Teste de Recrutamento
Redator, Tradutor e Revisor

Pedimos que antes de ler as regras, lembre-se que nosso site é apenas um hobby, mas que requer responsabilidades e cobranças por consequência.

Caso você seja uma pessoa que só tem estritamente o fim de semana livre, recomendamos que não participe da equipe. Tradução/Redação é algo que leva tempo e esforço e retirar seus únicos dias de lazer é inaceitável. O mesmo vale para caso você tenha uma faculdade muito puxada, não recomendamos a participação caso você viva ocupado por conta dela.

Se você possui problemas psicológicos e reconhece que os mesmos afetam sua produtividade em situações que terão que ser cobradas, também não é recomendado que faça o teste. Nós reconhecemos a importância da saúde mental, mas ao participar do teste você está assinando um termo de responsabilidade.

 Lembrando que, se você mora em outro fuso horário, deve nos informar os horários de disponibilidade conforme o horário de Brasília (GMT -03).

Ademais, outras dúvidas podem ser mandadas para nosso e-mail, sob o título de “Dúvida - Recrutamento 2018”. E-mails com outros títulos ou sobre um processo específico do recrutamento (Exemplo: Como traduzir tal termo), serão devidamente ignorados.

O limite para envio é:

【Redator】23:59 de 30 de setembro de 2018.

【Tradutor】23:59 de 23 de setembro de 2018. 

◆ Regras

Deve ser fluente em português brasileiro e no caso do teste de tradutor também em inglês, dominando a gramática e ortografia.

Deve ser maior de 13 anos.

No e-mail também deverá conter uma pequena ficha sobre você, basta copiar e colocar ela logo abaixo e mudar as informações. O que está preenchido é só um exemplo. (Observação: Certifique-se de mandar seu teste e a ficha sobre você. Ambos são importantes).

Não aceitamos qualquer membro com comportamento racista, homofóbico entre outras discriminações, independente de ideologia, gênero ou idade.

Os candidatos devem informar alguma rede social para contato dentro da equipe, com atraso de resposta de no máximo três dias. Membros que passarem no teste, mas forem ociosos dentro da equipe, serão expulsos sem aviso prévio.

▶ Você deverá enviar seu teste  para o email: [email protected], informando no assunto o cargo de sua escolha.

 Ficha e Exemplo

Nome】: KptMaster
Tempo livre】: Tenho as tardes de segunda à sexta livre.
Experiência】: Fui membro do blog Abyss Night durante 1 ano e meio. Tenho conhecimento de html básico; Também sei francês intermediário e desenho como hobby.
RPG Maker favorito】: .flow, Dungeoneer, Sabbath.

Por que você quer fazer parte da Equipe do Zero Corpse?
Eu gostaria de entrar em uma equipe onde eu realizasse algo parecido com o que fazia antes. E acho que o Zero Corpse é algo bem próximo disso.

Descreva o quanto você gosta de RPG Maker:
Sendo sincero, eu conheci sobre este nicho dos jogos a partir de vocês. Desde então, eu venho pesquisado um pouco sobre e achei interessante, ao ponto de ter uma boa quantidade deles em meu PC.

◆ Teste - Redator ◆

Elabore uma postagem sobre um desses temas: 1) RPG Maker, 2) um jogo de terror (independente de plataforma) ou 3) Terror.

O texto deve conter imagens e ser bem redigido. Não limitaremos quanto a conteúdo, mas tente manter alguma verossimilhança com as postagens que são encontradas no blog. 

Se você for mandar um arquivo anexado, dê preferência ao formato (.pdf), para preservar sua formatação.

◆ Teste - Revisor ◆

Este teste foi finalizado no dia 15/09/18 às 23:59:59. O resultado será revelado no final de todos os testes. Agradecemos a todos os participantes!

◆ Teste - Tradutor ◆

Não é necessário experiência com RPG ou decodificação de jogos, isso será passado pela equipe.

O texto trata-se de uma tradução, correção e adaptação de um texto em inglês. Será testado sua fluência, capacidade de substituir termos sem alterar drasticamente o sentido e conhecimento da gramática inglesa e portuguesa.

◆ Lost Boy ◆

He is the lost boy.

It has happened before. It's happened all around the world. It will happen again.

This Shiho knows. After all, it's what her parents died learning. It's what their employers want her to learn even more about. It's the reason she's been kept away from her sister but for the rarest of "treats," short visits where she is reminded how alone in the world she is, how definitely alone she would be if they were to do away with her.

Shiho has trouble sleeping, at nights.

She sits up late, in the dark, staring out the window. She sees him sometimes. The trail of fairy dust is unmistakeable when you know what you're looking for. Once, he came near enough to her window that she could see his distinctive grin.

Children tend to go missing when there's a lost boy about. Sometimes she wonders if her parents had any doing in the creation of this lost boy... Then she shakes her head. That's not how lost boys come to be.

J. M. Barrie had it mostly right. His book, Peter Pan, describes most of the process: a small child realises that he is expected to grow up one day, and, somehow, refuses. It's nearly never a girl, though lost boys have stolen away the occasional one. The other world, that of the fair people, senses this, and gifts the child with stardust wings. They are whisked away on sunset winds, lost in neverlands of their own invention.

The parents invariably grieve, but move on. The fair folk take pity. They erase their memories.
How many, Shiho wonders, how many lost boys never make it back?

She falls asleep with her window open. Sometimes she feels someone ruffle her hair.

Work is hard. Even harder when they push for results.

"Work harder," they say, throwing folders with news clippings inside. Another child has gone missing.

"Make it work!" They bark, pointing her at her test tubes, locking her in the lab. She is escorted whenever she leaves to collect samples, supplies.

She can't help but think the enterprise was doomed from the beginning. They want to harness the immortality of the lost boys. They don't realise that it comes with a price.

Sighing, she opens the top folder. The clipping is of a boy, young, no older than seven. He looks burly, prone to fighting, but is described merely as a food lover. Genta Kojima, she muses. His parents run a small restaurant in Beika. She'll have to head there later, collect more samples.

She runs her simulations on her computer as she peruses the other folders, ones she's seen before. She sips her coffee, black, as she rereads the details of Mitsuhiko Tsuburaya's disappearance, re-examines the photo of young Ayumi Yoshida, her headband a distinctive yellow. She pinches the bridge of her nose to stave off a headache.

What the black hearted organisation she works for doesn't seem to notice, is just how lonely these lost boys are. They can fly, they stop aging, but they are still children. They still have the urge to play, the need for... The need for...

Shiho wipes at the tears forming in her eyes. Not now, please not now...

Lost boys still need a family, just like she does.

"Akemi, big sis..." she mutters, her eyes misty. The images of their last meeting flashing through her mind. "I hope you know what you are doing..."

Shiho puts the folders down and puts the ingredients together according to the most promising simulation result. She tries to clear her mind of all thought, all emotion. By the end of the day she's made enough of the drug to test on some mice. It is invariably poison, but tonight... A mouse survives.

It is half its original size.

She had a theory, once upon a time.

No lost boy is lost without a trace. He may be forgotten, but his name will still appear on a register somewhere, there will still be missing posters. He will still have left his trace on his mother's womb.

When they first put her on this project, having ensured she would be educated and able enough to understand its scope, they'd lost trace of any lost boys in the area. It's hard when none of the scientists still working on the project are anywhere near being under the age of twenty. The human eye starts to lose the ability to see fey things at the end of puberty. Shiho's ability to still glimpse the stardust, the fey blessed, is unusually good for her age. Her fey sight has always been good. It's the reason why they picked her over her sister for this.

When they presented her the list of all the Tokyo children missing but not found in the time since her parents' deaths, she made quick work of establishing which one she thought would be the one.
It's unheard of for the fey to bless more than one boy in a century.

She wondered, once, what happens to the lost boys before. The main theory is that they end up gathering enough children to not want to leave their neverland anymore. She finds it sad.

Her theory about Tokyo's current lost boy is straightforward. He is the son of the acclaimed crime novelist Yusaku Kudo and the retired star Yukiko Fujimine. Unlike so many of the other distraught parents, they don't seem inclined to see their child's face in every crowd. They tour the world on extravagant vanity trips and holidays, barely ever at home, never waiting for word. Their silence whenever their missing son is mentioned is noticeably followed by a quick and cheerful topic change. Many presume this to be a sign of their grief, but Shiho suspects silent bewilderment.

The parents of children taken by a lost boy don't have the luxury of forgetfulness.

Of course, she doesn't tell her employers of her theory. She can't prove it without interviewing the Kudo couple, and she can't imagine an anguish worse than finding out that not only your beloved child is missing, but you are constantly forgetting them.

So her theory remains one of many secrets she keeps hidden from the organisation. It's only fair, they keep so many hidden from her.

The reason for her sister's death, however, was the one secret she could not live with them keeping.

Unfortunately, the fates seem to laugh at her. Her drug doesn't kill her, and the only place she can think to go is the original home of the lost boy she'd been glimpsing at night.

Of course, it was a stupid idea.

Her feet hurt. Her lungs hurt! Why? Oh, yes. She ran. She ran as fast as she could, before anyone could see her, could come looking. Her arms hurt from holding onto her overly large dress, her lab coat. She panicked, is still panicking. Her lungs heave as her hands grip onto the black metal of the gate. She can see stardust here, the fairy powder that a lost boy leaves whenever he visits home. It's often their first port of call when they leave their neverland, to remind themselves why they never want to grow up, grow old.

Her clothes are sodden. Her toes sting from both the pavement and the cold. She can feel her vision fading. All she can think about is that boy, his grin.
She curses him as she passes out.

When she wakes up, it is to the sound of a kettle boiling. A man's voice is singing an old rhyme, a child's ditty. She holds her breath, trying to figure out what to say. He's not one of them, he can't be. But he'll have questions, ones she knows she cannot answer.

"It's alright," he says, kindly. He puts a cup of tea on the table next to the couch she's on. "I can see the fairy dust."

And her eyes go wide as she stares at her hands. It's faint, but it's there. It's a different hue from that at the Kudo mansion's gate, one entirely her own.

"What..." She asks, her voice croaky.

"Hush, rest." He says. "We can play questions and answers later."

The man, it turns out, is called Hiroshi Agasa. He's a professor of engineering and a prolific inventor of popular toys for children. He is also, as it turns out, a former lost boy.

"I found a girl," he explains, when asked. He smiles fondly. "She made me want to grow up. We meet once every ten years, under the peach blossoms."

"Now, what about you?" He chuckles. "You are something different. Something new, aren't you?"

"I... I'm not sure..." Shiho replies. She does feel different. There's something in her chest that wasn't there before. "I..."

She lifts a hand to her face. There are tears there.

"I shall call you love..." He says, brushing the crumbs from their lunch off his lap. "But we can write it as sadness."

He stands to go to his work bench. He beckons her over.

"Come, I need to finish this prototype by tonight." He twists a screw into place. "I hope Shinichi loves this as much as he will love you!"

"Please," Shiho grabs his sleeve. There's a desperate fear clawing at her insides. Shinichi. That's the name of the lost boy. She can't... "Don't tell him about me. Not yet."

The professor deflates a little but nods. "Okay... You can tell him yourself. Now, what do you think of..."

Life with the professor becomes a new routine. He enrols her into the local school at her request, the better to avoid suspicion. It gives her time away from his natural cheeriness and constant tinkering. She's quickly growing fond of the man, more than she ever thought possible. For all his childlike earnestness, he's quickly becoming the father figure she never had in her life.

It makes her feel warm and fuzzy, a feeling she longed for when the organisation sent her as a child too far away for her sister to visit. By the time they were close enough to connect by any means other than letters or the phone, always spied on, never private, the joy of seeing her sister had been supplanted by concern and worry. She still cries over her sister's murder, feels bad in the rare moments where she feels she is forgetting her, but somehow the distractions the professor provides help.

So, she becomes adamant to help him. She assists him in his projects, using her knowledge of chemistry to enhance his when he designs rainbow coloured fireworks. She tempers his enthusiasm with much needed safeguards, if the hole in the garden wall is anything to go by. She frets over his health, noticing that he eats like a child and has his girth as reward, putting him at risk of diabetes and a poorly heart. She drags him to the school's family exercise sessions and monitors his diet. In return he encourages her to mingle and takes her and some of her new classmates on camping trips.

The names that come out of the other children's mouths, however, always remind her of who she is, who she was. The class she is in is the one Ayumi, Mitsuhiko and Genta attended. Their names feature high on the list of mentions when ghost stories are told around the camp fire.

Their disappearance clearly haunts them, even in class she can tell. She goes home to the professor's, and at night, unable to sleep, sits by the window and watches as a trail of stardust streaks across the sky.

The lost boy visits the professor. This she knows. He mentions him fondly, the boy that was his neighbour and is now a lost boy like him so long ago.

"Don't you want him to grow up?" she asks, once. "Wouldn't it be nice for him to return to his parents?"

The professor solemnly shakes his head. "It doesn't work like that." He says. He shrugs. "He's the one who needs to want it. If he doesn't, he doesn't."

She thinks about mentioning the grief hanging over her classmates, the children stolen away by this Shinichi that he's so fond of. She keeps quiet. She knows the Professor has stolen away his fair share of children back in his day.

She thinks the professor can hear her thoughts, however, because he is unusually solemn the rest of that evening. He's taken his latest project up to the observatory, the small extrusion on his custom-built house that leads out onto the roof. He comes to her side and kneels. His hands feel warm and large on her shoulders.

"I think it time you met Shinichi," he says.

The way he looks at her as he says this, she doesn't have the heart to say no.

The professor leads her up the stairs, and then pauses. He looks, for the first time, fearful.
"I..." His voice catches in his throat. "I'll be downstairs... If you need me. Please... Be patient with him."
She frowns.

It is not so long a wait, all things considered. She's normally sat for hours before she catches a glimpse of him. Tonight, the clock barely strikes ten when she spies his stardust across the blackness of the night above. The professor's house is nicely situated. She can make out a few constellations despite the light pollution coming off Beika-town.

"Professor!" Cries the voice of the boy. She's hidden in the frame of a round window, shadows obscuring her from view. She can see his face lit by the light off the street lamps. His distinctive grin is there, enchanting her. It's so cocky and carefree. "Are we playing hide and seek tonight? Professor!"

He's floating by the window pane, so close she feels that if the glass wasn't there, she could feel his breath on her skin. Goosebumps tingle along her forearms.

"Hm?" He says, apparently noticing something. He reaches for the handle on the window, pulls it open. Why did the professor install such a security risk? She suspects she knows. "Who... Who's there?"

He pops his head into the observatory, a spark of light forming from his stardust and dancing around the room. A small fairy, Shiho realises, her heart skipping a beat. Well, no use hiding anymore.

She steps off the ledge and crosses her arms. She keeps quiet, watching his reaction.

He frowns, then laughs. His feet find the ground and he brushes himself down. His appearance is incongruous, the outfit a good decade out of date. His Sunday best, she wagers: grey shorts, blue jacket, a red bowtie on a white shirt.
"You must be the Professor's friend. Hi!" He puts his hand out, ready to shake. "I'm Shinichi!"

"I know who you are, Kudo." She replies. He starts upon hearing his surname, clearly unused to it after having left if behind a good ten years ago now.

"Who..." He sounds nearly fearful at first, but his tone soon turns suspicious. "Who are you?"

"The professor named me Ai Haibara," Shiho replies. She brushes her hair behind her ear. She doesn't know what causes her to do it, but she continues, channelling every bit of her dark past into her next words. "But you can call me Sherry."

"You!" He starts, clearly stung by her words. "You're one of them!"

He jabs her in the chest, and the accusation stings her in turn. He's... He's aware of the organisation?

"What have you done with the Professor!" He shouts. There's fear in his eyes.

She's not sure what pushes her to do it. Is it the fairy dust now in her veins, or... did the organisation truly make her one of their own? Nevertheless, the words leave her lips, unforced, like venom from a viper.

"The Professor? He's not coming up here. Why don't you go downstairs and see for yourself..."
It's cruel, and childish, but she finds a secret delight in the terror on his face as he leaps down the staircase, calling out for the professor with every step. She realises that on some level, she's come to resent this lost boy for unwittingly stealing away so much of her life. She never got to live through her childhood years as a child, the organisation keen to put her to use; let alone enjoy as long a childhood as his.

She follows him down the stairs, at a more sedate pace. She feels remorse upon seeing Shinichi's bewildered face as the Professor strives to reassure him. The prank was unnecessarily cruel. He glares at her, realising he's been had, and becomes petulant.
"So, Professor," he asks, pouting. "What is she doing here?"

It's odd, really, how quickly Shinichi becomes a fixture in her new life. He's wary of her, but still insists on having her join in their play when he visits the Professor. She finds that he's surprisingly critical of the Professor's toys. Quick to test them, to find their best use, but also quick to discard them if they don't somehow meet his impossibly high standards. He doesn't ever smile at her, but she can see his grin appearing whenever she makes some sarcastic remark, sometimes chuckling in defeat if it is at his expense. [...]

Trecho de fanfic feito por Dagron