"Then, Dr. Carlie, please start the initial procedures for a new connection of Experiment 1 with the cocoon."
Once again, Mr. Domi placed the tiara on Lowo N'air's head, handing him another device—a tablet that simulated the writing and appearance of an old notebook. Lowo read through the questionnaire and responded in his own way.
**Full name:** Lowo N'air
**Affiliation:** I don't know.
**Occupation:** Poor.
**Title:** Lazy
**Can you fight?** Sort of.
**If yes, describe the martial art you practice:** Street fighting.
**Do you have enemies?** No, only the bad guys from the neighborhood.
**Do you know people who want to harm you?** No.
**Do you have friends?** Yes.
**If yes, write how many:** One.
**Do you have a girlfriend?** No.
**What would you be willing to do to help your friend or girlfriend, if you have one?** Get rich.
**Describe the level and skills you would like to have:** Any. I have no particular interest in fighting skills; any will do. I just want to have a lot of money.
**Why?** Because. I want to take care of my friend Sorriso and find out if my parents are still alive. For that, I need a lot of money.
**Why do you need to take care of your friend? Why do you need to find out if your parents are alive? Why...**
Lowo N'air threw the tablet aside, his frustration clear. "But what is this nonsense of so many stupid questions about my personal life? I'm not going to write any of this. I came here to do what I always do—be the experiment, not describe my personal life."
On the tablet, the program continued its evaluation:
**Evaluating your physical condition and strength to grant the System's knowledge that will initially transform you into a lower-level warrior... Error. Incomplete and non-compliant responses. Corrupted data. Unable to proceed with the initial questionnaire. Protective measures activated. Total reset of strength, agility, endurance, and intelligence. Restart scheduled for 120 hours.**
"But what kind of garbage questions are these, Mr. Domi?" Lowo N'air shouted, irritated.
"Sorry, Lowo N'air," Mr. Domi said calmly, "but this is part of the new system we are testing on you. You need to be very honest with these answers so we can achieve better performance."
Lowo N'air grumbled and left the questionnaire incomplete. A robotic voice emerged from the tablet: "Requesting permission for user mental analysis."
Lowo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Mr. Domi, I understand what this program wants from me, but I will not allow my mind to be scanned like I'm some old magazine."
Domi's patience was wearing thin. He simply warned, "I believe you've received enough information to address this situation, haven't you, Mr. Lowo N'air?"
Lowo N'air thought for a few moments before finally nodding. "You're right, Mr. Domi. I've been given more than enough to get through this. Even if it's embarrassing, I'll do what's necessary to earn my payment."
Forgetting that the connection tiara was still active, Lowo pressed the small button that introduced his corrupted data into the system. Instantly, he began to convulse.
Dr. Carlie panicked, but Mr. Domi placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "This is normal, Dr. Carlie. It's the first time Lowo N'air is using the correctly configured tiara. Quickly, proceed with the connection to the cocoon."
Meanwhile, Lowo felt dizziness and chills creeping over him. As he slowly lost consciousness, more absurd questions echoed in his mind, questions that he answered without knowing what he was doing. The System's voice followed:
**Corrupted initialization... Restarting verification process based on system user responses.**
**ZZZZRRTT!!**
In another part of the lab, Little Joe began to stir. All he could do was hear his father's choked voice and feel his tears falling on his small body. A small blue screen hovered before his eyes, filled with letters he could read but not fully understand. Still, he wrote what he thought was right:
**Full name:** Joe
**Affiliation:** Mr. Dondinel and Mrs. Carlie.
**Occupation:** Caringalinha caretaker.
**Title:** Champion at eating broquitos.
**Can you fight?** Of course I can.
**If yes, describe the martial art you practice:** Low Wind Cutting.
**Do you have enemies?** Yes.
**Do you know people who want to harm you?** The corrupt nobility of the Tallindorie kingdom.
**Do you have friends?** Yes.
**If yes, write how many:** Three.
**Do you have a girlfriend?** No.
**What would you be willing to do to help your friends or girlfriend, if you have one?** Fight anyone who threatens my friends.
**Describe the level and skills you would like to have:** Maximum level of Low Wind Cutting.
"Would you like full tutorial support?" the System asked.
Joe squinted at the words. "I don't know what that is. It sounds like something to eat, but if it's bad, I only want a little, so... I accept."
**Response accepted for sporadic tutorial tips.**
The System continued: **Special permission required for physical analysis. User accepts?**
Joe hesitated. He didn't understand the term. But the word **special** made him feel important. "Yes."
After a moment, the screen updated: **According to preliminary analysis, there is a major problem with your health due to a huge reserve of energy retained in your body in an irregular manner. Continuing analysis.**
*Am I sick?* Joe wondered.
**Analysis completed. You need medical care to restore your health. The System's priority is to take care of you. Error... Error... Analysis failure. System offline. Corrupted data. Insufficient resources to improve the user. > Option: Use all possible means to ensure the user has sufficient financial conditions to restore their health. A S.I.R.CORP support system is being created to provide daily support. Do you agree to start the emergency procedure?**
Joe scratched his head, confused. "Ah, I don't know. If there's a way for my health to improve, do what you can. I can't lose my strength; it's all I've got."
The screen flashed again: **Choose one of the following system options:**
**First option:** Easy mode: Guaranteed profit with minimal effort. Small missions, small rewards, no penalties.
**Second option:** Normal mode: Reward and punishment. Good money for completed missions, but failures result in equivalent punishments.
**Third option:** Hard mode: Higher financial gains but slower progress. Failures result in losing something important to you.
**Fourth option:** Extremely difficult: Maximum financial gains, but the penalty is physical.**
Joe's eyes lit up. He had always been a fighter, never one to back down. He didn't want the easy way out, nor did he care to ask about the real consequences. Without hesitation, he declared, "Of course I want the fourth option."
The blue screen flickered, and a message appeared:
**Error... Initializing Sircorp. Error restarting...**
And then, the blue screen went dark.