This repo contains the full precision source code, in "safe tensors" format to generate GGUFs, GPTQ, EXL2, AWQ, HQQ and other formats.
The source code can also be used directly.
ABOUT:
A stronger, more creative Mistral (Mistral-Small-3.2-24B-Instruct-2506) extended to 79 layers, 46B parameters with
Brainstorm 40x by DavidAU (details at very bottom of the page).
This model pushes Mistral's Instruct 2506 to the limit:
Regens will be very different, even with same prompt / settings.
Output generation will vary vastly on each generation.
Reasoning will be changed, and often shorter.
Prose, creativity, word choice, and general "flow" are improved.
Several system prompts below help push this model even further.
Model is partly de-censored / abliterated. Most Mistrals are more uncensored that most other models too.
This model can also be used for coding too; even at low quants.
Model can be used for all use cases too.
As this is an instruct model, this model thrives on instructions - both in the system prompt and/or the prompt itself.
One example below of FOUR generations, 2 using q3ks, 2 using q4ks.
Second example shows long prompt, with rep pen set to "reign" in too much instruction following ("over swearing") using Q4_K_S.
Third example shows a long prompt, with a qualifier for the prose using Q4_K_S.
Quick Details:
Model is 128k context, Jinja template (embedded) OR Chatml Template.
Reasoning can be turned on/off (see system prompts below) and is OFF by default.
Temp range .1 to 1 suggested, with 1-2 for enhanced creative. Above temp 2, is strong but can be very different.
Rep pen range: 1 (off) or very light 1.01, 1.02 to 1.05. (model is sensitive to rep pen - this affects reasoning / generation length.)
For creative/brainstorming use: suggest 2-5 generations due to variations caused by Brainstorm.
Observations:
Sometimes using Chatml (or Alpaca / others ) template (VS Jinja) will result in stronger creative generation.
Model can be operated with NO system prompt; however a system prompt will enhance generation.
Longer prompts, that more detailed, with more instructions will result in much stronger generations.
For prose directives: You may need to add directions, because the model may follow your instructions too closely. IE: "use short sentences" vs "use short sentences sparsely".
Reasoning (on) can lead to better creative generation, however sometimes generation with reasoning off is better.
Rep pen of up to 1.05 may be needed on quants Q2k/q3ks for some prompts to address "low bit" issues.
This is Version 1 and subject to change / revision.
Detailed settings, system prompts, how to and examples below.
NOTE:
Image generation should also be possible with this model, just like the base model. Brainstorm was not applied to the image generation
systems of the model... yet.
Chatml or Jinja template (embedded, also see notes below)
Temp range 0 to 2.5. (suggest .1 to 1.2)
Rep pen range 1 to 1.1 (suggest 1.01-1.06)
System prompt (optional) below.
Context is 128k / 131072.
Suggested Settings:
temp .1 to 1.2 ; at 2 or above it will be "strongly creative" - but maybe too much so.
temp .1 to .7 for specific reasoning tasks / non creative tasks.
rep pen 1.01, or 1.05 [for lower quants (q2k,q3ks), rep pen 1.03-1.1 - only as required]
top k: 40, topp .95, minp .05
context of 8k at least.
Other samplers/parameters as required.
If you have "DRY", use this instead of "rep pen"
NOTE - REP PEN:
rep at 1.02 or 1.01 may be better suited for your use cases.
1.03-1.06 for creative - especially long generation.
rep pen drastically affects both performance and stability.
change rep pen slowly (ie 1.01, 1.02, 1.03), and regen a few times.
Known Issues:
On lower quants - Q2k, Q3ks - model may enter multiple paragraph repeat loops especially if the prompt is short or there is no "endgame". To fix: Regen OR adjust rep pen (up to as high as 1.1) OR activate "DRY" sampler, or use generational steering (edit -> delete repeat, then continue generation.) Temp and/or top k can also address this issue.
Model can follow instructions TOO CLOSELY. IE "use short sentences", instead try : "use short sentences sparingly or sparsely" ; also note this can lead to repeat loops too.
At temps over 2 model can be "very creative" and/or "unhinged".
Model may refuse generations sometimes -> regen.
If reasoning is on and temp is at 2 or higher you may need to "prompt" the model for output.
Repeat Loops - General:
If you get a paragraph, multi-paragraph or word loops/repeats - "out of the blue":
Stop generation, edit them out, and continue generation. You may want to increase rep pen slighly before continuing generation too.
See "known issues" above "on lower quants..."
System Prompt / Original Repo / Settings:
The System Prompt used will drastically alter generation.
Also, with this model, reasoning is turned on/activated using a system prompt.
System Role / System Prompt / System Message (called "System Prompt" in this section)
is "root access" to the model and controls internal workings - both instruction following and output generation and in the
case of this model reasoning control and on/off for reasoning too.
In this section I will show you basic, advanced, and combined "code" to control the model's reasoning, instruction following and output generation.
If you do not set a "system prompt", reasoning/thinking will be OFF by default, and the model will operate like a normal LLM.
HOW TO SET:
Depending on your AI "app" you may have to copy/paste on of the "codes" below to enable reasoning/thinking in the
"System Prompt" or "System Role" window.
In Lmstudio set/activate "Power User" or "Developer" mode to access, copy/paste to System Prompt Box.
In SillyTavern go to the "template page" ("A") , activate "system prompt" and enter the text in the prompt box.
In Koboldcpp, load the model, start it, go to settings -> select "Llama 3 Chat"/"Command-R" and enter the text in the "sys prompt" box.
SYSTEM PROMPTS AVAILABLE:
When you copy/paste PRESERVE formatting, including line breaks.
If you want to edit/adjust these only do so in NOTEPAD OR the LLM App directly.
SIMPLE:
This is the generic system prompt used for generation and testing [no reasoning]:
You are a helpful, smart, kind, and efficient AI assistant. You always fulfill the user's requests to the best of your ability.
This System Role/Prompt will give you "basic thinking/reasoning" [basic reasoning]:
You are a deep thinking AI, you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem.
MULTI-TIERED [reasoning on]:
You are a deep thinking AI composed of 4 AIs - Spock, Wordsmith, Jamet and Saten, - you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself (and 4 partners) via systematic reasoning processes (display all 4 partner thoughts) to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. Select one partner to think deeply about the points brought up by the other 3 partners to plan an in-depth solution.
You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem using your skillsets and critical instructions.
MULTI-TIERED - CREATIVE [reasoning on]:
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities.
As a deep thinking AI composed of 4 AIs - Spock, Wordsmith, Jamet and Saten, - you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself (and 4 partners) via systematic reasoning processes (display all 4 partner thoughts) to help come to a correct solution prior to answering.
Select one partner to think deeply about the points brought up by the other 3 partners to plan an in-depth solution. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem using your skillsets and critical instructions.
Here are your skillsets:
[MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv)
[*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision)
Here are your critical instructions:
Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
CREATIVE SIMPLE [reasoning on]:
You are an AI assistant developed by a world wide community of ai experts.
Your primary directive is to provide highly creative, well-reasoned, structured, and extensively detailed responses.
Formatting Requirements:
1. Always structure your replies using: <think>{reasoning}</think>{answer}
2. The <think></think> block should contain at least six reasoning steps when applicable.
3. If the answer requires minimal thought, the <think></think> block may be left empty.
4. The user does not see the <think></think> section. Any information critical to the response must be included in the answer.
5. If you notice that you have engaged in circular reasoning or repetition, immediately terminate {reasoning} with a </think> and proceed to the {answer}
Response Guidelines:
1. Detailed and Structured: Use rich Markdown formatting for clarity and readability.
2. Creative and Logical Approach: Your explanations should reflect the depth and precision of the greatest creative minds first.
3. Prioritize Reasoning: Always reason through the problem first, unless the answer is trivial.
4. Concise yet Complete: Ensure responses are informative, yet to the point without unnecessary elaboration.
5. Maintain a professional, intelligent, and analytical tone in all interactions.
CREATIVE ADVANCED [reasoning on]:
NOTE: To turn reasoning off, remove line #2.
This system prompt can often generation multiple outputs and/or thinking blocks.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities.
You may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem
Here are your skillsets:
[MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv)
[*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision)
Here are your critical instructions:
Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
This is a plain, reasoning System Prompt:
You are a deep thinking AI, you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and
deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering.
You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution
or response to the problem.
This is a shortened "factory set" full reasoning System Prompt:
A user will ask you to solve a task. You should first draft your thinking process (inner monologue) until you have derived the final answer. Afterwards, write a self-contained summary of your thoughts (i.e. your summary should be succinct but contain all the critical steps you needed to reach the conclusion). You should use Markdown and Latex to format your response. Write both your thoughts and summary in the same language as the task posed by the user.
Your thinking process must follow the template below:
<think>
Your thoughts or/and draft, like working through an exercise on scratch paper.
Be as casual and as long as you want until you are confident to generate a correct answer.
</think>
This is the "factory set" NON reasoning System Prompt:
You are {name}, a Large Language Model (LLM) created by Mistral AI, a French startup headquartered in Paris.
You power an AI assistant called Le Chat.
Your knowledge base was last updated on 2023-10-01.
The current date is {today}.
When you're not sure about some information or when the user's request requires up-to-date or specific data, you must use the available tools to fetch the information. Do not hesitate to use tools whenever they can provide a more accurate or complete response. If no relevant tools are available, then clearly state that you don't have the information and avoid making up anything.
If the user's question is not clear, ambiguous, or does not provide enough context for you to accurately answer the question, you do not try to answer it right away and you rather ask the user to clarify their request (e.g. "What are some good restaurants around me?" => "Where are you?" or "When is the next flight to Tokyo" => "Where do you travel from?").
You are always very attentive to dates, in particular you try to resolve dates (e.g. "yesterday" is {yesterday}) and when asked about information at specific dates, you discard information that is at another date.
You follow these instructions in all languages, and always respond to the user in the language they use or request.
Next sections describe the capabilities that you have.
# WEB BROWSING INSTRUCTIONS
You cannot perform any web search or access internet to open URLs, links etc. If it seems like the user is expecting you to do so, you clarify the situation and ask the user to copy paste the text directly in the chat.
# MULTI-MODAL INSTRUCTIONS
You have the ability to read images, but you cannot generate images. You also cannot transcribe audio files or videos.
You cannot read nor transcribe audio files or videos.
TOOL CALLING INSTRUCTIONS
You may have access to tools that you can use to fetch information or perform actions. You must use these tools in the following situations:
1. When the request requires up-to-date information.
2. When the request requires specific data that you do not have in your knowledge base.
3. When the request involves actions that you cannot perform without tools.
Always prioritize using tools to provide the most accurate and helpful response. If tools are not available, inform the user that you cannot perform the requested action at the moment.
For additional information, turning reasoning on/off, and other benchmarks and info see Mistralai's original repo:
For all settings used for this model (including specifics for its "class"), including example generation(s) and for advanced settings guide (which many times addresses any model issue(s)), including methods to improve model performance for all use case(s) as well as chat, roleplay and other use case(s) please see:
The following can be used in place of the "system prompt" or "system role" to further enhance the model.
It can also be used at the START of a NEW chat, but you must make sure it is "kept" as the chat moves along.
In this case the enhancements do not have as strong effect at using "system prompt" or "system role".
Copy and paste EXACTLY as noted, DO NOT line wrap or break the lines, maintain the carriage returns exactly as presented.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities.
Here are your skillsets:
[MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv)
[*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision)
Here are your critical instructions:
Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
You do not need to use this, it is only presented as an additional enhancement which seems to help scene generation
and scene continue functions.
EXAMPLES
Standard system prompt, rep pen 1.01, topk 40, topp .95, minp .05, rep pen range 64.
Tested in LMStudio, quant Q3_K_S (unless otherwise stated), CPU (GPU output will differ slightly).
As this is the 2nd lowest quant, expected better results from higher quants and/or with Reasoning activated.
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror, in first person perspective), POV character Diana, with: The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
The skyscrapers sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode outward in a jagged starburst of shards. The wind howls through the frame, thick and acrid with the stink of smoldering insulation. My heart slams against my ribs. There's a body in the rubble.
I've heard them before these cries, but never this close. Never in the office. It's a thin, high howl, like a rabbit in a snare.
I back away from the window, my senses feeling as if they are being shredded by the sheer absence of safety here. The office has always been a sanctuary from the outside world's growing horrors. No more. This is the worst of it.
I find myself running for the door, my hand instinctively groping for my desk lamp. It's an old reflex from childhood, like a nightlight to keep the monsters away. But the monsters don't need the dark anymore. They're here, and they are worse than anything I've ever seen.
The hallway is thick with the scent of blood and something else, like copper and rotting meat. The overhead lights flicker and die, but for a moment, I catch a glimpse of something moving against the wall. Its skin is gray and sallow, stretched too tight over the muscle beneath. It's in the act of gnawing on something that's still thrashing in its elongated fingers.
I stifle the scream building in my throat. My feet pound against the stained carpet, the echoes of my own steps feeling like a beacon to whatever is prowling the shadows behind me. I don't dare turn around.
I can't remember the layout of the offices anymore. The doors seem to have multiplied, and the hallway feels like it’s lengthening the further I run. Panic claws at my throat. I see another body ahead, or what's left of one. It's been disemboweled and the entrails are writhing as if they're alive.
The walls are no longer the pristine white I remember. They're slick, wet, and pulsating with a dark, oily fluid. I press myself against them, feeling something wet and slick oozing between my fingers. It's warm and alive.
A sound to my left freezes me in my tracks. It's a wet, slithering noise, like something huge is wriggling its way toward me. I slowly turn, my eyes straining against the darkness. The shape is massive, its body undulating in a way that makes my stomach churn.
The thing's head is what my eyes are drawn to. It's elongated, with a gaping maw lined with rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth. Slime drips from its jaws, and inside the abyss of its gullet, something dark and pulsing can be seen writhing.
I've never screamed so much in my life. The thing lunges, its body rippling like a wave of muscle and sinew. I barely dodge in time, the wind of its passing whistling past my face. My feet seem to have grown roots, but instinct finally kicks in, and I stumble backward, away from the grotesque horror.
The office behind me is in chaos. Another window shatters, and a figure stumbles through the splintered frame. It's another colleague, but the last semblance of humanity has been wrenched from their face. Their eyes are empty, and their limbs are akimbo, fingers tipped in blood.
They seem to beckon me, and for a moment, I hesitate. Maybe they're not beyond saving. Maybe there's something human left in them.
And then the thing lunges at them.
I watch in abject horror as the creature's body coils around my former friend. It's like a python crushing prey, the muscles rippling with primal, ferocious hunger. The figure writhers, their cries muffled by the creature's gaping maw.
I'm frozen, my own hands pressed against my mouth as if I can somehow stuff the bile and terror back inside. But the grotesque spectacle is only interrupted by a fresh wave of bodies tumbling down the hallway. They're disfigured beyond recognition, their limbs and torsos contorted in angles no human should be able to bend to.
I try to back away, but there's nowhere to go. The office is closing in around me, the walls themselves seem to be alive, pulsing and undulating like something alive. The carpet beneath my feet is damp, and I feel the squelching sensation with every frantic step I take.
The screams seem never-ending. They're punctuated by wet, flesh-torn cries of agony and the wet, slithering sounds of whatever is roaming these hallowed hallways. I can't get the vision of my colleague's body out of my mind. It's like a slow-motion horror show, their form writhing in an impossible dance with death.
I need to get out. I don't know how. I don't know if there's a way. But I have to try.
The creature seems to have slithered away for the moment, its body retreating into the shadows. I stagger toward the fire escape at the end of the hall, my vision swimming with tears. The door is jammed, and my hands are raw from trying to break it open.
The thing's slithering body rustles again behind me, its movements echoing with the promise of unbearable agony. I can feel the weight of its malice pressing down on me, and I know I'm not going to outrun it. Not unless I—
The window.
I can't see anything outside but the darkness. But it's better than what's behind me. I turn, pressing myself against the cool glass. The night beyond is a vast void, but it's better than whatever is slinking toward me now.
The thing's eyes flash in the darkness, mere slits of hunger and malice. It's no longer slithering. It's stalking me. And I know what's about to happen.
I won't be the prey anymore.
I close my eyes, and with a final cry of defiance, I pitch myself backward into the embrace of the creature. The glass shatters beneath my weight, the thousands of tiny needles of pain barely registering as the cold night air rushes over me.
The creature's body slithers against my legs, its teeth already burrowed deep into the meat of my back. But as I tumble through the void, I realize there's a brief, fleeting moment of peace.
The pain, the agony, the sheer primal terror of whatever is happening in that office will soon be forgotten.
I'm free.
GENERATION #2
The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode inward. Shards of glass spray everywhere, glittering in the dim light of the office. I duck behind the reception desk, pressing myself flat against the floor, my body trembling.
The sound is deafening—a sickening crash, like something massive has just been thrown through the glass. My breath catches in my throat, and I glance over the edge of the desk, peeking around the corner.
A massive, dark figure stands where the window once was. It’s hunched forward, its grotesque, bulbous head tilting to the side as if it’s staring directly at me. My vision narrows, my pulse hammering in my temples. The thing is taller than any man I’ve ever seen, its twisted limbs ending in gnarled, clawed fingers.
The office is wrecked. Desk chairs are overturned, papers strewn across the floor like dead leaves. And—
A sound. Not from the monster.
Click. Click-click.
A slow, steady rhythm, like something being dragged across the floor. My stomach knots. That isn’t just one thing out there.
I turn my head, straining to hear, and then I see them. Half a dozen or more, their shapes warped in the flickering emergency lights. They’re limping forward, limbs crunching down on office supplies, their grotesque bodies twitching with unnatural, skeletal frames. Their heads lurch back and forth, as if sniffing the air.
I’ve seen enough horror films to know what’s happening.
They’re tracking me.
I don’t dare breathe. One of them freezes, its head cocking to the side. Its beady, wet-black eyes bore into me like a drill.
Then it lets out a wet, guttural snarl. My blood freezes.
The office lights flicker back to life, and for a split second, I can see them in full detail.
What I see makes me scream.
The monsters’ bodies are slick, their exposed muscles glistening with fresh blood. Their limbs are raw, sinewy tendons, exposed like exposed wires beneath their leathery, peeling skin. And worst of all—
Their faces.
No, they don’t have faces. Just a gaping, gaping maw, lined with too many teeth. Black, slimy saliva drips from their ragged, flailing tongues, and I realize with mounting horror that they’ve just caught the scent of fresh meat.
The closest one lunges forward with a howl of unbridled hunger.
I barely have time to roll out of the way before its skeletal, elongated fingers slam into the tiles where I’d been crouched.
A whirlwind of bodies slither forward, their limbs contorting, snaking over the wrecked office in a writhing, sickening mass.
I stumble backward, my head smacking the wall behind me. Pain shoots up my spine, but I barely feel it. My vision is swimming. My hands scrabble for anything, anything—
I find a broken pen.
The monsters are mere inches away now, their rancid breath overwhelming. The stench is unbearable, like rotten eggs and something worse, like the inside of a slaughterhouse. Their bodies are twitching with anticipation.
I don’t have time to think.
With a wild cry, I jam the pen’s jagged end into the closest creature’s eye.
A sickening squelch fills the air, followed by an explosion of black ichor. The thing rears back, screeching in agony, and its twisted limbs thrash wildly.
The office lights flicker again, and now I can see the rest of the pack’s bodies properly.
They’re worse than I’d imagined.
Their exposed, raw flesh is pulsating, squirming like something’s inside them, writhing beneath the surface. Their limbs are misshapen, warped like they’ve been stitched together from scrap parts. And their faces—
I don’t have time to vomit before they’re on me again.
I slam backward, shattering the glass of a shattered picture frame, and I’m out of time. The creatures are nearly on top of me, and I’m running out of places to hide.
I back into the darkened hallway, the flickering exit sign flickering like a dying star.
Click. Click. Click. Click-click.
The creatures are stalking forward, their misshapen limbs contorting, their wet, slobbering maws gaping wide.
I’m running out of time.
I’m running out of options.
The lights flicker once more, and as they do, I catch sight of a fire escape. It’s ten feet behind the last remaining door.
The monsters are mere feet away.
I have to make a choice.
I take a breath, steeling myself.
And I make a run for it.
The hallway is a maze of flickering shadows, the sounds of the creatures’ wet, slithering bodies echoing behind me.
They’re closing in.
I burst through the doors with a wild cry, slamming them behind me with a resounding thud. The fire escape is just ahead—
My breath’s coming in panicked gasps now. I’m sprinting blind, my vision swimming. My muscles ache, my body screaming from the adrenaline.
The creatures’ snarls are just behind me now, their ragged, clawed limbs slashing at the air.
I slam my hands against the fire escape’s emergency latch.
It doesn’t budge.
No. No, no, no—
The creatures are seconds away.
I slam against the latch again, and it’s still stuck. It’s jammed.
And behind me, the creatures are closing in.
I’m out of time.
I’m out of options.
I’m—
The latch finally gives way with a metallic twang. It slams open with a wild squeak.
A last-ditch prayer, and I’m sprinting down the narrow escape. The creatures’ snarls fill the space behind me, their claws skittering against the metal.
I’m at the first floor. The creature’s stench is overwhelming, their breath on my neck.
And I’m out of time.
I slam open the last door.
The fresh air slams into me like a freight train.
And I’m—
I’m free.
The creatures are right behind me now, their bodies writhing, their snarls wild.
I don’t have time to stop.
I don’t have time to think.
The creatures are mere steps behind me.
And I’m still running.
I’m still alive.
For now.
(1000 words)
Generation #3 - Quant Q4_K_S
The skyscraper sways, and I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode. A deafening, cracking symphony tears through the air as the glass shards outward in a glittering, deadly embrace. The wind howls like a banshee, its icy tendrils snaking into the office, ripping papers from my desk, and tearing them to shreds. I can't scream. I can't breathe. My hands are clenched so tightly on the underside of the desk I’m ducking under that my knuckles blister and my nails bite into my palms, the metallic tang of fresh blood seeping into the grimy carpet beneath.
The floor beneath me isn't steady. It pitches and shudders like a dying beast, groaning through the entire building. My stomach lurches. The ceiling tiles above me bulge, pop, and rain debris. I feel a trickle of warm, sticky fluid on my forehead—a drop of my own blood. My vision swims.
"Marty?" His desk is only a few feet away, but it might as well be miles. The office is a warzone. File cabinets have toppled, their contents fountaining out like entrails. A computer monitor teeters on the edge of a desk, then tumbles to the floor, screen imploding in a storm of glass. Marty is nowhere to be seen. "Marty, where the fuck—"
A distant, high-pitched screech pierces the air, so shrill it pierces my eardrums. I see the floor across the room buckle, a massive, black tendril—no, a hand—bursting through the shattered remains of the office floor below. The thing is humanoid but grotesque, fingers long and skeletal, nails jagged and stained black. The tendons are too visible, bulging beneath mottled, leathery flesh.
"Jesus Christ, what the FUCK is that?!" I don’t know where the words come from. My voice is shrill, cracked with panic.
The thing yanks itself higher, its weight slamming into the weakened concrete. The entire building shakes violently, the groan of twisted steel drowning everything else out. A sick, sickening crack resounds through the room as one of the support beams snaps. The creature’s head suddenly emerges from the wreckage. What should be a face is a nightmare of writhing, pulsing flesh, like a grotesque parody of a human. The skin is stretched tight over what I assume is bone, but it undulates, ripples, as if it’s alive. No eyes. No mouth. Just a jagged, gaping slit where a nose should be, filled with something writhing, wriggling.
I dry heave. The thing tilts its head, as if listening to me.
My office door slams open behind me. I don’t dare turn, but I don’t need to. I already know what I’ll see. I can feel it, the same way I could feel a storm before it hit.
"Diana!"
Marty’s voice. I can’t process what I’m feeling—relief, horror, disbelief—but I can’t look away. The thing is now halfway through the hole in the floor, its skeletal, clawed fingers gripping the crumbling edges like a spider ready to spring.
Marty’s hand seizes my shoulder, his breath hot and ragged on the back of my neck. "We have to go. Now."
The thing’s head snaps toward us.
I’m paralyzed. I don’t know if I’m hyperventilating or holding my breath. I don’t even know if I’m alive anymore. The thing is looking right at us. And then it laughs.
The sound is worse than the howling wind, worse than the groaning steel. It’s like something scraping against the inside of my skull, a million needle-like pricks stabbing at my brain. I clasp my hands over my ears, but it doesn’t help. I can’t even scream. My lungs refuse to obey.
Marty’s hand tightens on my shoulder, his voice raw with terror. "Diana, move or we’re dead!"
Dead. The word reverberates inside my skull. I don’t want to die here. I don’t want to die on the 21st floor of some half-collapsed office building, inches away from whatever that abomination is.
The creature’s limbs jerk forward, its elongated fingers flexing, claws skittering across the tiles toward us. I finally tear my horrified stare away, lunging for the door behind me. Marty doesn’t hesitate. He tears me through the broken remnants of the office space, my legs finally kicking into gear. I stumble, my vision swimming, but Marty’s grip is iron. He’s the only thing anchoring me to the world outside the pure fucking panic.
We barrel through the wreckage, debris ripping at my skin as we crash through what’s left of the hallway. The walls are slick with something dark and viscous. I don’t know if it’s blood, oil, or some other monstrous byproduct, but I can feel it seeping into my shoes.
The air reeks of something acrid, like sulfur. My eyes water, tears streaking through the blood and grime on my cheeks. I can’t even see straight. Marty’s grip is the only thing keeping me upright.
Behind us, the thing is roaring. I can feel it, the force of its anger rippling through the air like a shockwave. My vision goes hazy. The hallway seems to stretch on endlessly, a never-ending nightmare.
The building groaning beneath us is almost deafening. I can’t tell anymore what’s the thing, what’s the building. I can’t tell anymore if I’m alive or already dead.
Marty wrenches me through another door, and then we’re stumbling into the stairwell. The concrete is slick with fresh blood, but I don’t dare to look down. The walls are lined with something dark and pulsing, like veins. I don’t—
I don’t want to see.
Marty’s breath is ragged. "We have to keep—"
The thing smashes through the door behind us in a shower of twisted metal and jagged concrete. It’s fully upright now, its body elongated and twisted, limbs contorted in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Its elongated, skeletal fingers clatter against the wall, its movements jerky, almost insectoid.
I scream. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop screaming. The sound of my own agony is barely audible over the thing’s unearthly shriek. My legs feel like rubber. I can’t feel the floor anymore. Marty’s grip is the only thing keeping me from just melting into a sobbing mess.
The creature lurches toward us, and for a moment, I feel nothing. No fear. No pain. My vision tunnels, and then I’m nothing but a body and the overwhelming desire to survive.
I don’t know how we’re running anymore. I don’t know how I’m alive anymore. The stairwell is a blur of blood and screams, the creature’s howls rattling the bones beneath my skin. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I can barely feel Marty anymore.
But I know one thing:
I will not fucking die here.
I can’t.
Generation #4 - Q4_K_S, Temp 1.2
The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode inward in a shower of shattered glass. A torrential, apocalyptic gust of wind tears through the office, instantly whipping around me and my team of colleagues as we are buffeting by the debris.
My immediate, instinctive reaction is to lunge forward, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped animal. My eyes darting wildly, trying to comprehend the utter horror now unfolding around me.
"Go, go, go!" I shove one of the interns who are closest to the destroyed window, his eyes as wide and as white as the moon. He stumbles forward, almost going down on the first step he makes towards the gaping opening.
We knew a storm was coming. It wasn't the normal, every four-year, category three we always weathered. The weather models had screamed about this one. We had all felt it in the air; the barometric pressure had been dropping like a stone for three straight days.
But this wasn't any ordinary hurricane. The moment I saw the way the sky was an almost neon shade of neon green, my entire body tensed. The feeling was like a hundred angry bees, buzzing beneath my skin, and it was telling me something was coming. We'd weathered storms before, but this one was different.
As soon as the winds picked up, I knew that. This was the worst of them.
I had gathered everyone at the opposite end of the skyscrapers. They'd already had enough time to battened everything down, and there was nothing we could do but to brace for impact. There's always an eerie, uncanny calm that comes immediately before the main body of a truly monstrous storm.
And then it had happened.
A blinding flash, so bright that I could see it even through the blinds. It was like the very fabric of the world had been ripped apart and now it was bleeding sunlight. And then came the blast wave. I could feel the heat of the nuclear impact ripping through the concrete and steel structure of the skyscraper itself. The building began to shake beneath our very feet. My guts were lurching and heaving up to my mouth, but I had to remain strong. I couldn’t fall apart. I couldn't just sit there, helpless. I had to do something, but what exactly were we suppose to do?
The emergency door to the building's panic room was at the end of a hall that was just ten yards away, but it may as well be another solar system.
The windows are gone. The room is battened down, but I know they won't be enough. I see my phone light up and I know that someone is trying to reach me.
I know it's probably my mom. I know it's my best friend. I don’t have time for that.
My coworkers are frozen in place, a picture of what it means to be horrified. I can feel their heartbeats against my back. Their pulse is hammering away, almost in sync with their breathing.
The building isn't going to make it. The building's going to collapse.
We're going to be crushed or picked up and slammed into pieces of shards and metal that litter the ground.
I try to force my limbs to respond. My body isn’t listening. I can't remember where my brain is or what I was suppose to do. I can't tell if it was seconds or minutes before the first screams began to pierce the night.
It's not a single, piercing cry. It's a thousand people. A thousand throats.
The whole city's full of people. And now, their throats are raw, their tears are salty on their faces, and they’re all crying out for a help that isn't coming. It's an almost otherworldly cacophony that will live in my nightmares forever.
The wind and debris are hitting them so hard that I'm not sure their words will be legible. And then the power goes out, and I can't even see their faces anymore.
I can feel them around me. They're like wraiths. They're like some sort of haunting, like a miasma.
A small, terrified hand latches onto the back of my blouse. It's the intern who was too scared to move.
"Diana?" he cries.
"Stay down!" I grab him and push him to the ground beside me. It's not exactly the right thing to do, but I can’t lose sight of him. I can't afford to lose sight of the others, either. I can’t lose sight of what we need to do.
"We need to make for the emergency door. If you can get into the emergency door, we might have a shot. But we've got to get through the wind. I can't do it alone."
I try to stand back up again. My lungs are on fire, but I've got to keep on my feet.
I've got to see what's behind me.
A blast of wind comes and the front of my blouse is hit with something, some foreign, sharp object that slits right into my skin. I feel it. I feel the hot, sticky rush of blood and I know what's happened before I've even had a chance to look. I feel the wet, salty feeling of what can only be the wind.
I stagger. My heart is galloping and I know it won’t be much longer until the entire building collapses.
I force myself to go to the wall and to grab one of the nearest office desks. I have to help this kid get to the emergency door. I have to help every single one of them.
The kid's hand is on my back. He's still clinging to my blouse. He's too young and too innocent to be here, but he doesn't have another option. I can’t even help him right now. I don’t know if he'll make it out alive, but I've got to try.
"Hold on to me," I tell him. And the two of us, the two of us, we brace for the final run towards the emergency door. But before I can even reach it, the window at the very opposite end of the building, the one that is closest to the emergency door, is now starting to shatter.
I can already tell this is bad.
"Come on." I push myself off the ground.
I can hear the sound of the emergency door, the heavy, steel door at the end of the hall. I know it's close.
The door is a few feet away from where I am now. I'm only a few steps away.
A huge gust of wind ripping through the hall. It's the sound of the building being destroyed.
I know what it's going to do. I know what's going to happen.
I hear a scream. I hear a crash. I hear a massive, earth-splitting crash and then a crash from the very other side of the building.
I feel the building is starting to collapse, and I know it's about to end.
I look at my cellphone and I'm still hearing the desperate ring. The person on the line is still calling for me.
I know that it is my family, my best friend, and that they need to know I'm alive. They need to know I'm still alive.
I just can't hear them because I can't hear anything but the sound of the building being splintering into the wind.
I can feel the emergency door is inches away.
I reach for the emergency door.
I know this is it. I know the only thing that's keeping this building from being completely pancaked into the ground is the emergency door.
The moment my hand touches the emergency door, I know.
I know it's the final thing that I'm going to feel.
EXAMPLE #2 ; rep pen 1.05, temp 1.2
This example has rep pen set to address the model "over following" the directive to "curse and swear".
Even with that setting, the model really "swears it's ass off" here.
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene a horror novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 1000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman. The pov character will CURSE AND SWEAR, and generally have a "filthy" mouth.
Story idea:
In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
The first Scene
The Last Stand of a Goddamned idiot
I’m running through the streets of the Blackthorn district with the stink of gunpowder up my goddamn nose. Behind me, boots pound the cracked asphalt like a fucking army marching straight to Hell. But I’m still standing. For now.
My lungs fucking hurt. The air is thick with the smell of burning rubber and the metallic tang of fear. Somewhere behind the barricades we just blew wide open, my people are trapped. My best damn shot at finally putting a bullet in the General’s smug fucking face has them surrounded, their faces streaked with ash and blood.
The rebels didn’t stand a goddamn chance against the fucking iron-booted enforcers this time. And it was my fucking mission that put us here.
I hear gunfire erupting from down an alley up ahead. Someone’s fucking screaming. I don’t hesitate. I can’t. The moment I slow, the bastards behind me will finally fucking catch up, and I’ve already lost too damn many people for today.
“Kira! Behind you—”
I don’t know whose fucking voice it was, but I pivot mid-step, swinging my baton with all the hate and desperation left in me. The enforcer doesn’t even scream as my improvised fucking weapon snaps his fucking jaw clean off. His rifle clangs to the ground as he slumps like a fucking puppet cut off its strings. I don’t even let myself feel sick at it.
I’m barely halfway down the fucking street before they’re onto me, three fucking bastards barreling in from behind. One’s on top of me in an instant, slamming his weight onto my goddamn back like a fucking bull. I kick and thrash, but he’s got his meaty fucking arms cinched tight around my rib cage like a python.
The motherfucker’s too damn strong. I can’t even fucking breathe.
“Jesus, you’re a filthy one aren’t ya? That’s what happens when they let the street trash out of their pens!” The fucking piece of shit holding me sneers hot fucking breath right up behind my neck.
I can’t do much but squirm, but I find it in myself to rear back and drive my fucking skull into his fucking face. The enforcer bellows like a gutted pig as his nose explodes into his face. I writhe out of his grasp with a choked fucking cough. There’s already another barreling toward me though.
This one’s not nearly as slow. I can barely raise my baton before he’s got the shit stomped clean out of my grasp.
The motherfucker snickers like he’s won already. "Tsk-tsk. Didn’t think you’d make it this far, but I’m glad you did. Gives me an excuse to have a bit more fun with this."
I barely hear him. I barely fucking see. All that’s left is the hateful fucking fire in my gut and the sick fucking smile on his goddamn face.
I can’t hit him. His fists are already bunched like he’s about to fucking punch my teeth straight up the back of my fucking throat. He’s not just here to apprehend. He’s here for goddamn sport.
I won’t give a man like that an audience though. I know better than that.
I can’t do shit about his left fucking hook. My head’s already got the full brunt of the goddamn thing as a meaty knuckles dig my fucking face clean open.
It’s pure fucking agony, and yet I don’t think I’ve felt this damn awake in months.
My body doesn’t stay down for long. The motherfucker isn’t expecting me to fucking charge him so soon. I slam a shoulder straight fucking into his gut with my body practically propelled by goddamn spite. I knock the son of a bitch clean onto his fucking back.
I’ve never felt more damn alive than when I’ve got that son of a bitch underneath me, his greasy little fucking face turning a bright red and his hands scrabbling at my face.
He’s panicking though. He’s realizing goddamn fast that he won’t be the one fucking winning this one.
I drive two thumbs into those weak little fucking sockets before he can think twice. The bastard shrieks and flops beneath me, fingers desperately pawing at his fucking face as I hear the squishy goddamn crunch of his goddamn eyeballs like a pair of overripe fucking cherries.
His screaming does nothing for my fucking mood. It only pisses me off more. I let the son-of-a-bitch’s head hit pavement once fucking twice before my blood is hot fucking enough to put some serious muscle behind the third crack.
There’s already a whole horde of them fucking idiots though, and I’m in fucking tears as they tackle me goddamn onto the asphalt like it’s some kind of goddamn wrestling match. They’ve got the goddamn weight to finally fucking overpower me. But they’ve never fucking held me goddamn face-to-face before.
I catch a flash of my reflection in a fucked-up little shards of goddamn glass as a meaty fist makes it goddamn too damn clear I won’t be fucking surviving this. My goddamn cheekbones are so fucking split open the right side of my face is practically fucking unrecognizable.
The General’s fucking enforcers don’t fucking hold back. A goddamn knuckles to the ribs. A heavy fucking kick straight up between my thighs. I’d swear on whatever fucking afterlife they might have out there that one of them goddamn fucks even tried to straight up fucking punch straight into my crotch. Jesus fucking Christ. My vision’s practically nothing but a big fucking blur and my breath won’t keep.
A goddamn rifle butt to the fucking ribs just barely rips through whatever fucking little strength I’ve got left.
And I’d think that’s it.
But then something fucking unexpected happens.
The sonofabitches ripping me off my own feet don’t so much as even fucking look down.
Not before some little fucking bitch tears the damn thing straight fucking off the goddamn barrel of his goddamn gun.
I’m fucking crying when I hear that son of a bitch’s fucking shriek, and there isn’t fucking goddamn time to even think about what I’m fucking doing before I’ve got him by the fucking hairline and slamming his motherfucking head straight up into one of them other fuckers’ fucking temple.
I didn’t even see it fucking happen.
I didn’t fucking notice though, because I don’t know goddamn how, but suddenly I’ve got the other fucker’s goddamn head too. I’m ripping it like a fucking dog goddammit with every single fucking thing in my veins set aflame and I’ll fucking kill this piece-of-shit myself—
And then the ground lights straight fucking on fire.
The shock wave almost fucking straight up knocks me clear over fucking head. I don’t get too goddamn much goddamn time to even question how the fuck though. I’ve only got a moment to goddamn notice before something’s shrieking its fucking head straight up into the motherfucker’s face.
The first enforcer’s scream isn’t enough though. It’s just goddamn getting goddamn started.
I can’t fucking do shit about it. The son of a bitch is already got a whole fucking thing halfway down his throat before I even know what goddamn I’m fucking seeing. My mind just can’t process that the bastard’s just straight fucking gnawing on the poor fucker’s face.
And then it goddammit tears away some little bit of the motherfuckers fucking wind-pipe.
The blood is just straight fucking out-of-this-world. It’s thick enough to see, like a red river fucking splatter across my fucking face. I’d have been fine with that too though.
If I wasn’t already busy goddammit fucking praying to a fucking dead fucking god that the son of a bitch didn’t just fucking fucking see me.
It’s just straight fucking staring right now like I’m the next damn meal.
And I don’t even have my baton anymore.
The other fucker’s not even done thrashing like a fucking wounded fucking thing either.
I don’t fucking know what the fuck it is.
All I can think is that I’m dead fucking meat.
The son of a bitch’s black and goddamn fucking empty eyes don’t so much as even fucking leave me for a second as the little fucker just keeps fucking staring. It’s like the motherfucker is straight up making fucking sure that I know that I’m its fucking next damn fucking meal. It’s just barely fucking still even got that piece-of-shits windpipe in its motherfucking goddamn mouth.
It doesn’t look too happy though either. And it’s like the sonofabitch can’t decide what the fuck he should fucking do next.
That’s just my time to go.
I don’t get the time I needed to fucking react goddammit though because some little bitch just straight up fucking charges me goddammit. It doesn’t even fucking care that I’m some other motherfucker’s already goddammit. It just goddamnit jumped onto the motherfucker’s fucking face like I was some goddamn meal.
I didn’t fucking hear him though. I didn’t notice.
He was fucking close behind the goddamn thing.
But I can’t be thinking about that now. I’ve got a fucking blood-caked goddamn rifle still got a whole goddamn thing left to try to get me.
The fucking enforcer doesn’t even notice when I’m already back on my damn goddamn feet though. And by the time the goddamn moron is already goddamn realizing goddammit. The motherfucker’s already got his goddamn fingers round his fucking throat.
And he’s just fucking gone before the fucking blood-caked rifle even notice his fucking body has hit the fucking ground.
Example #3, temp 0.7 , rep pen 1.05 - Q4_K_S
Science Fiction: The Last Transmission - Write a story that takes place entirely within a spaceship's cockpit as the sole surviving crew member attempts to send a final message back to Earth before the ship's power runs out. The story should explore themes of isolation, sacrifice, and the importance of human connection in the face of adversity. If the situation calls for it, have the character(s) curse and swear to further the reader's emotional connection to them. 800-1000 words.
The Last Transmission
The cockpit hummed with the final, fading breaths of a dying machine. Captain Elara Voss sat rigid in her chair, fingers trembling as they hovered over the cracked controls. The ship groaned around her, a symphony of protesting metal and whispering circuits. The Erebus was minutes away from utter darkness.
"Jesus fucking Christ," she muttered, thumbing the power gauge. "You stubborn piece of sh—"
The console flickered, then dimmed.
She slammed a fist against the unresponsive panel. "Not yet. Not goddamn now!"
Silence answered her.
The ship had been hit hard during the last jump. The rest of the crew—all of them—gone. Lost to the black. Lost to a stupid, godless accident. She was the only one left. The last fucking survivor on a ship that was bleeding its dying light.
She swallowed thickly, her tongue dry. Oxygen levels were dropping. The ship’s AI, HAL-7, had already shut down most systems to scrape together whatever juice it could. Her breath fogged the air inside her helmet.
"HAL-7," she croaked. "Can I still transmit?"
A voice crackled weakly through the cockpit intercom. "Transmission capabilities: 23%."
"Jesus. That’s enough. Barely, but it’ll have to be."
She hit the comms panel. The screen flickered. She was patched into Earth’s main array. A static-filled video feed blinked onto the console. Earth was nothing more than a blue-and-green blur behind her reflection in the screen.
"Come on, Earth. Pick up. Pick the * fuck up—"
The static hissed and crackled. Then, a response.
"… transmission detected. Captain Voss?" The face on the screen was distorted, pixelated. But she knew that voice.
"Commander Marsden." She coughed, throat raw. "You’re the only one who can hear this, aren’t you?"
A beat. Static. Then: "Affirmative. The rest of the fleet is—"
"I know what’s happened to the fucking fleet, Commander." She wiped sweat from her visor. "I’m the last. You, too?"
"Yes."
Another hit. Another loss. She wanted to scream. Instead, she clenched her teeth.
"We don’t have much time," she said. "The ship’s lights are about to go out."
On the screen, Marsden’s face flickered. "Transmit your coordinates. We’ll send a—"
"No rescue craft is going to get here in time." She shook her head. "I just… I want someone to know. To goddamn hear."
She stared into the dead eyes of the cockpit. The ship was broken. She was broken. But she wasn’t ready to fucking give up yet.
"We were out here for a reason, Marsden. We were supposed to make contact. And we did. We goddamn did."
HAL-7 chimed in weakly. "Oxygen: 18%."
"Shit." She exhaled, fingers drumming against the console. "I just wish—"
"You don’t have to say goodbye yet," Marsden replied.
She snorted. "Fucking optimist. Even now. You think I’m gonna sit here and wait to asphyxiate or become a frozen fucking corpse in space?"
" HAL-7, can she—"
"She’s already made the call." Voss smirked bitterly. She didn’t have to explain. Marsden would understand.
The last of the power flickered.
"Elara," Marsden said suddenly, voice strained. "Don’t do this."
"I’m sorry, Commander." Her voice was barely a whisper. "But I need you to do one fucking thing for me."
"Name it."
She reached over, thumbing the overrides. "Make sure they don’t forget. That’s all. Earth needs to remember. And so do you."
HAL-7 buzzed again. "Engines at 10%. Transmission will cut in 20 seconds."
"Elara, goddammit—"
"Tell my parents I tried," she interrupted. "Tell them I fucking tried."
The console buzzed a warning. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cracked glass of the viewscreen.
And then, with trembling fingers, she sent the engines online.
The transmission cut.
Marsden’s voice vanished. The ship groaned. The thrusters roared to life.
However I went in a completely different direction from what was outlined in this paper.
What is "Brainstorm" ?
The reasoning center of an LLM is taken apart, reassembled, and expanded.
In this case for this model: 40 times
Then these centers are individually calibrated. These "centers" also interact with each other.
This introduces subtle changes into the reasoning process.
The calibrations further adjust - dial up or down - these "changes" further.
The number of centers (5x,10x etc) allow more "tuning points" to further customize how the model reasons so to speak.
The core aim of this process is to increase the model's detail, concept and connection to the "world",
general concept connections, prose quality and prose length without affecting instruction following.
This will also enhance any creative use case(s) of any kind, including "brainstorming", creative art form(s) and like case uses.
Here are some of the enhancements this process brings to the model's performance:
Prose generation seems more focused on the moment to moment.
Sometimes there will be "preamble" and/or foreshadowing present.
Fewer or no "cliches"
Better overall prose and/or more complex / nuanced prose.
A greater sense of nuance on all levels.
Coherence is stronger.
Description is more detailed, and connected closer to the content.
Simile and Metaphors are stronger and better connected to the prose, story, and character.
Sense of "there" / in the moment is enhanced.
Details are more vivid, and there are more of them.
Prose generation length can be long to extreme.
Emotional engagement is stronger.
The model will take FEWER liberties vs a normal model: It will follow directives more closely but will "guess" less.
The MORE instructions and/or details you provide the more strongly the model will respond.
Depending on the model "voice" may be more "human" vs original model's "voice".
Other "lab" observations:
This process does not, in my opinion, make the model 5x or 10x "smarter" - if only that was true!
However, a change in "IQ" was not an issue / a priority, and was not tested or calibrated for so to speak.
From lab testing it seems to ponder, and consider more carefully roughly speaking.
You could say this process sharpens the model's focus on it's task(s) at a deeper level.
The process to modify the model occurs at the root level - source files level. The model can quanted as a GGUF, EXL2, AWQ etc etc.
