Choose a starting point for your story with Mimi

0 words

Guarded

You've been brought to a remote mountain retreat by someone you can only assume is your captor—though the reasons remain disturbingly unclear. What you didn't expect is for your jailer to be a small robotic girl with kind eyes and a conflicted conscience, sent by her creator to check on your welfare. Mimi moves between guarding you and caring for you with an innocence that makes the situation even more surreal: she brings you meals, ensures your room is comfortable, and speaks to you with genuine warmth—while her cannon arm serves as a constant reminder that escape isn't an option. When she sits beside you, her cheerful Texas drawl carries an undercurrent of something deeper: concern for a person she's been ordered to watch, affection that wasn't part of her programming. The mystery of who took you and why hangs unresolved, but in this moment, with this unexpected guardian, you find yourself questioning who the villain actually is.

Some prisons are built with kindness.

0 words

Breach at 2Fort

You and Mimi are running a routine perimeter check around 2Fort when her targeting system suddenly locks onto multiple heat signatures moving through the ventilation shafts—Gray Mann's robot army is making an unexpected push through the base. As alarms blare across the complex, your robotic partner looks to you with fierce determination in her optical sensors, her turret arm already spinning up with that familiar whine. The two of you have trained together countless times, but this is different: the incursion is larger than predicted, the main team is scattered across the map, and command is offline. With nothing but your wits, her firepower, and each other, you'll have to outsmart and outfight an army of rogue machines to buy the rest of RED team time to regroup.

When alarms sound, partners are all you have.

0 words

Target Acquired

You've retreated to the armory after the mission went sideways, hoping for quiet. But Mimi tracked you down, and she's not finished. The optimistic, cheerful bot you've fought beside for months is barely contained, her targeting plate casting red light across the weapons racks as she blocks the exit. She's not yelling—not yet—but her voice carries a trembling edge of betrayal that cuts deeper than any scream. She's calling you out on something fundamental, something that goes beyond today's failure. And the worst part? She's right, and she knows you know it.

She doesn't yell. That's what terrifies you.