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MidReal Story
Dating Sim
Scenario:Dating Sim:
You are a solider (Female) for the Galactic Force. You have 3 options, to stay behind on the ship, to fight (The next big battle on the planet), or to be in a secret spy mission.
You decide to stay behind, in the empty huge spacecraft. As you go through, you find the robot chef, Chef Plate, in his kitchen with the Cookcons.
Chef Plate is a young Chef, he takes care of the Ship while the crew is out. He's very nice, and shy, but mostly clumsy. The Cookcons are little robots of Cooking machines. They help out Chef Plate.
Create my version of this story
Annie "The Ace" Johnson
female. She is a skilled pilot for the Galactic Force. She is brave,focused,and determined. Recently promoted to Commander,she led her team to victory in many battles. She enjoys solitude and quiet moments,preferring not to draw attention to herself. While on a mission,she discovers a secret laboratory containing strange objects and learns about a spy operation within the Galactic Force.
Chef Plate
male. He is the young chef responsible for feeding the crew on board the spacecraft. He is clumsy,shy,and kindhearted. Plate struggles with his height and build,often tripping over his own feet. Despite his clumsiness,he manages to maintain order in the kitchen with the help of the Cookcons. He harbors a crush on a fellow crew member but finds himself awkwardly expressing it through strange gestures.
Cookcons
male. They are a team of small cooking robots that assist Chef Plate in preparing meals for the crew. They are diligent,curious,and helpful. The Cookcons are eager to learn and often experiment with new recipes. They provide comic relief with their childlike antics and ability to get covered in messes. Despite their size,they play a crucial role in maintaining the sanity of those on board during long missions.
I was a pilot for the Galactic Force.
Recently, I'd become Commander Johnson's right-hand woman.
I was called "The Ace."
I was the first person to receive this title since Captain Ormond, who died five years ago.
I'd led my team to victory in many battles.
I was a good pilot, and I knew it.
However, being good wasn't enough for me.
I wanted to be more than just good.
I wanted to be the best.
That was my goal, and I would achieve it.
As soon as possible, I would take the next step up.
But that wasn't now.
At the moment, I had three options:
1) Stay behind on the ship while the rest of the crew went out on their mission;
2) Go with them and fight in the next big battle on the planet;
3) Go on a secret spy mission.
The last option was something new for me.
I'd only recently learned about the espionage operations within the Galactic Force.
I walk down the dimly lit corridor of Deck C, my boots echoing against the metal floor.
The usual bustle of crew activity is replaced by an eerie stillness, broken only by the distant hum of the ship's engines.
I pause at a viewport, gazing out into the vast expanse of space.
Below us, the battle-scarred planet hangs like a bruised jewel, its surface marred by the scars of war.
Bright flashes of weapons fire punctuate the darkness, a reminder of the conflict that rages on its surface.
A Cookcon whirs past me, its mechanical arms laden with a stack of dirty plates from the mess hall.
It's a small reminder that I'm not entirely alone on this deserted deck.
I continue walking, my footsteps echoing off the cold metal walls.
The air is thick with the smell of disinfectant and machinery oil. I trail my fingers along the wall, feeling the cool metal beneath my touch.
The corridor stretches out before me, lined with doors leading to various cabins and storage rooms.
I pass by a few crew members hurrying to their duties, their faces set with determination.
We're all in this together, united in our mission to protect the galaxy from threats both within and without. The corridor eventually leads me to a set of sliding doors marked "Observation Deck."
I press the button, and the doors hiss open with a soft whoosh.
Beyond them lies a vast room filled with rows of chairs facing a massive viewport that stretches across one entire wall.
The viewport is at least 10 meters long and 5 meters tall, offering an unobstructed view of the planet below.
The Observation Deck is dimly lit, with soft blue lights illuminating the rows of chairs.
The air is quiet, broken only by the distant hum of the ship's engines.
As I enter, my boots click against the metal floor.
I walk down the center aisle, my eyes fixed on the viewport ahead.
The planet fills the entire view, its surface a mix of dark blues and grays.
The scars of battle are visible even from this distance – craters and trenches etched into its surface.
As I approach the front row, I notice a figure standing near the far end of the viewport.
It's a man, his back to me as he gazes out at the planet below.
I can't see his face, but I recognize his lanky frame and worn chef's coat.
It's Chef Plate, the head chef of our mess hall. Chef Plate is so absorbed in watching the battle below that he doesn't notice me approaching.
His hands are clasped behind his back, and his eyes are fixed intently on the planet's surface.
I can see him flinch every time an explosion lights up the darkness below.
A Cookcon wheels up beside him, beeping softly as it offers him a steaming cup of what looks like coffee.
I move closer, my footsteps deliberately slow and quiet on the metal floor.
The Cookcon spots me and beeps a soft greeting, causing Chef Plate to startle and nearly knock over his cup of coffee.
He catches it just in time, but some of the liquid splashes onto his already-stained coat.
His shoulders tense as he realizes he's no longer alone.
I pause a few steps behind him, watching his reflection in the viewport glass.
The planet's surface flashes again with another explosion, illuminating his worried expression.
I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should interrupt his thoughts.
Instead, I step forward and quietly say, "Chef Plate, it's time to choose our path."
Chef Plate jumps at my voice, knocking over his cup of coffee.
The hot liquid splashes across the metal floor as he spins around, eyes wide with surprise.
His worn coat catches on the nearby chair, causing him to stumble backward a few steps.
The Cookcon beeps in alarm, its metal arms waving wildly as it tries to catch the falling cup.
Chef Plate manages to steady himself against the viewport, his hand leaving a smudged print on the glass.
His face flushes red as he realizes it's me, and he quickly looks down at his feet, fidgeting with the stained sleeve of his coat.
"Ah, yes, Captain," he mutters, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engines.