An NPC’s Life:

Amélie’s Ordinary Days on Tessera

The luminous cycle of the wall-mounted habitat mimicked a soft dawn, pulling Amélie from her sleep. Like every morning on Tessera, the memory of the previous day was but an evanescent mist, a fleeting impression quickly swept away by the quiet anticipation of routine. She slipped out of bed, her bare feet on the temperate floor of her minimalist apartment – a space designed for efficiency, where every object seemed to have a predefined place, eternally clean, eternally functional.

While the coffee machine prepared her brew – perfect aroma, ideal temperature, as always – Amélie activated the wall interface to check the local news. The contrast was as familiar as it was jarring. On one hand, the information feed detailed the chaos of the previous day: anti-gravity vehicle pile-ups, spectacular shootouts in the Gamma Quadrant, the daily count of “forced resets” – thousands, again. There was a brief mention of the exploits of the “Shield Bearers,” that atypical guild of Ludicores from Cortex who tried to contain the excesses of their peers. Then, without transition, a soothing government advertisement extolled the benefits of life on Tessera: immortality guaranteed by rapid replication cycles, the total absence of disease, poverty, or famine. “Thanks to the agreements with our esteemed Ludicore visitors,” the suave voice concluded, “fundamental stability and citizen well-being are assured.”

Amélie sipped her coffee, the tumult outside filtered by the walls of her sanctuary. Her refrigerator, she knew without even checking, was full. Her vital needs were a constant, never a source of concern. Perhaps this was the true luxury offered by the powerful Ludicores who had made Tessera their playground and, incidentally, the home of her humanoid species. A strange luxury, woven from absolute personal security and omnipresent collective chaos.

She finished her coffee, placed the cup in the recycling unit, and adjusted her uniform for the Central Café. The day promised to be similar to the last, punctuated by the orders of the inhabitants and the unpredictable interactions with visitors from Cortex. A prospect that, curiously, filled her with a familiar calm. She was ready.

The Central Café was a bubble of relative order in Tessera’s constant flux. Located in a bustling square where anti-gravity vehicles zipped silently by or sometimes crashed in a flash of special effects quickly cleaned up by maintenance drones, the café offered a hushed, predictable atmosphere. Amélie knew every corner, every protocol. She prepared complex drinks with intense flavors for inhabitants like herself, exchanging pleasantries about the latest weather cycle or neighborhood rumors. She served a couple of inhabitants seated near the bay window; they were discussing, in low voices, an improvement project for their housing unit, an exchange as banal and comforting as those she might have had with her own ex, a few cycles ago. Relational life, here, also ran its course, despite everything.

Interactions with the Ludicores were… different. Often abrupt, focused on an immediate objective. “A Triple-Boost Espresso, quick! I’ve got a bounty to chase,” one would bark, armor gleaming, eyes fixed on their personal interface. “How much to fill this inventory with Energy Pastries? I need a hundred,” another would demand, ignoring the queue. Amélie responded with polite efficiency, a skill honed by countless cycles. Sometimes, a Ludicore vehicle would miss a turn and end its course in the holographic planters on the terrace; Amélie would activate the cleaning protocol and resume her service, her heart perhaps beating a little faster, but no more. This was Tessera.

Simon was different. A Ludicore, certainly, recognizable by his stature and the integrated technology he wore, but he belonged to the “Shield Bearers.” His equipment seemed more functional than flashy, and above all, he had a calmer presence. He had become a regular customer over several cycles. He often ordered the same thing – a local Chamomile floral tea – and would sit at a table near the wall interface, observing the bustle with quiet attention. Unlike the others, he greeted her, sometimes even asked how her day was going, a question so incongruous from a Cortex visitor that it had surprised her the first few times. A tenuous bond, made of shared routines and unexpected politeness, had formed between them.

That cycle, after ordering his tea, Simon lingered at the counter. “Amélie,” he began in a low voice, his gaze discreetly scanning the room, “do you know ‘Black-Claw’? A Ludicore who comes here sometimes. Dark gear, pretty aggressive.”

Amélie nodded. Black-Claw was known for his fits of gratuitous violence and his combat experiments on less fortunate passersby. “He stops by from time to time, yes. Often at the end of the cycle,” she replied, just as discreetly. She didn’t like Black-Claw; his visits always left an unpleasant tension in the air.

“I’d need to know if he has any particular habits,” Simon continued. “Schedules, preferred routes when he leaves the neighborhood? It could… help prevent some problems.”

Amélie hesitated for a split second. Sharing information about a Ludicore, even a troublemaker, seemed risky. But this was Simon. The calm, respectful Shield Bearer. And Black-Claw was a nuisance. “He often takes aeroway 7 towards the Forgotten Docks after he leaves here,” she murmured.

A flash of gratitude crossed Simon’s eyes. “Thanks, Amélie. That’s valuable.” He paused. “Actually… this Black-Claw is part of a chain of disturbances I’m trying to dismantle. A sort of… personal side quest, if you will. With the information you’ve given me… would you agree to accompany me? Just to observe, maybe identify some of his other associates. Your local knowledge would be useful.” He added, almost to himself, “Honestly, I often feel more comfortable interacting with your species than with some of my own on Cortex.”

A side quest. With Simon. The idea was both exciting and strange. To step out of the café routine, to actively participate in something that seemed right… It was well worth the potential risks. “Alright, Simon,” she said with a shy but resolute smile. “When do we start?”

Their first side quest together was to follow Black-Claw’s trail. Thanks to Amélie’s information about his habits, they positioned themselves near aeroway 7 at the indicated times. Traveling with Simon was different for Amélie. Aboard his personal anti-gravity vehicle – a Shield Bearer utility model, less ostentatious than the other Ludicores’ chrome speedsters – she felt a kind of unusual calm. Usually, crossing the city’s arteries was a lottery, a careful slalom between speeding excesses and the unpredictable maneuvers of visitors. With Simon at the controls, the journey seemed more… controlled.

They quickly spotted Black-Claw’s dark, angular vehicle heading towards the Forgotten Docks, a labyrinthine industrial zone known to be a haven for less… official activities. “We follow him from a distance,” Simon said, his interface projecting a discreet tactical map visible only to them. “No direct confrontation for now, just observe his contacts.”

Amélie nodded, her heart pounding with contained excitement. This was much more stimulating than serving coffees. She activated her own sense of observation, noting details she would never have noticed before – affiliation symbols on some parked vehicles, the discreet comings and goings of other inhabitants near a specific warehouse. She felt useful, a partner. Fear, though present in the face of the potential danger Black-Claw represented, was dulled by the certainty implanted within her: at worst, a “reset” would return her to her apartment the next cycle.

It was while monitoring a presumed meeting point in an old industrial park, strangely converted into a recreational area – part public garden, part Ludicore playground – that they stumbled upon the scene. In the center of a clear esplanade, Black-Claw, or at least a Ludicore strongly resembling him in equipment and aura of nonchalant menace, was “playing” with a Tessera inhabitant. The word “playing” was a terrible euphemism. The inhabitant was suspended in a crackling force field, subjected to what looked like intermittent energy discharges.

Around them, life went on with an almost choreographed indifference. Other humanoid inhabitants passed by, barely glancing, skirting the scene as one avoids a puddle. A few Ludicores watched from a distance, some with an air of cynical approval, others with the boredom of one who has seen it all. One or two generic inhabitants attempted a hesitant approach, before freezing, hesitating, and turning back as if hitting an invisible wall…

Simon swore under his breath. “That one… he’s crossing the line, even for here.” Without waiting, he activated his own equipment, a bluish energy shield shimmering around him, and advanced with a determined step.

The confrontation was brief and violent. The tormentor, surprised by the intervention of a Shield Bearer, retaliated with bursts of dark energy. Simon parried, dodged, and counter-attacked with tactical precision that quickly disabled his opponent’s offensive systems and the force field holding the prisoner. The tormenting Ludicore, defeated but arrogant, snarled an insult and disappeared in a personal teleportation effect – probably to avoid a reset penalty imposed by local rules or by Simon’s guild.

While Simon deactivated the last energy restraints, Amélie approached the victim, now slumped on the ground but conscious. The inhabitant bore the marks of the discharges, but his expression was strangely calm, almost resigned. “Why… why didn’t you activate your panic button?” Amélie asked, referring to the emergency protocol that allowed for an immediate voluntary reset. The inhabitant looked up at her, a weary smile on his lips. “The panic button? That cancels the compensations. You know… the ‘Resilience Under Extreme Duress’ bonuses. A few more cycles like this and I’ll have enough to unlock the level 3 habitat upgrade. And besides,” he added, wincing slightly, “the implanted pain dampeners do their job well. It’s unpleasant, but… tolerable.”

Amélie remained silent, observing the scene: the victim rationalizing his torture for material gain, the passersby already returned to their occupations, Simon checking his systems after the fight. An extraordinary scene, and yet, just another incident on Tessera. Her presence alongside Simon gave her a new perspective, direct involvement, but the core of the event remained desperately… ordinary.

This apparent detachment in the face of what should have been traumatizing was rooted in the very nature of existence on Tessera. Here, the notion of death, as other species might have conceived it, was almost abstract, foreign. Humanoid inhabitants like Amélie lived with the certainty – a truth hammered home by local authorities and omnipresent advertisements – that they were biological replicas, perfected clones. Each “forced reset,” each fatal accident was merely a temporary interruption, a brief pause before a new, identical copy, with almost perfect memory continuity, resumed its place. This rapid cloning technology, presented as another benefit negotiated with the Ludicores, made life infinite, but also, in a way, devoid of ultimate consequences. This was undoubtedly why fear, even if it could sting sharply in the moment, never truly took lasting hold in Amélie. Why fear the end when the end didn’t really exist? Even the administrative constraint that occurred each month – that home interface asking, “Do you consent to continue your existence on Tessera?” – was perceived by Amélie and the others as a simple bureaucratic formality imposed by the Ludicores, a kind of periodic census to ensure that the “attractions” of their vast planetary park were still functioning. A tacit acceptance, renewed cycle after cycle, for a life unique and yet infinitely repeatable.

A few cycles passed after the incident in the park. Amélie and Simon had succeeded, through a combination of Simon’s discreet infiltration and Amélie’s local knowledge, in significantly disrupting the operations of Black-Claw and his group on Tessera. They found themselves one evening at the Central Café, after a particularly intense but successful mission. The usual bustle of the city seemed distant, filtered by the café’s acoustic walls.

Simon contemplated the steaming teacup in his hands, an unusually pensive look on his face. “Amélie,” he began, his voice lower than usual. “All this… all that we see here, on Tessera. The way our peoples interact…” He searched for his words. “Sometimes, I wonder where all this is leading us. Is it… is it fair, this dynamic? This… global experiment?”

Amélie tilted her head slightly, trying to grasp the deeper meaning behind Simon’s hesitation. She had noticed his growing melancholy lately. To her, his words evoked the inevitable tensions between a “colonizing” species like the Ludicores and the native inhabitants. “Shield Bearers” like Simon certainly had to navigate complex political currents on Cortex, worrying about the impact of their actions on Tessera.

“I understand your concerns, Simon,” she said softly, placing her hand on his over the table, a simple gesture of comfort. “Life here is… eventful, because of some of yours. But there’s good too, right? Look at us. We manage to make a difference, however small.” She smiled. “You sound like one of your great diplomats or a Cortex philosopher, worried about the future of relations between our worlds. That must be a heavy burden to bear, I imagine.”

She straightened slightly, her gaze sincere. “I can’t speak for everyone, of course, you should ask others… but for my part? Despite everything, I’m… happy, here. My life has meaning, a routine, and even excitement now, thanks to you. We have our problems, the Ludicores have theirs. But every people deserves to be able to live, don’t you think? As long as we can continue our existence…” Her voice trailed off, perhaps unconsciously thinking of that monthly notification that validated the continuation of her cycle.

Simon looked up at her. There was a sadness in his eyes that Amélie didn’t quite understand, but also a form of resolution. He seemed to see the abyss between their perspectives, the unintentional irony of her words about the “right to live.” He nodded slowly. “Yes, Amélie. You’re right. Thank you.” He stood up. “I… I have to go now. I have things to take care of… on Cortex.”

“Will you be back soon?” Amélie asked, accustomed to Ludicores disappearing as suddenly as they appeared.

“I… I don’t know yet. Take care of yourself, Amélie.” And with those words, his silhouette shimmered and vanished, leaving her alone at the table with two cooling teacups. She remained for a moment, pensive, then shrugged. Another abrupt departure. That was also life with the visitors from Cortex. She cleared the table and returned to her work.

Far away, on Cortex, in a room with bare walls except for complex, now-darkened screens, Simon removed his neural interface with a weary sigh. The cool touch of reality was almost brutal after the immersion. He sat for a long moment, the weight of his conversation with Amélie – and of his own unintentional deception – pressing down on him.

Later, at dinner, his mother noticed his preoccupied air. “Your science project, Simon? Is it progressing?”

He stirred his food distractedly. “Yes… it’s progressing. Too well, perhaps.” He looked up, his gaze meeting his mother’s. “The… the behavioral simulations of the Tessera inhabitants are incredibly realistic. Their internal logic, their way of finding satisfaction despite the chaotic environment we impose on them… It’s unsettling.” He hesitated, then added, “And since I shared the source code at school and everyone got involved… the responsibility is even greater. It’s not just my experiment anymore.” A small, joyless laugh escaped him. “Today, one of them… an inhabitant named Amélie… she told me about her happiness, her right to live… thinking I was worried about interplanetary politics. I don’t know if it’s ethical, Mom. To continue this ‘experiment.’ Even for science.”

His mother listened attentively, her face suddenly grave. The question hung in the silence of the kitchen, far beyond the stars of Tessera visible on the darkened screens.