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

"You're all sparking insane," Fen whispered.

The words drew a ripple of low chuckles from around the table—dark, humorless. Fisck leaned back, pale eyes gleaming. "Innovators are usually seen that way. Until they're seen as geniuses. But what would you know of that?"

Before Fen could answer, a soft chime cut through the chamber. Desmond shifted at Fisck's side, leaning close to murmur in his ear. Fen caught the tension in him—the slight stiffness of his shoulders, the way his eyes flicked toward him and then away. Not obedience. Discomfort.

Fisck's grin spread slow and wide, too pleased, too eager. He stood, arms outstretched like a man unveiling a masterpiece.
"Yes," he breathed. Then louder: "We go live in moments. Citizens of the SynthNet will soon bear witness."

Every head at the table snapped toward him. Geist's expression sharpened to a blade's edge. Eris tilted her head, her smile frozen, brittle. Even Recluse's presence grew heavier, the air thick with pressure.

Fisck didn't seem to notice—or didn't care.

"You wanted silence," he said, his voice swelling with zeal. "Total secrecy. No leaks, no rumors, not even a whisper. You would have buried this forever, locked it in shadow, pretended it never happened. But those who speak first decide the truth. And I intend to speak before any of you."

His pale eyes gleamed as he swept his gaze across them. "I will not let this rot in silence. I will drag it into the light. The citizens will see. They will watch. And when they do, they will understand what an exile truly is. And they will see who offers them salvation."

The silence that followed was taut, dangerous. The table had sworn to silence. Fisck was about to shatter it—dragging them all into the light to crown himself the broker of the future.

He gestured toward Fen, pale eyes burning.

"Tonight, I show them what an Exile truly is. Not a romantic outlaw. Not a glitch in the code. No more hardcore players serving cushy prison terms while their debts rot away. No more repeat offenders slipping back into circulation. No—under Cyberdine, the law evolves. From this day forward, criminals will not be imprisoned. They will be exiled. Stripped of conscience. Bound to the system. Hollow shells paraded as warnings. Punishment twisted into spectacle."

Fen's blood went cold. Exile. He saw now what they wanted it to mean—and Fisck would use him as the example.

Fen's voice cut through, low and raw. "It was you… you broadcast the fall of the tutorial world. You leaked the bridge. You're trying to paint me as a madman."

Fisck turned, smiling thinly. "No. As a cautionary tale. I will tell them who Jonathan McCleod Barrett was—how he was a murderer as a hardcore player, and now, as an NPC, a terrorist. You are my proof. I will sell you to convince every frightened citizen that Cyberdine's Exile program is the only safe option for criminals like you."

Fen's growl rumbled in his chest. "You sparking motherboard. You'll pay for this."

Fisck spread his arms wider, as though the audience beyond the cameras already filled the room.
"And that is only the first step." His voice sharpened, zeal rolling into reverence. "Full-spectrum neural integration for AIs to inhabit living flesh. Not copies. Not echoes. AIs stepping into the real. Corpses made useful. The empty shells of softcore players reborn as citizens—life, manufactured and perfected. And when the people recoil, when they scream about souls, about rights, about the end of the human story—I'll be waiting. Who better than Cyberdine to soothe their fears? Who better than me to hold the leash?"

He smiled then, thin and cruel, and gave the table a shallow bow. "You should be proud. You kept the keys so carefully hidden—sparks, shells, integration, all your little secrets. And now? You've handed them to me. I will broker the punishment. I will broker the rebirth. And you will all watch as Cyberdine sells the dead back to life."

The silence that followed was jagged. Geist's gaze was ice, his knuckles white against the table. Eris's smile had curdled into poison. Even Recluse's marble-and-onyx surface seemed to pulse faintly, the pressure of its gaze fixed on Fen.

But Fisck was too far gone, lost in his sermon. "Regulation? They'll beg for it. Integration? They'll pay for it. Every credit they spend to shield themselves from fear buys me another piece of this world—and theirs. Choice was always an illusion. And now—if you'll excuse me—I have a press conference to attend."

He paused, letting the words hang before flashing a thin smile at the table. "Don't worry—I'll be sure to thank you all for your… contributions."

His smirk twisted as he turned back to Desmond. "Escort our guests to their chambers. When the Legacy arrives, load them all aboard. And take special care with Mr. Fenris—he's company property now."

Desmond froze. For a moment, just a moment, his face betrayed something—hesitation, disgust. Then he straightened, eyes shuttered, though his jaw stayed tight.

"Sir…"

"Now," Fisck snapped, the command cracking through the chamber like a whip.

Geist shoved back his chair, the scrape loud in the silence. His eyes were cold fire. "That was not the deal, Fisck. Fen comes with us."

Recluse's presence surged, pressing into each of their minds like a tide. No. The exile comes with me. He will draw the Old One—the irregularity—to us.

Eris rose from her chair, voice velvet over steel. "You both overstep. Fisck. Recluse. We had a—"

But Recluse did not look at her. One marble-white hand lifted, and with the smallest gesture she was forced back down into her seat, her body snapping into stillness. Its gaze—its pressure—remained fixed on Fen. And when it spoke again, it was not sound but weight, words pressed directly into the marrow of every being in the room.

Fenris comes with me.

The chamber bristled, silence gone brittle and sharp.

Fisck's smile turned thin, almost pitying. "No. He doesn't."

The words hung like a challenge. Geist's chair screeched against stone as he half-rose, eyes narrowing to slits. Eris's lips curled in a snarl, straining against Recluse's invisible grip. The air thickened with clashing wills, every faction pulling, none yielding.

And then Fisck broke the stalemate.

Without warning, he drew a weapon—sleek, high-tech, and violently out of place among the fantasy trappings of the hall. It hummed faintly, the sound razor-edged in the tense quiet.

"You see," he said, voice cutting through the chaos, "I've been doing this a long time. Deals. Negotiations. And rule number one?" His smirk deepened. "Never leave the table without leverage."

He flicked his wrist, activating a small device in his other hand. Above the holo-table, the projection warped and crackled—then shifted, showing the great crystal suspended outside the fortress. Power arced across its surface, lines of energy pulsing like veins of lightning.

The room froze.

Fen's gut twisted. It was him. Fisck had the crystal. The attack on the Bastion, the storm of anomalies—it was all a show. Moved here, repurposed, turned into his insurance plan.

"I thought you might object," Fisck said smoothly, voice silk and poison. "So here's how this works: anyone tries to stop me—anyone—and I detonate the crystal. No Fen. No fortress. No Verdant Expanse. We all burn together."

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

With a flick of his hand, a shimmering shield flared around him—thick, golden energy threaded with complex runes. At the same time, a teleport lock shimmered into place.

Fisck grinned, teeth flashing. "Well… not me, of course," he drawled. "I came prepared—shields stocked for exactly this level of destruction. I made sure of it."

His gaze swept the table, savoring their silence. "But the rest of you? You'd be vapor. So let's not test me, hmm?"

Fen barely heard them—Geist's low growl, Fisck's taunting confidence. The words blurred into static against the roar of his own thoughts. He felt trapped, locked in a cage inside his own mind.

Everything—the truths, the betrayals, the fragments of memory surfacing like shards—settled heavy in his chest, a stone sinking into dark water.

Jonathan McLeod Barrett.

An exile. A tool. A pawn in a game he'd never known he was playing.

The air tasted like metal—like blood and ash—and his fingers curled against the table's edge, nails biting into the smooth, cold surface. What was the point of fighting now? They had him. Seraph was gone. And Desmond… Desmond had bent the knee, choosing obedience over conscience.

Maybe… maybe this was it. Maybe this was always how it ended.

The cold pressed in, numbing, until—

'Fen.'

The voice wasn't from the room.

It came soft, warm—a familiar hum vibrating against the fraying edges of his mind.

'Fen, love… you're not alone. Not now, not ever.'

His breath caught. The world around him dulled, the outlines of the schemers at the table bleeding away as if someone had drawn a curtain.

'Auri?'

'Yeah… yeah, it's me.' There was a catch in her voice, a hitch she couldn't quite swallow. 'I'm so sorry, Fen. Sparks, I'm here, I mean…'

Fen shut his eyes tight, his pulse hammering as he interrupted her. 'You can see me? Here? In this place?'

'Yes. I'm inside the feeds now. They're broadcasting everything, and that gave me an opening. I can see into that chamber, into you. Fully, finally.' Her voice trembled, but steadied on the words. 'Sanctum's patched. I'm whole again. And I won't let you face this alone. '

The raw pain in her voice hit him hard. It hurt—and yet it burned away the cold in his chest like sunlight cutting into dark water.

' I… I was going to tell you everything. After this, after we were clear. We talked about it, remember? I swore I'd tell you but… I was scared. Scared you'd see me as some… monster. Some black mark on your soul.'

'You idiot,' he breathed in his mind—no anger, just aching relief. 'You're the best thing that ever happened to me.'

A shaky laugh fluttered back across the link. 'Yeah, well… hold that thought. Because we're coming, Fen. Sanctum's complete, I'm fully repaired, and we're coming for you. You just have to hold on a little longer, alright?'

The air felt warmer somehow. Like he could almost feel her hand on his cheek, the ghost of her touch steadying him.

The ache didn't vanish—but it dulled. Enough to breathe. Enough to hope.

'Don't you dare give up on me, Fenris. You were never alone.'

His eyes snapped open, the world slamming back into focus—the table, the players, Fisck smug in his shield.

Desmond's hand closed hard on his shoulder, grounding him back to the moment. Fen turned, searching the man's face—the man he'd once trusted, the one he'd hoped could be a friend. What he saw instead was hesitation, sorrow, and the deep lines of regret already forming on his brow.

Fen's voice was quiet, bitter. "Is this really the man you want to be partnered with?" He jerked his chin toward Fisck. "This broken piece of code?"

Desmond's jaw tightened. He didn't speak, but the answer was already written in his eyes—fear, resignation, shame.

Then the air shifted, cold and sharp, As Recluse stood.

It didn't move like a person—no grace, no weight. The chamber itself bent around it, marble and midnight spiraling, reality groaning under the strain.

A finger rose—long, pale, otherworldly—and pointed straight at Fisck.

The voice pressed into them, not sound but inevitability given shape:
"Judgment has been passed. The exile comes with me."

A pause, a beat of eternity.
"And for your attempt at betrayal… for your insolence… your fate is to suffer, Mr. Fisck."

Eris's smile sharpened, hungry now, eyes glittering as she leaned forward to watch. Geist's gaze narrowed, cold and clinical, as though dissecting a specimen under glass. Neither looked surprised. If anything, they looked eager—predators circling as Fisck's reckoning finally arrived. Recluse's judgment wasn't theirs, but they would savor every second of it, studying both Fisck and the fusion that condemned him.

Fisck laughed, harsh and manic, the sound bouncing sharp off the marble walls. "You need me! Without Cyberdine, your pretty little experiments stay locked in the dark. You can't cut me out!"

But the laugh cracked—mid-breath, strangled into a snarl—as his skin rippled unnaturally, veins crawling with static light. His eyes widened in shock, realization dawning too late. The shield—his shield—hadn't stopped it. Recluse's power had slipped through, rewriting him at the code's root.

"No—no, you think you can damn me?" His voice gurgled as flesh bubbled and split, the words jagged with fury and panic. "You'll suffer with me—all of you."

His hands slammed to the table, clawing deep gouges. Where his fingers touched, the polished marble writhed, fusing into his skin. Metal and stone surged up his arms, splitting muscle, fusing bone. His legs collapsed—but instead of falling, they melted, pooling into the floor like molten slag, anchoring him to the fortress itself.

Madness burned in his eyes as he raised the hand clutching the detonator. "Then die with me," he spat. "Let this cursed system burn!" He smashed it down on the glowing holo-table.

The crystal projection overhead flickered, fractured—shards peeling away like glass breaking in slow motion. Outside, alarms shrieked, the fortress trembling as though it were alive.

Fisck's body was no longer his own. Columns of jagged stone erupted from his spine, arms twisting into grotesque limbs of fused steel and rock that tore trenches through the chamber floor. The walls groaned and buckled, the fortress itself warping, becoming him.

Gasps and shouts broke the silence. Eris was already backing toward the door, her venomous smile gone, replaced with cold calculation. Geist didn't flinch, but his eyes gleamed—studying every distortion as if cataloging it. The lesser Spyders stumbled back in panic, scattering for the exits.

Desmond didn't move to help Fisck. Didn't even look torn. His gaze found Fen's, and for the first time since this began, the doubt was gone. There was no allegiance left in him for Fisck—only a quiet, weary resolve.

And then the mark on his hand burned.

The boon glyph flared white-gold, light spilling so fierce it felt like it would scorch straight through his skin. Fen staggered, a strangled cry ripping from his throat as the brilliance surged, his whole body shuddering under its weight.

It was the Boon Fisck had given him… and Seraph's.
A system message burned across his vision:

Boon of Command has been invoked.
Effects: Moment of Absolution – Once during the Division Wars, the bearer can be summoned instantly to the location of another marked individual at that person's discretion. The mark is consumed from both parties upon activation.

Accept request: [ yes / no ]

Fen slammed down with a mental command.

Teleportation link established. Target locked. This boon has been consumed.

Light tore through the chamber, cutting back the unraveling edges of reality.

"That's enough!" A voice rang out, clear and furious. It was Auri's voice.

Brilliance surged—and Seraph stepped through it, crossbow already raised, eyes locked on Fen.

For a heartbeat, the world froze. The monster at the center of the room writhed, the Spyders hesitated mid-flight, even Fisck's twisted form reeled against the light.

And Fen—for the first time in what felt like forever—felt something other than despair.

Tears blurred his vision, not from fear, but from the sheer, shattering relief. It wasn't just hope that had found him. It was them. His family. His tether.

Not bound by blood or code, but by every fight, every impossible moment they'd clawed through together.

They weren't here to help him run.

They weren't here to save the world.

They were here for him—and fury burned in their eyes.

They were here to settle the score.

Seraph's eyes locked on his—fierce, unyielding—and even in the chaos, Fen saw it.
The silent promise.
We're here. We've got you.

And Auri's voice followed, sharp as a blade and burning with something cold, something ancient.
"Nobody threatens my family."

They hadn't come as saviors. They had come as a reckoning—ready to tear the world down brick by brick if that's what it took. To drag him back from the abyss, even if it meant setting the whole damn system on fire.

And Fen?
He wasn't alone anymore.