spark returning as she zipped ahead of him. "Then let's go, old man. Time to see what kind of trouble we can stir up today."
Fen chuckled under his breath, following her toward the door. As he stepped into the day outside, he let his thoughts drift—catching, just for a moment, on the words he'd spoken earlier: "it's the only life I've ever known." It felt… almost true. Almost. Like there was something just out of reach, a memory lost in the code.
He shook it off and stepped forward, the rhythm of the day pulling him along.
Fen locked the door behind them with a casual flick of his hand, the soft click of the lock sealing the quiet apartment.
"Like a Jedi, you are?" Auri giggled, flickering into the form of a wrinkled little green man, complete with big ears and a tiny walking stick.
Fen glanced at her, brow furrowing. "Should I know that one?"
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Auri froze mid-float, eyes wide in exaggerated disbelief. "Should you know that one? Should you know that one?!" Her voice rose dramatically, then she seemed to deflate. "No, you know what, I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." She flickered back to her usual form, then zipped ahead, muttering something about "scruffy-looking nerf-herders" under her breath.
Fen shook his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they walked toward the cantina. The early morning sun cast long shadows across the dusty cobblestones, and the squat buildings of the town rose on either side like tired sentinels. The textures of the walls shimmered faintly in the sunlight like brushstrokes on a canvas unfinished melody of color and light caught between memory and possibility.
He had to admit, Auri's obsession with what she called "ancient memes" was one of her more harmless quirks. She had a whole library of old vids and half-forgotten references she'd dug up from the dusty corners of the net. Sometimes, when they weren't working, she'd try to "educate" him—subjecting him to marathons of ancient sci-fi flicks and pop culture relics that were probably centuries old by now.
Half the time, the jokes and the cultural references went over his head. Some of it he liked—bits and pieces that managed to break through the noise and make him grin. Most of it just made him wonder how anyone ever found that kind of nonsense funny. But he let her do it, because it made her happy. And let's be honest—watching her light up was worth more than enduring her crummy ancient pop culture references and endless replays of animated space westerns.
Even so, he knew he'd never catch up to her encyclopedic memory of the past. She seemed to take a quiet delight in the fact that he never really understood more than half of it.
As they rounded a corner, they saw Seraph leaning against the low, worn wall that bordered the complex. Her shadow stretched long in the golden light of the morning, and she greeted them with a nod. "Hey Boss. Morning, Auri."
"Morning, Sera," Fen said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let me guess: another thrilling day of me playing tour guide to lost NPs, quest-giver to starry-eyed newbies, and combat coach for the next wave of pixel warriors?"
Seraph smirked, pushing herself off the wall. "Sounds like you've got the schedule memorized, huh?"
"Stop moping, Fen," Auri said, flickering into the form of a high-ranking officer with an imperious clipboard. She snapped it open and pretended to jot down notes. "We have a duty to these unimaginably unskilled, credit-sinking button mashers. Do you want to see them get killed? Accounts drained? Do you want to go to their angry wives and explain where little Timmy's college tuition funds went?" She snapped the clipboard shut. "No, I didn't think so. So let's do our best to keep them alive and their wallets intact!"
Fen rolled his eyes dramatically, playing along as he rubbed his temples. "Alright, alright, I get it. I was just checking with Sera about the schedule—no need to break out the clipboard. Besides, I've had my fill of those full-immersion mil sims back in the day. Spent enough time as a drill sergeant for bright-eyed rookies who didn't know which end of the rifle was up. I'll leave that to the real sticklers."
Seraph chuckled softly as they began walking again, heading toward the cantina.
"Well," Seraph said, glancing sideways at Fen, "you're mostly right about the day. Handing out quests, training the rookies. But the local controller AI's got something else lined up for us this afternoon."
Fen raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What kind of 'something'?"
Seraph's eyes gleamed with a spark of mischief as she glanced at the horizon, the mountains etched in distant, blocky shapes. "They think there's an anomaly. Something that doesn't belong. And it's been, what… two cycles since the overseers had us leave the safety of town? I don't know about you, Boss, but I'm ready for something that isn't just picking up after rookies and resetting half-finished quests. This could be fun."
"An anomaly?" Fen repeated, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. "That doesn't happen every day."
Seraph's eyes glinted with a flicker of excitement. "I know, right? Could be fun to stretch our legs for once."
Fen's mouth curved into a small smile, the cautious sort. "Yeah," he said, a note of wary curiosity in his voice. "Could be interesting."
Seraph picked up on his spark of interest and ran with it, her voice warm with anticipation. "They think some players are sneaking in from a neighboring dead server—avoiding the credits, trying to skip the proper login. The controller AI has flagged it for investigation, and I figured we could all check it out together."
A dead server. The phrase alone made Fen's stomach twist. Most players never thought twice about them—just another forgotten corner of the SynthNet. But NPCs like Fen knew better. A dead server was purgatory—no players, no quests, no updates. Time looped endlessly, every second stretching out like a slow death. NPCs left there could wander for cycles without seeing another soul. No work, no contact, no purpose—just the hollow dread of a world left to rot.
Eventually, the overseers would catch on, realize the server was wasting resources, and shut it down for good. NPCs trapped there were stuck until the shutdown came, isolated and adrift in a place with no purpose. Many of them were traumatized by the endless loneliness—some so deeply that they had to be deleted entirely.
Auri floated closer, her usual playfulness dimmed to a quiet hum. "It's probably nothing," she said, though her voice was just a touch too breezy. "A few players cutting corners, like Sera said. Happens all the time."
Fen tilted his head, studying her. "You sure?"
"Sure," she said with a too-bright grin. "Dead servers, schmdead servers. Just another backdoor for the penny pinchers. We'll check it out, and it'll be fine."
He let it go with a shrug, though that cold twist in his gut stayed. "Alright. Let's see what's out there this afternoon."
Seraph's eyes lit up, a grin breaking across her face. "Come on, Boss! Don't look so grim. It's an adventure—way better than handing out quests to half-asleep newbies."
Auri brightened at that, flickering into the shape of a bouncing ball of light. "Exactly! Besides, you're always saying you want something to break up the monotony. Well, congratulations—today's your lucky day."
Fen let out a small, reluctant laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. "Alright, alright. You two win. Let's see what's out there."
They exchanged a quick grin, falling into step together with an easy rhythm. But Fen shot them a quick look, his tone turning mock-stern. "We'll head out this afternoon—after our work is done. No slacking off today, understand?"
Seraph's eyes lit up, a grin breaking across her face. "Come on, Boss! Don't look so grim. It's an adventure—way better than handing out quests to half-asleep newbies."
Auri brightened at that, flickering into the shape of a bouncing ball of light. "Exactly! Besides, you're always saying you want something to break up the monotony. Well, congratulations—today's your lucky day."
Fen let out a small, reluctant laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. "Alright, alright. You two win. Let's see what's out there."
They nodded, their excitement undimmed as they started tossing around ideas for the road trip ahead. But as they neared the cantina, Auri drifted closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "Probably nothing, Fen," she said again, her tone more measured now. "But let's be ready. Just in case."
He caught the shift in her voice and gave a small nod, his own cautious optimism steadying him even as a flicker of unease settled in his gut. Whatever was waiting out there, they'd face it together.
And for the first time that morning, Fen couldn't quite decide if he was ready for the day to come.
"NO, the one on the minimap—right there, the glowing one next to the cactus. For server's sake, here."
Fen growled, marching over to the oversized bush practically pulsing red, its berries all but shouting, Pick me!
"Oooohhh, that one," the player mumbled, still stumbling through the immersion controls like a toddler on hover skates. "You think they could make it a little clearer on the minimap."
Fen glanced toward the sky, where a flashing golden exclamation mark and a meter-wide glowing ring pulsed under the bush in real time. He bit down the sigh. "Yeah, real subtle. Maybe they should throw in a giant arrow on the ground too…" He paused. "Wait—you do have that setting turned on, right?"
"Oh, uh… yeah! Of course I do," the player said a bit too quickly. And as if summoned by his panic, a bright golden path suddenly materialized beneath his feet, ending in a massive arrow pointing directly at the bush Fen was standing beside.
"Right. Good." Fen ran a hand down his face. "Now just pick the berries. They'll go straight into your inventory. I'd show you how, but my bag's full." He pointed at the bright red fruit hanging low, clustered like they were posing for a tutorial video. "Go on. It's not rocket surgery."
The player—decked out in gaudy microtrans gear that clashed harder than a botched patch update lurched forward and started gathering. A slow counter floated up above his head:
2/25 berries picked… 3/25… 8/25…
Fen waited, arms crossed, silently praying for divine lag to speed things up.
24/25… 25/25.
The player's AI assistant chimed in with way too much enthusiasm:
"Quest updated! Now get these berries back to Misses Organa. She's gonna bake you something special!"
The player fist-pumped. "Sweet!" He turned to head back into the town ready to return the berries to the cantina.
"Hold up." Fen gestured toward a squat, prickly cactus nearby. "See that one? Grab some pears off the top. You'll want them later, they're good for fire resistance."
"Nice tip! Appreciate it, man. Forums said the NPCs here suck, but you're an alright, bloke."
The player—voice unmistakably synthed to sound like he was from the south end of the system—lurched off again, reaching for one of the spiky fruits with a grin and zero caution.
The moment the player plucked one of the small fruits from the cactus, flames erupted around him, shooting up from his hand and engulfing his entire avatar in seconds.
"SPARKS, DUDE?! IT BURNS!" he shouted, flailing wildly as the digital fire roared to life. Every slap and panicked movement only seemed to feed the blaze, the system happily escalating it into a towering inferno of cartoonish proportions.
Fen didn't even flinch. He crossed his arms, watching the chaos with the calm of someone who'd known exactly how this was going to play out. "Open your meditation and restoration screen," he said, voice steady. "Click the burning debuff and hit cleanse."
The player stumbled through the menu, fire crackling all around him. Through the shimmering overlay of the interface, Fen could see the growing flames licking higher—right up until the player finally found the right button. With a soft whoosh, a cooling mist burst from the avatar, smothering the fire with a sparkly hiss.
Panting, the player turned to Fen, his face flushed and wild-eyed.
"Rule number one of adventuring, mate," Fen said, nodding toward the cactus. "Never touch anything without examining it first."
The player turned back and activated the scan function. His assistant's chipper voice rang out:
"This is a Flarefruit Cactus! Its inferno pears can be used for many things—from igniting low-level players and mobs to crafting fire-resistance potions. CAUTION: Do not attempt to collect the fruit with your bare hands, or you might burst into flames!"
The player spun back around, glaring. "You could've just told me that. You're such an asshole."
Fen smirked. "Sure, but now the lesson's really going to stick with you. Might even say its burned into your mind now." He nodded toward the town. "Take your berries to Misses Organa, she'll whip up some fire-resist potions for you."
He gave a lazy wave. "Now off with you, before you find another way to set yourself on fire."
The player muttered something about NPC abuse and stalked off, still brushing phantom embers from his sleeves.
Auri materialized beside Fen, arms crossed, her avatar now styled as a stern schoolteacher—glasses perched low on her nose, hair in a tight bun. "Really, Fen? Puns? That's your big educational takeaway?"
She continued in a disappointed tone. "I know you love pulling that prank on the newbies, but do you have to roast them and their sense of humor? It seems like torture to me Fen."
Fen shrugged, grinning. "Hey, I could've let him burn longer."
She wagged her finger at him, mock disapproval thick in her tone. "You know you're just going to get scolded by Misses Organa later for sending him back half-charred."
Fen shrugged, unfazed. "Come on, Auri, let me have a little fun. It's not like I want to see them get hurt—it's just… sometimes, the best lessons are the ones that sting a little. Better he learns here than with something worse. Like a death lily."
He paused, then added with a faint smirk, "Besides, you use puns all the time."
Auri huffed, crossing her arms as she flickered back into her usual form. "Puns? Please. I use intricate metaphors to add context and depth to a situation. It's not my fault if all you take from them are low-brow punchlines. Comedy really is all in the mind of the audience."
She spun in midair and added with a grin, "Besides, you missed your chance. You should've said, 'Now how about you blaze a trail out of here.'" She morphed into a pair of blazing cowboy boots, laughter trailing behind her as she danced down the path toward town.
Fenris chuckled as he watched both the player and Auri vanish into the distance. "Yeah… that was better."