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

Fen pushed open the cantina door, greeted by the familiar creak of its hinges and the soft hum of background ambiance. The air carried the usual blend of simulated spices and something that might've once aimed to be roasted meat but ended up closer to burning data.

As he stepped inside, the player he'd flambéed earlier was already on his way out, throwing Fen a look that could've melted pixels. Fen smirked, muttering under his breath as the man stormed past, "Hope the potions help with that burn."

He made his way toward a corner table, boots scuffing the cracked wooden floor. Seraph leaned casually against the bar, and Misses Organa bustled behind it, humming as she wiped down a spotless counter.

Misses Organa was every bit the sweet old barkeep archetype—silver bun, grandmotherly warmth, and a smile so disarming it could make even the grumpiest players feel at home. But Fen knew better. That smile could sharpen into disappointment and pivot into a lecture faster than a drawn blaster. She was a bound NPC—anchored to this town, hard-coded into its routines, unable to leave. She couldn't be harmed, but she couldn't escape either. And if the server ever went down, there'd be no backup, no respawn. Just… wiped. Like she'd never existed.

Fen settled into his chair with a sigh, kicking his boots onto the table and pulling his familiar tumbler from inventory. The moment of peace didn't last.

In a blur of motion, Seraph plucked the tumbler from his hand like a practiced pickpocket. "Really, Fen? You've only helped with—what—three quests so far? Definitely haven't earned a break yet."

Before he could reply, Misses Organa was already swooping in, clucking disapprovingly as she swatted his boots off the table. "Fenris! Who raised you, hmm? Certainly not your poor mother, bless her heart. I bet she taught you better than to put your dirty boots on a decent woman's table. She'd be ashamed, wouldn't she?"

Fen blinked, momentarily thrown. "I don't… have a mother," he said, the words coming out before he could think to soften them.

Misses Organa didn't miss a beat. "Well, that's no excuse. And if I've known you this long and haven't cleaned that nonsense out of you yet, then clearly I've got more work to do." She jabbed a finger toward the floor like she was sentencing his boots to time-out. "Feet down, tumbler away, and try acting like someone raised you better—because code knows I am trying."

Fen opened his mouth, then closed it, smiling despite himself. Seraph could call him lazy. Auri could scold him with a database full of sass. He could brush off all of it with a grin. But Organa? Her disappointment hit differently. It didn't sting—it settled, like warm hands on his shoulders and a look that said she expected better. Not out of anger. Out of belief. Her quiet faith in him was the kind that made you want to live up to it… and somehow, that made falling short feel worse.

He shifted in his chair, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Hey now—it's tradition to kick back after a long morning of babysitting clueless players. Besides, the boots were just… acclimating to the atmosphere."

Misses Organa arched an eyebrow, hands settling on her hips with the ease of a woman who'd done this dance with him a hundred times. "Fenris, this is a cantina, not a back-alley dive. Keep your boots on the floor and your excuses in your pocket. And don't think for a second I didn't see that drink."

Her tone was stern, but her eyes twinkled. There was no real heat behind the scolding—just the familiar cadence of someone who cared enough to keep him in line.

Seraph dropped into the seat across from him, twirling the confiscated tumbler between her fingers. "So? What's the story this time? Berry bush mishap? Or are you just trying to numb the pain of watching full-grown adults flunk a tutorial?"

Fen folded his arms and leaned back, keeping what little dignity he had left. "I'll have you know, it's been a very trying morning. Some of these players have the cognitive reflexes of a crashed toaster."

Misses Organa snorted and wiped down the next table with extra vigor. "And whose fault is that, hmm? Maybe if you were a little more encouraging, they'd learn something useful. But nooo, you have to go setting them on fire!"

Fen raised both hands in mock surrender. "They did learn something: not to grab strange glowing fruit with bare hands."

"Oh, sure," Misses Organa began, her tone climbing, "and I'm supposed to believe it wasn't your idea to send that poor boy straight into a flaming death trap? The only thing worse than a rogue NPC is one with a morbid sense of humor."

Fen winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well technically, I didn't start the fire—the cactus did."

Before he could say more, Auri burst into view beside him, now shaped like an old-school microphone. "Actually, Misses Organa, Fen didn't start the fire," she said, in a sing-song voice, "It was always burning since the world's been turning."

Without missing a beat, she morphed into a pixel-perfect suit-and-shades lounge singer, tapping her fingers on the table like invisible drums. "Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnny Ray…"

She stumbled through the next line: "Something, something, something… Joe DiMaggio—"

Misses Organa's glare sliced through the cantina like a targeting laser. Auri froze mid-drumbeat, fingers hovering awkwardly over the tabletop. A flicker of pixelated embarrassment shimmered through her avatar before she flickered back into her usual self.

"No appreciation for the classics," she mumbled, visibly chastened.

Fen sighed and gestured vaguely toward the door. "Look, it was a teachable moment.

Misses Organa glanced back at Fen, her tone shifting from exasperated to firm. "You might find it funny, Fenris, but not every player's built to shrug off a surprise fireball. If you want to teach them something, start by setting a better example."

Before he could answer, Seraph cut in smoothly. "Sorry to change the subject, Gene— I mean, Misses Organa," she said with a wince, "but we've got an assignment. The controller AI flagged an anomaly. Rumor is, some players are sneaking in from an adjacent dead server. We're heading out this afternoon to check it out."

Misses Organa paused, brow furrowed. "Sneaking in, is it? That's never good."

"Exactly," Seraph said, rising. "We'll keep an eye on it."

Fen stood too, stretching with a low groan. "Yeah, yeah. Wouldn't want to keep the local overlords waiting."

As they stepped toward the door, he leaned in toward Seraph. "Thanks for the save."

She downed the last of his drink in one smooth motion and casually lobbed the empty tumbler back into his hands. "You're welcome. And you're driving."

Fen blinked. "Wait—what?"

Seraph grinned. "Consider it payback for making me run interference. It's out past the edge of the sector—five-hour haul, easy. Try not to wreck us on the way, boss."

Fen groaned as the cantina doors swung open. "Next time I'm letting her finish the lecture."

Behind them, Misses Organa called out one last time without looking up, her voice sharp and familiar. "Next time, Fenris, try thinking before you set someone on fire. Might make a better first impression."

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Fen nodded, trying not to let the scolding sink too deep as he and Seraph headed for the door. Seraph paused just before stepping out and turned back with a wink. "Don't worry, Misses Organa. I'll make sure to continue the lecture on the road."

Misses Organa gave a small, satisfied nod.

They stepped out into the alley behind the cantina, the sun hanging high overhead, casting short, sharp shadows against the chipped brick and rusted walls. The cantina doors creaked shut behind them, sealing the quiet in. A soft hum of static buzzed from the overhead wires as they walked, the clack of their boots echoing faintly off stone and steel.

Fen said nothing, letting the silence stretch. But he felt lighter now, the weight of the morning shaking off with each step. The coming drive, long though it was, would be a welcome change. He wouldn't say it out loud, of course. That would ruin the image.

They traded a few quiet jabs and half-smirks as they walked, boots tapping a steady rhythm on the cracked stone. A few blocks, a turn, a stretch of silence—and then the station came into view.

The pair reached the old refueling station—long boarded up, barely marked save for a weathered sign and a faded stripe of yellow paint. The kind of place that felt like it had quietly slipped off the map. But it served its purpose. Seraph unlocked the door and stepped inside, casting a quick glance back as the latch clicked behind them.

She gave Fen a softer look than usual. "Misses Organa really does think the world of you, you know? I wish you wouldn't give her such a hard time."

Fen rubbed the back of his neck, his expression unreadable for a moment. "Yeah, I know. She's the closest thing I've got to a mom in this world. I care about her. But I've gotta pass the time somehow. Pulling dumb pranks is better than actually losing it. Better that than me frying a player out of spite, right?"

Seraph snorted, tugging the dust cover off a beat-up red pickup in the corner. Its hover disks were dented and rusted, and the whole vehicle looked like it had lost a bar fight against a few fence posts. "Lighting people on fire is your version of restraint. Got it."

She slid into the driver's seat and hit the ignition. The fusion core coughed to life, belching out a puff of dust and stale air that reeked of leaking coolant. A beat later, a weak breeze dribbled through the vents like the truck was trying its best to be useful and sadly failing. Again.

While the engine grumbled, Fen moved behind the counter. The rest of the station was stripped bare, but this part—this was his. He tapped a worn sequence on the register—click-click-hiss—and the shelves slid back with a sigh, revealing a neatly maintained rack of weapons.

Rail rifles, sidearms, scatter launchers. All kept clean and charged.

Fen's grin was genuine as he looked them over. "Now that's more like it."

He ran a hand along a long-barreled pulse rifle, fingertips tracing its smooth surface like greeting an old friend.

Seraph leaned over the console, raising an eyebrow. "You really think we'll need that kind of firepower for a basic inspection?"

Fen chuckled, hefting the rifle off the rack and disconnecting the power cord. "Probably not, but how often do we get to break these beauties out? They haven't seen action in two full cycles—unless you count one of us giving them a maintenance cuddle now and then. I didn't install a secret gun locker just to let it sit there collecting cobwebs. Rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it, right?"

He slung the rifle over his shoulder and turned back to the wall. "Which one do you want?"

Without hesitation, Seraph grinned. "Do you even have to ask? Bring my sweet little girl over."

Fen laughed, reaching for the massive anti-material rifle on the far wall. It took both hands to unhook her from the mount, and he grunted as the weight settled into his hands. "Tiny Tina it is."

Seraph gave a mock salute from the driver's seat. "Sure, she's a little much for close quarters—but give me a decent line of sight and 500 meters, and I'll make whoever's causing trouble wish they'd stayed home."

"You're nuts," Fen said, slinging the rifle onto the bench behind her, "but you've got style."

He gave one last glance at the sealed gun locker, then turned to see the truck idling like a tired old beast of burden. The fusion core coughed quietly, venting hot air that smelled vaguely like warm dust and long-dead coolant. Seraph adjusted the mirrors, checking their surroundings.

"Where's Auri?" Fen asked, climbing in.

Seraph shrugged. "She'll catch up. Probably off rewriting a pop song or harassing Misses Organa."

With a final rumble, the truck hovered out of the station and down the cracked dirt road. They kicked up a trail of dust as they left the quiet little town behind, its charm shrinking in the rearview mirror. The horizon stretched out ahead—jagged hills and a faint shimmer at the edge of the sky, a flicker that reminded them both this world was code deep down, but it was theirs.

Fen gripped the wheel, settling in. To anyone else, the road ahead might've looked like just another stretch of monotony—a slog through silence and simulated scrubland. But to him, it felt like freedom. No clueless players to babysit. No tutorial popups. No overseers yapping in his ear. Just forward motion. Just sky.

He flicked on the radio. Static gave way to a somber blues line—They Won't Go When I Go—the melody slow, aching, heavy with something unspoken. Fen didn't recognize the voice, but the tone settled in perfectly. The music hovered there, not building, not fading—just waiting.

He tapped the steering wheel twice, quiet and steady. "Maybe this'll be the overture I've been needing," he murmured. "Code knows I could use it."

Seraph cracked the window beside him, catching a breeze. "What was that, Fen?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just talking to the radio."

They drove in silence for a beat, the hum of the engine blending with the soft strain of the song. Fen let himself settle into the rhythm of it, just starting to believe the day might actually hold something different.

Then came the sound.

A high-pitched shriek, dopplering fast.

Fen turned the radio down, eyes narrowing as he looked in the rear view mirror. A blur barreled toward them from behind, arms flailing, legs pumping like a cartoon character mid-meltdown.

It was Auri.

She slammed face-first into the back window, bounced, then phased through and crash-landed in the backseat with all the grace of a ragdoll.

"Are you serious?" Fen muttered, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. "You can literally appear wherever you want. Chasing us was optional."

Auri sat up, brushing herself off indignantly. "Oh sure, ruin the drama. I was abandoned, Fen. Emotionally. You and Seraph just drove off—no warning, no farewell. I had to run."

"You can teleport, dear," Seraph said, her voice laced with playful sunlit sass. "Also, you're not coded with stamina loss. Why are you even out of breath?"

"It's the principle," Auri huffed, crossing her arms as she morphed into a childlike version of herself, complete with giant teary eyes. "You both left me behind. Stranded me, Fen. I thought we were friends."

Fen exchanged a look with Seraph, who was failing to hide a grin. "Stranded," he echoed. "Right. In the middle of a sector node you control?"

"This is a setup," he said flatly.

"Obviously," Seraph replied.

Auri perked up instantly. "Which is why, as reparations for the grievous emotional trauma I've just endured, I get to pick the music for the rest of the ride."

"Oh, come on," Fen groaned. "I'm the one who needs to be entertained!"

"And why am I the one who owes you?" he added, jabbing a thumb toward Seraph. "It was her idea to leave without you."

Seraph held up both hands. "Hey, I assumed she'd spawn in the cab. I wasn't expecting a chase scene."

Auri ignored them, already scrolling through playlists. "Doesn't matter. You both owe me. But mostly Fen."

"That's not even logical."

But Auri was already flickering through forms becoming vinyl sleeves, cassette tapes, even a neon jukebox—all flashing across her avatar in rapid succession. "You'll love it," she said sweetly. "We're starting with the extended disco remix of Quantum Cows."

Fen groaned, sinking lower in his seat. "Please, no."

"Oh yes," Auri said, grinning like a pixelated demon. "And I have four glorious hours of genre chaos queued up. We'll start with vintage net-pop, swing into hypergrunge sea shanties, and ease into emo-core Gregorian chants."

Seraph whistled low. "That's diabolical even for you."

"Thank you," Auri beamed.

Fen pressed a hand to his face. "This is going to be the longest four hours of my life…"

Seraph chuckled, leaning into the wind with a grin as a few loose strands of hair danced around her face. "And here I thought you wanted something different today."

Fen didn't reply right away. He adjusted his grip on the wheel and looked out at the shimmering stretch of open road. The song had shifted to a ridiculous synth-country beat. Auri was singing along—badly.

But as she bounced in her seat with deeply questionable enthusiasm, and Seraph began tapping her foot just to annoy him, Fen caught himself smiling.

Only a little.

And only when neither of them were looking.