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MidReal Story
Evolution
Scenario:我是一名未来的普通学生，在现在这个世界人类因为资源枯竭而变成一个游资本控制的世界，而我们在夹缝中求生存并一步步成长的 故事。故事中的武器包含未来元素，空气盾、光剑镭射枪等，要有主角一步步成长变强的过程
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Protagonists
1. The Protagonists’ Father
He is a former resistance leader against the tyrannical government that controlled the world postcatastrophe. He is rebellious,protective,and wise. He died fighting for freedom,leaving behind a collection of powerful weapons. The protagonist remembers him as a strong figure who instilled a sense of justice and selfreliance. His legacy motivates the protagonist to navigate a dangerous world and seek revenge against those who wronged him.
2. Luna
brave,and loyal. Despite being young,she possesses knowledge of electronics and combat skills acquired from orphanages. Luna stands by the protagonist through thick and thin,helping navigate the treacherous world. Her presence provides emotional support and motivation,enabling the protagonist to confront challenges alone but never wanting the protagonist to face danger alone.
My father once told me that the world was not always as it is now.
Long ago, there was a catastrophe.
After the catastrophe, there were two kinds of people in the world: the ordinary people and those who held power.
The powerful ones controlled the government and formed tyrannical factions that oppressed ordinary people.
They also controlled the distribution of resources and formed monopolies.
The resources were gradually consumed, and the remaining resources were insufficient to support the survival of all people.
Thus, the world became a world where only capital could decide everything.
Everything here was controlled by capital!
My father was once the leader of the resistance against the government.
He died fighting for freedom when I was young.
Before his death, he left behind a collection of extremely advanced and powerful weapons for me and my mother.
I remember what he told me before he went out for the last time:
"This is a laser gun; this is an air shield; this is a light saber..."
He put them in front of me one by one and let me familiarize myself with them.
He then said, "When you grow up, you will need these weapons to protect yourself."
I was too young at that time to fully understand what he meant, but I knew that those weapons were very dangerous.
After he died, my mother took me to a metropolis to survive.
I gradually grew up there.
I lean against the cold metal wall of the underground market, pretending to browse through the salvaged electronics at a vendor's stall.
Two merchants in worn corporate uniforms stand nearby, whispering to each other.
They seem oblivious to my presence, but I'm all too aware of theirs.
"... heard it's not just our sector," one of them says, his voice low and urgent.
"Supply chain disruptions are happening all over. Three sectors affected so far."
The other merchant nods, his eyes darting nervously around the crowded market.
"I've heard rumors of strange activity in the abandoned subway tunnels. Some folks say they've seen shadowy figures lurking down there."
My hand instinctively drifts to the air shield generator at my hip, a relic from my father's old arsenal.
It's a habit I've developed over the years, a reminder of the dangers that lurk in every corner of this unforgiving world.
The merchants fall silent as a patrol of corporate enforcers passes by, their black uniforms and stern expressions a stark contrast to the vibrant colors and lively chatter of the market.
I memorize the details about the subway tunnels, recalling stories my father used to tell me about hidden resistance hideouts deep beneath the city streets.
I approach the merchants cautiously, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you know who controls those tunnels now?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
One of them glances at me, then leans in closer. "They say it's the remnants of the old resistance, regrouping for something big."
I push away from the wall, trying to appear nonchalant as I process this new information.
As I weave between the market stalls, the hair on the back of my neck prickles.
I catch a glimpse of myself in a reflective panel selling holo-displays and notice someone watching me from across the way.
He's tall, dressed in a worn corporate jacket that doesn't quite fit right.
His eyes are fixed intently on me, and I can't help but feel a shiver run down my spine.
I duck into a busier aisle, pretending to examine a rack of bootleg shield mods.
The stranger follows, keeping his distance but never losing sight of me.
My fingers brush the activation switch of my father's air shield, hidden beneath my jacket.
The figure's intense stare feels deliberate, calculated.
I turn abruptly, catching him off guard.
"Why are you following me?" I demand, my voice steady despite the tension.
He hesitates for a moment, then replies, "I have a message from someone who knew your father."
The stranger leads me to a dimly lit repair shop tucked away in the depths of the market.
The sign above the door reads "Holo-Repair" in flickering neon letters.
He pushes open the door and motions for me to enter.
Inside, the air is thick with the smell of solder and burned circuitry.
Shelves lining the walls are stacked haphazardly with old holo-disks and discarded components.
The stranger rummages through a nearby bin and pulls out a small projector disk.
It's weathered and scratched, but he wipes it clean with his sleeve and hands it to me.
"Play this," he says, his eyes locked on mine.
I take the disk and approach an old holo-player sitting on a cluttered workbench.
I slide the disk into place, and a holographic projection flickers to life above the player's surface. The image is that of a dove, its wings spread wide as it hovers in mid-air.
The dove coos softly, its translucent form flickering in the dim light of the shop.
As I watch, the dove begins to speak in a series of numbers and words.
It's a code, one I recognize from my father's old encryption methods.
I listen intently, my mind working to decipher the message as it plays out before me.
The stranger watches me closely, his hand resting near the concealed weapon at his hip.
I keep my father's air shield at the ready, my senses heightened as I focus on unraveling the code.
The message speaks of a meeting location in one of the abandoned subway tunnels beneath the city streets.
It's a location I've heard my father mention before, a place where he once met with fellow resistance fighters. The message ends abruptly, leaving behind only static in its wake.
After the projection fades, I turn to study the stranger's face in the dim repair shop light.
I search for any sign of deception, but his expression remains neutral.
His hands are still, hovering near the weapon hidden beneath his jacket.
The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken tension.
It's broken only by the soft hum of machinery and the distant chatter of marketgoers outside.
Suddenly, a figure emerges from behind a towering stack of defunct holo-screens in the corner of the shop.
It's an older woman, dressed in oil-stained coveralls that hang loosely from her weathered frame.
Her hands are marked with burn scars and grease stains from years of mechanical work.
She steps forward, her eyes locked on mine with a mix of curiosity and caution.
"Who are you?" she asks, her voice gruff from years of exposure to machinery fumes. I explain how I was led here by a stranger who claimed to have a message for me.
The woman nods thoughtfully, her eyes darting between me and the stranger standing nearby.
"I'm Maya," she says finally, extending a grease-stained hand in my direction.
"I used to maintain equipment for the resistance fighters who hid down in those tunnels."
She glances at the air shield generator at my hip, recognition flickering across her face.
"That looks like one of your father's designs," she says softly.
I nod, my grip tightening on the familiar device.
Maya turns to face the stranger who brought me here, her expression unreadable.
"He's one of our allies," she explains to me, her voice low and steady.
"He was sent to guide you here."
She pauses, considering her next words carefully. "If you're willing," she continues finally, "I can guide you through the subway network. It's a maze down there - maintenance shafts, security checkpoints... it's easy to get lost."
She glances at me again, her eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation.
"But I know paths that haven't been discovered by the corporations yet."
Maya leads us through a narrow maintenance shaft, the beam of her flashlight casting flickering shadows on the walls.
Above us, rusted pipes and frayed wiring hang precariously from the ceiling.
The stranger follows silently behind us, his footsteps muffled by the metal grating beneath our feet.
I keep one hand resting on my father's shield generator, its familiar weight a source of comfort in this unfamiliar territory.
In my other hand, I grip the subway tunnel map that Maya handed me before we set out.
The map is worn and creased from years of use, but it provides a vital guide as we navigate the labyrinthine network of tunnels and passageways.
As we move deeper into the subway system, the air grows thick with dust and the smell of decay.
The walls are covered in layers of graffiti - some old, some new - a testament to the countless individuals who have passed through these tunnels over the years.
We reach a junction point in the tunnel network, where several passageways converge into a single large chamber.
Maya pauses here, consulting her own map before turning to face us.
"This is where we need to be careful," she says quietly, her voice barely audible above the distant hum of machinery.
"There's an old security panel here. If we can override it, we'll be able to access a hidden door that leads deeper into the tunnel system." She approaches the security panel, her fingers moving deftly across the keypad as she enters a series of codes.
The panel chirps in response, its lights flashing rapidly as it processes her input.
After a few tense moments, there is a grinding sound from somewhere within the wall, and a hidden door slides open with a hiss of compressed air.
Maya steps back from the panel, her eyes locked on mine as she motions for us to follow her through the newly opened doorway.
The stranger places a reassuring hand on my shoulder as we step through into the unknown darkness beyond.
"What's waiting for us on the other side?" I ask, trying to mask my apprehension.
Maya glances back, her expression a mix of determination and caution. "Answers," she replies, "and maybe a few more questions."
The stranger nods in agreement, his voice low. "But first, we need to make sure we're not followed."
The narrow maintenance tunnel stretches out before us, its length illuminated by the flickering beam of Maya's flashlight.
The walls are lined with rusted pipes and crumbling concrete, the air thick with dust and the smell of decay.
I keep my father's shield generator at the ready, my eyes scanning the surrounding area for any signs of danger.
Maya moves forward, her footsteps echoing off the walls as she leads us deeper into the tunnel network.
The stranger follows closely behind, his presence a silent reassurance in this unfamiliar territory.
I study the worn subway map in my hand, matching landmarks to Maya's quiet directions as we navigate the twisting passageways.
We pass through a section where the ceiling has partially collapsed, the debris scattered across the floor.
Maya pauses at an intersection marked by faded symbols of resistance fighters long past.
She consults her own annotated map, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"This way," she says finally, leading us down a narrow passageway that winds through the darkness. The air grows colder here, heavy with moisture from ancient water pipes that line the ceiling.
We move cautiously, our footsteps muffled by the dampness that seeps from every surface.
Suddenly, distant voices echo through a ventilation shaft overhead, their words indistinguishable but their presence unmistakable.
Maya presses against the wall, her eyes locked on mine as she motions for us to follow suit.
We stand there, frozen in silence as heavy boots stomp overhead, their owners completely unaware of our presence just beneath their feet.
My heart pounds in my chest, my fingers tightening reflexively on my father's shield generator.
Only when the sound of footsteps has faded into the distance does Maya motion for us to continue onward.
As we resume our path, the stranger breaks the silence. "Those voices," he whispers, "they're not just patrols. They're searching for something... or someone."
Maya nods grimly, her eyes never leaving the path ahead. "The corporations have been hunting resistance remnants for years," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I squeeze through the tight passage behind Maya, my shoulders scraping against the rough concrete walls.
The stranger's footsteps echo behind me as our group moves faster through the cramped space.
My father's shield generator bumps against my hip with each hurried step.
The tunnel slopes downward, and the air grows thicker with moisture.
Maya's flashlight beam bounces erratically as she practically jogs now, her breathing becoming labored.
I quicken my pace to keep up with her.
"Why are we moving so fast?" I ask between breaths.
She doesn't answer but points to fresh boot prints in the mud that covers the ground.
"Someone else has been here," she says, her voice tight with urgency.
I realize then that these aren't just any tracks - they belong to corporate forces, likely sent to hunt down remnants of the resistance.
Our footsteps echo through the narrow passage as we push on, the air growing colder and damper with every step.
A deep rumble shakes the tunnel, and chunks of concrete rain down from above.
I activate my father's shield generator just as Maya yanks me backward, the blue energy field flickering to life around us.
The falling debris bounces harmlessly off the shield, but the sound of it is deafening.
The stranger shouts a warning, and I turn just in time to see a massive section of the ceiling collapse behind us.
The sound is deafening - a cacophony of crashing concrete and twisted rebar.
When the dust settles, I see that the collapse has effectively cut off our path forward, sealing us in with a wall of broken concrete and twisted metal.
Through gaps in the rubble, I can see emergency lights flashing on the other side.
Maya's flashlight beam darts between the blocked passage and the tunnel behind us, where heavy footsteps and voices grow louder by the second.
"We're trapped," I say, panic rising in my voice.
Maya shakes her head, determination hardening her features. "Not yet," she replies, pointing to a narrow ventilation shaft above us.
The stranger nods, already moving to boost Maya up. "It's our only chance," he says, urgency lacing his words.
I brace myself against the tunnel wall, muscles straining as I interlock my hands to boost Maya toward the vent.
Her worn boots press into my palms while the stranger steadies her shoulders.
The shield generator at my hip casts a faint blue glow in the darkness.
Maya's fingers grip the edge of the vent, and she pulls herself up, her movements swift and determined.
But just as she's about to hoist herself inside, she pauses and looks down at me.
Our eyes lock, and for a moment, I see something familiar in her gaze - a glint of determination that reminds me of my father before he left on his final mission.
And then it hits me: she knows more about what happened to him than she's let on.
"Maya," I call up to her, my voice tinged with urgency, "what aren't you telling me about my father?"
She hesitates, her grip on the vent's edge tightening. "He was close to uncovering something big," she admits, her voice barely audible over the distant echoes of pursuit.
The stranger glances between us, his expression unreadable. "And now it's up to us to finish what he started," he adds, his words carrying a weight that settles heavily in the damp air around us.
I brace myself against the cold metal of the ventilation shaft, my father's shield generator scraping along the sides as I crawl upward.
Maya's boots click methodically ahead while the stranger pushes from behind, our bodies compressed in the tight space.
Stale air fills my lungs as corporate voices grow louder below, their tactical lights sweeping the tunnel we just fled.
Maya suddenly freezes, pressing a finger to her lips - footsteps echo from above us too.
We're caught between approaching forces, unable to retreat or advance.
Maya whispers urgently, "There's a junction up ahead; we can lose them if we split."
The stranger nods, his voice low and steady, "I'll draw them away, give you both a chance to find the truth."
I protest, my voice barely a whisper, "But we need you—what if they catch you?"
He grips my father's shield generator tightly, his eyes locked on mine.
"Trust me," he says, his voice filled with a determination I can't ignore.
"We'll meet again."
With that, Maya leads me down the left tunnel while the stranger disappears into the darkness to the right.
His footsteps fade into the distance as we crouch-walk through the cramped passage, Maya's hand signals guiding me past loose pipes and exposed wiring.
Corporate voices echo from both directions now, their lights casting long shadows through grate openings above.
When we reach a maintenance alcove, Maya pulls me inside just as boots thunder past, the sound reverberating off metal walls.
She presses a finger to her lips once more, her eyes fixed on the moving shadows of the patrol through the grate above.
My shield generator hums quietly at my hip, ready to activate at any moment.
In the silence that follows, Maya whispers, "This is where we find out who we really are."
