Getting A System In A Modern World

Black Hand Organisation, Secret Underground Lab Facility, Ross Ice Shelf, Antarctica

The cold, sterile light of the lab cast an eerie glow on the rows of glass pods lining the walls, each containing a struggling figure locked in a gruesome metamorphosis. Benjamin paced in front of one such pod, his brow knitted in frustration, watching as flesh and blood sluggishly adhered to the glass like remnants of some half-formed creature.

"It worked with Daniel," he muttered, the frustration boiling over as he slammed his hand against the lab table beside him.

"Why won't it work with the others? I did everything the same. I followed the exact procedure. Why the hell can't they just complete the transformation?"

The room fell silent save for the low hum of machinery and the rhythmic beeping of monitors tracking the failing vitals of the subjects in their pods.

Benjamin forced himself to breathe deeply, his hands clenched into fists as he fought to suppress his growing rage. Losing his temper wouldn't solve anything, but the pressure from above was mounting.

His superiors were hungry for results, and each failed experiment brought fresh scrutiny, more whispered questions about his competence.

After the success with Daniel, the organization had decided to expand the project, pouring resources and funds into the lab.

They'd called Daniel the prototype, the ideal soldier—enhanced physically and mentally, the first of a new breed. But Daniel's transformation had been a stroke of rare, inexplicable luck.

Despite Benjamin's meticulous replication of the process, no other subject had survived the first phase without rejecting the enhancements and breaking down in horrifying ways.

Benjamin's mind replayed the image of Daniel's transformation. Unlike the others, Daniel had embraced the changes, adapting to the serum as if it were a natural part of him.

His cellular structure had thrived under the strain, integrating the enhancements perfectly. Now, standing in front of another failed subject, Benjamin felt that success slipping further from his grasp with each passing day.

He turned to his assistant, Rebecca, who stood nearby, her eyes fixed on the ground. She had been assigned to him when the project expanded and had proven herself invaluable.

Still, Benjamin sensed her unease as she glanced up, catching the hardness in his gaze.

"Rebecca," he barked, his voice harsher than he intended. She jumped, visibly shaken, but quickly masked her fear with a composed nod.

"Run the diagnostics on batch 10 again. I want every last detail. Maybe we missed something in the protein-binding analysis or the cellular repair markers."

"Yes, Dr. Benjamin," she replied, doing her best to keep her voice steady. She moved swiftly to the control panel, her fingers flying over the interface as she pulled up the data.

Benjamin resumed pacing, muttering to himself. "It's not the serum—the dosage was perfect. It's not the genetic profile either; we screened them all for compatibility. So why the hell does this keep failing?"

A thought flickered in the back of his mind, elusive but insistent. He turned to Rebecca, his eyes narrowing. "Could it be something… environmental?"

Rebecca looked up, surprised. "Environmental? But Dr. Benjamin, they're all kept under the same controlled lab conditions. We've monitored everything—humidity, temperature, nutrient levels… nothing's changed."

"Yes, I know!" he snapped, though his frustration was directed more at himself than her. "But maybe we're overlooking something fundamental. Maybe it's not about what's in the lab.

Maybe it's about the subjects themselves—their resilience, their mental toughness. Daniel… Daniel had something unique, something that can't be measured in numbers or charts. He was… different." Discover hidden content at m,v l'e|m-p| y r

Rebecca nodded cautiously, understanding dawning on her face. "If that's the case, then maybe we need a new approach. Perhaps psychological conditioning, resilience training?"

A dark smile crept onto Benjamin's face as his mind began to race with possibilities. "Yes. Mental resilience training, heightened stress exposure… we need to find a way to push them, to force them to adapt, to make them desperate to survive."

Rebecca shifted uncomfortably, hesitating before she spoke. "But Dr. Benjamin, if we go down that path, it could have unpredictable consequences. Some of the subjects are already showing signs of severe psychological strain."

Benjamin waved her concerns away. "That's precisely the point, Rebecca. If they can't handle the pressure, they're useless to us. We're not here to coddle them; we're here to forge soldiers who can withstand anything."

He turned back to the pod, his gaze hardening. "Daniel was the first, but he won't be the last. We'll find a way to force their evolution… whatever it takes."

Rebecca swallowed, a sense of unease settling over her as she watched the determination in Benjamin's expression.

She knew he was willing to push the limits of ethics and science alike, but a part of her wondered how far he'd go—and what kind of creatures they might unleash if he succeeded.

***

Oil Field, Venezuela

The desolate landscape of the Venezuelan oil field stretched before Silas, a rusted skeleton of machinery and idle rigs standing as monuments to a once-thriving industry.

The cold wind carried the scent of crude oil, mingling with the dust and decay—a reminder of the country's neglected potential. Silas's gaze swept over the field, his mind calculating the resources and effort required to bring the place back to life.

Luna's voice, soft and steady, echoed in his head, breaking his train of thought.

[The field's current state is symptomatic of broader issues within the country. Maintenance has been neglected for over a decade, and most of the equipment here is obsolete, outdated by at least twenty years.]

"That's about what I expected," Silas muttered, his gaze hardening as he considered the task ahead.

"But with the right infrastructure and retraining programs, this place could become a massive revenue generator. Venezuela has one of the largest oil reserves in the world—it's time to use that potential wisely."

Beyond the oil sector, he knew that Venezuela's issues ran far deeper. The healthcare and education systems were in shambles, virtually inaccessible to the poor.

Medical care was so scarce that even minor health conditions required patients to fly out of the country—if they could afford it. Schools had fallen into disrepair, and the value of Venezuelan educational credentials had plummeted, making it nearly impossible for graduates to find employment outside the country.

A few workers in the vicinity glanced curiously in his direction, wondering what a young man like him was doing here. Silas ignored the stares, gesturing for the site manager, a weathered man with a face carved by years of hardship, to join him.

"What's your assessment of the field's viability?" Silas asked, his tone firm but respectful.

The manager scratched his head, eyeing the rusted equipment. "To be honest, sir, most of the rigs here haven't seen real use in years.

We don't have the parts or the technology to make them work smoothly again. Even when we do get them running, the yields are unpredictable."

Silas nodded thoughtfully. "That's all going to change. I'm bringing in new equipment and a team of engineers who specialize in revitalizing fields like this. But I'll need your team's support on the ground."

The manager's eyes widened slightly, a spark of hope flickering in his expression. "Of course, sir. It'll be good to see this place back in action."

As the manager walked away, Silas tapped his earpiece, speaking to Luna. "Luna, pull up the specs for the equipment we'll need. I want everything set up here as soon as possible."

[The advanced extraction equipment has already been inputted into the Atomic Printer, and it's in production.

However, upgrading the refineries will require more time and a skilled workforce. Most of the current personnel lack training in modern techniques.] Luna responded.

Silas nodded. "We'll handle the retraining. If we don't have enough local expertise, I'll figure something out.

Worst case, I can create an AGI to handle operations. But I want Venezuelans leading this effort wherever possible."

A faint beep signaled an incoming call. Silas answered, his gaze still fixed on the field.

President Yusmaorobis's voice crackled through. "Mr. Silas, I wanted to let you know the paperwork for the oil fields is finalized. Full operational control has been transferred to your new company."

"Thank you, Mr Yusmaorobis."

After the call, Silas took a long look at the barren expanse. This was more than an oil field—it was the foundation of his vision to help Venezuela rise from economic ruin.

He knew the path ahead wouldn't be easy, but he was determined. This was about more than profit; it was about creating a legacy for himself, his family, and the country.

"Luna, I want plans drafted for upgrading not only this field but also surrounding infrastructure. Roads, power, water supply—I want everything accounted for."

[On it.] Luna replied.

Silas felt a surge of purpose as he watched the workers begin their preparations, guided by his vision.

Soon, this place would be unrecognizable, transformed into a bustling hub of productivity. It was only the first step in a much larger journey—one that would see Venezuela rebuilt, one sector at a time.

"Let's get to work," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with determination. The task ahead was immense, but Silas knew he was ready to meet it head on

"Luna," he said, his voice quieter now, "I want you to start gathering data on the healthcare and education systems. We'll need a comprehensive strategy to address those sectors once we've stabilized the oil industry."

[Understood,] Luna replied. [Would you like me to prepare a preliminary report?]

"Yes, start with an overview of the biggest gaps—facilities, funding, personnel shortages, anything that contributes to the current state. I want to know exactly what we're up against."