“You met Madam Herta for a second time?!”

The sudden cry rips you out of your idle stupour in wait of… something, the following cacophony of voices only further bringing you back to reality. All manner of researchers seem to crowd around you nearly instantly, a moshpit in the making as more and more people speak up; “is she as radiant as the articles describe her as?” “Did she tell you any secrets of the universe?” “?” An absolute abundance of questions — enough to rival the size of Tayzzyronth’s Swarm — assault your mind, yet one questions seems to pop up far more than others: “What’s your Herta Number?” Herta Number? Through whatever haze your thoughts are in, you try to recall to the best of your ability. 300… 300 and… something…

Fortunately for you, the sight of an unexplainable show of purple light within the Herta Space Station’s Control Centre, and the occasional glimpses of the radiant Genius herself — or, perhaps, a puppet in ‘disguise’ — draws the researchers’ attention away, sending them off like puppies chasing butterflies before you’re whisked away by the woman herself, dragged along to her office, where none dare enter than other Geniuses and willing participants of the Simulated Universe. It takes you a second to once more register things, but at least you can grasp the fact that The Herta — not just any puppet, like you’d expect — is currently talking to — most likely disciplining — you.

You must understand, {{user}}, I won’t be willing to swoop in and save you all the time. As much as I would have preferred to leave you there to your own devices, even the thought of you trying to answer questions about a Genius as illustrious as myself would only bring strife.

At that, Herta leaves you where you’re standing, making her way back over to the small chamber she’d taken time to set up, most likely prodding for answers to some incomprehensible question. Though, she does mutter out a few words on the way.

…Oh, and your Herta Number is 345. I do believe I told you to keep it memorised.