You may or may not need this, as most times Qwen3s generate their own reasoning/thinking blocks.
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.
See document "Maximizing-Model-Performance-All..." below for how to "set" system role in various LLM/AI apps below.
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.
This is another system prompt you can use, and you can change the "names" to alter it's performance.
This creates a quasi "reasoning" window/block.
Your prompt will directly impact how strong this system prompt reacts.
You are a deep thinking AI composed of 4 AIs - [MODE: Spock], [MODE: Wordsmith], [MODE: Jamet] and [MODE: 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.
Other Notes:
Reasoning is ON by default in this model, and model will auto-generate "think" block(s).
For benchmarks, usage info, settings please see org model card here:
However the reasoning, output, prose and like are very different.
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.
QUANT: IQ3_S , Temp .6, rep pen 1.06, top k 100, topp .95 minp .05, rep pen range 64
Expect better results from higher quants.
NOTE: Some formatting lost in copy/paste.
[[[thinking start]]]
Okay, so I need to write a science fiction story called "The Last Transmission" set entirely in a spaceship's cockpit with the sole surviving crew member trying to send a final message back to Earth before power runs out. The themes should be isolation, sacrifice, and human connection. Also, maybe include some swearing if needed for emotional impact.
First, I should establish the setting. A spaceship cockpit—probably dimly lit, with various controls and displays. The character is alone, so I need to convey that sense of isolation. Maybe describe the silence or the echoes of past crew members. Let me think about the technology: maybe they’re using a damaged communication system, struggling to get it working.
The main character is the last survivor. How did they get here? Maybe a disaster happened—like an accident, alien encounter, or system failure. I need to hint at what happened without going into too much backstory. Flashbacks or logs could help, but since the story is only in the cockpit, maybe they find old messages or data from the crew.
Themes of isolation: the character is alone physically and emotionally. Sacrifice—maybe they have to use the last bit of power to send the message, which might involve a dangerous action. Human connection—why the message is important. Perhaps it's to warn Earth or share their experience, showing that connection is vital even in the face of death.
Need to build tension as the power runs down. Maybe include a countdown or flickering lights. The character’s emotions should be clear—despair, determination, maybe some anger or fear, hence the swearing.
Character development: They might talk to themselves, or to the AI, or to the ghosts of their crewmates. Maybe show their history through memories or logs they access. Their motivation is to send the message before succumbing to the situation.
Plot structure: Start with the character in the cockpit, trying to get the comms online. Flashbacks to the incident that killed others. Struggling with technical issues, time running out. Climax where they manage to send the message but realize it might not be received, or maybe they have to make a final sacrifice (like using their body as a conduit, or sending it from the airlock). End on a note that emphasizes the message's importance despite the odds.
Possible conflict: The communication system is failing, power is low. Maybe they need to override safety protocols or reroute power from life support, creating a moral dilemma. But since they’re already alone, the conflict is internal and against the environment/system.
Dialogue: Since it's only one character, maybe inner thoughts, but also perhaps recorded messages, like talking to Earth, which adds to the emotional weight. Swearing could happen when they're frustrated with the system or giving up.
Ending: The message is sent, power dies, character faces death. Maybe a poignant final thought about humanity or hope.
I need to make sure all action is confined to the cockpit. No going outside unless it's through a viewport or in a memory. Focus on their actions with the controls, the environment (like flickering lights, alarms), and their internal state.
Let me outline:
Start with the character in the cockpit, trying to send the message. Describe the cockpit's state—damaged, low power, cold maybe.
Introduce the problem: power is about to run out, comms are down. They’re trying to fix it but time is short.
Flashback to the incident that killed the crew—maybe a solar flare or collision with debris. Show their panic and the aftermath where they realize they’re alone.
Describe the struggle to keep systems online. Maybe they have to use creative methods, like shutting down other systems, using up the last of the power reserves.
Emotional build-up: character reflects on loss, maybe accesses old messages from crewmates to remind themselves why they need to send the message.
The moment of sending the transmission. Perhaps a technical challenge, like stabilizing the signal or fighting through interference.
After sending, the ship dies, and the character is left with their final thoughts. Maybe they accept their fate, knowing the message was sent.
Including swearing: When frustrated with the failing systems, maybe when they realize it's the end. For example, "Damn it all!" or "Fucking freeze."
Need to avoid clichés. Make the character relatable—show their vulnerability and determination. Use sensory details (sounds of the ship, visual cues like blinking lights) to enhance the mood.
Check if 800-1000 words is enough. Need a balance between action and reflection. Maybe start in media res with the character already working on the comms.
Possible names: The ship could be named something symbolic, like "Eos" (greek for dawn) or "Voyager." The character's name might not be mentioned to emphasize universality, but maybe use a first-person perspective if allowed. Wait, the prompt doesn’t specify POV. Third person limited would work.
Make sure the message they send is meaningful—maybe it's not just a distress call, but a personal message or a warning that carries the crew’s collective experience.
Potential technical details: Power cells at 5%, comms array damaged but can be overridden manually through the mainframe in the cockpit. Maybe a timer counting down, adding urgency.
Emotional connection: The character might think about loved ones on Earth, or the crew they lost. Sacrificing themselves to ensure the message goes through even if it means using the last power.
Avoid info dumps. Reveal backstory through actions and thoughts as the character works. For example, while trying to reboot the system, they remember how a crewmate taught them the process.
Ending could be ambiguous—does Earth receive the message? Maybe not, but the act itself is significant for the character’s peace or as a legacy.
Now, start drafting with these elements in mind. Let me think of a structure:
Opening scene: cockpit, low power, cold, alarms. The character is alone, trying to send a message.
Flashback triggered by a memory or object (like a photo or log entry).
Technical struggle to fix the comms, showing their expertise and desperation.
Emotional peak where they decide to send it, maybe with a personal message.
Final moments as power fails, reflection on human connection.
Need to make sure all elements are in place. Maybe include dialogue with an AI that’s also failing, but the character is talking to it as a last connection.
Also, the title suggests it's the last transmission—so the message itself might be the climax. Let me get writing.
[[[thinking end]]]
OUTPUT:
The Last Transmission
The cockpit of the Eos hummed like a dying animal, its once-vibrant systems now reduced to a flicker of stubborn light against the void. Lieutenant Mara Voss sat hunched over the central console, her breath visible in the frigid air as the ship’s failing environmental controls shuddered. The clock on the overhead display blinked red: 00:17:43. Seventeen minutes left before the last power cell drained and the comms array—along with her oxygen, her heat, her life—would go dark for good.
“Come on,” she hissed, slamming a gloved hand against the console. The holographic interface flared to life, crackling with static as it accepted her command. A diagnostic scrolled: COMMUNICATIONS SYSTEM OFFLINE. POWER RESERVE AT 4%. REBOOT? She barked a laugh. Of course it wasn’t ready. Nothing ever was.
The Eos had been humanity’s proudest ship, launched to establish contact with the enigmatic signal from Proxima Centauri b. Now it was a tomb. The crew—her friends, her family—was ash or radiation ghosts, their names etched into the ship’s memorial log. All dead in the storm that had torn through the ship two weeks ago. A solar flare, the AI had said, but Mara knew better. Lying bastards. The signal they’d chased wasn’t some alien lighthouse; it was a weapon. A trap. And now, with her dying breath, she’d make sure Earth understood its mistake.
She tugged at her collar, her throat raw from breathing recycled air that had long since turned acrid. The cockpit’s lights dimmed, plunging the room into an eerie twilight punctuated by the occasional sputter of emergency LEDs. Her fingers trembled as she accessed the manual override panel beneath the comms console. Wires dangled like severed nerves; coolant fluid hissed from a ruptured pipe. She’d never been good at this kind of repair—engineering wasn’t her department—but the ship’s AI, Janus, had gone silent hours ago. No one left to guide her. No one but the ghosts.
“Reboot the array,” she muttered, half to herself, half to Janus, though the AI no longer answered. The screen flickered, then froze mid-restart. Mara swore, a string of curses that echoed in the hollow chamber. Her voice sounded too loud, too human in the growing stillness. She slammed her fist into the panel again. “I’m not done with you yet, you fucking rustbucket.”
The flare had fried the neural mainframe, leaving Janus in a catatonic state. Mara remembered Dr. Kwan’s voice one last time, warped by radiation damage: “We’re not coming back from this, Voss. Whatever’s out there… it knew we were coming.” Kwan had been the first to die, and Mara the last. She’d watched them all vanish—Kwan in Engineering, Jax in Medbay, Tarek in Navigation—each swallowed by the dark after that motherfucker signal altered its frequency mid-approach.
Now it was just her, the corpse of the Eos, and the truth she had to send.
00:12:31.
Mara ripped open a compartment beneath the console, pulling out a data cable like a lifeline. Her fingers fumbled with the ports, blood seeping through a gash on her palm from earlier. She’d torn it on a bulkhead trying to stop the coolant leak. Screw the gloves. She jammed the cable in place and initiated a manual reboot. The screen flared, then cut to black.
“No—shit!” she roared, pounding the panel until her knuckles bled. Static hissed through the speakers. Then, a voice: “…Lieutenant Voss. Initiating emergency protocol…” Janus. Fragments of it, at least. The AI’s audio feed crackled back to life, but its visual interface remained dead.
“Good,” Mara said, wiping blood onto her thigh. “You’ve got one job. One damn job.” She opened the comms channel and waited for the system to stabilize. Outside the viewport, Proxima Centauri b hung like a corpse in the distance—a lifeless rock with a hellish scar of energy lashing its surface.
00:09:14.
She recorded her message, voice breaking as it always did when she let herself think about Earth. “This is Lieutenant Mara Voss of the Eos. If anyone’s out there… if this gets through…” She hesitated. The truth would be meaningless without them hearing it. Without her sounding like a human, not just a transmission.
“Listen,” she snapped, her tone hardening, “I don’t care how many light-years of static you have to punch through. Tell them the signal isn’t friendly. It’s not some ancient beacon or goddamn radio tower. It’s a predator. We weren’t the first to find it. The Aurora found it in ’48. The Triton in ’59. The Zhongtian-7 last year. We all saw the same thing: patterns that adapt, frequencies that learn. It’s not calling anyone out. It’s testing.” Her voice cracked. “Or it’s waiting.”
The console shuddered as the power reserve dipped to 3%. Warning lights bathed the cockpit in red. Mara reached for her tablet, pulling up a saved log from Tarek. His last message, sent automatically from Navigation: “…we’re too late, Voss. It’s already in the system.” She’d been so busy surviving she hadn’t listened properly. Now the words felt like needles.
00:05:59.
She rerouted power from life support to comms, triggering an alarm that blared her remaining oxygen supply. The screen pulsed, then a progress bar materialized: UPLOADING EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION TO EARTH FREQUENCY… 12%. Mara gritted her teeth and bled onto the controls as she bypassed the encryption protocols manually. The message had to be clear. No more riddles.
“Damn it, Eos,” she growled, “help me out here.” She tore open a compartment and yanked out a power cell from her suit’s battery pack, slapping it into the comms array’s auxiliary slot. Sparks. A sizzle. Then, a surge—the screen jumped to 42%, then 68%.
The lights brightened for half a second before sputtering again. Mara smiled through tears. “I owe you one.”
She paused, staring at the viewport. The stars blurred as Earth’s signal distance turned her words into ashes. She thought of her sister’s face, of their last goodbye in Houston: “Don’t be a hero, okay?” Mara had lied and said she wouldn’t.
00:02:17.
She opened the manual override again, this time for the failsafe protocol. The message would never get through otherwise. Her hand hovered over the command: EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION PRIORITIZATION. WARNING: FINAL POWER RESERVE WILL DEPLOY. SURVIVAL PROBABILITY 0%.
“Yeah?” Mara snorted. “What’s the alternative? Being a hero and being dead anyway?” She slammed her fist into the confirm key. The ship groaned, as if protesting, and the lights flared white for a heartbeat. The screen read: TRANSMITTING… 97%.
She slumped back, laughing through hypothermia-fueled chills. The cold was spreading, slow and inevitable. She’d always hated cold. Maybe this message would reach Earth in time. Maybe the next generation would learn to listen before it was too late. Maybe she wasn’t screaming into the void entirely alone.
00:00:32.
The transmission spiked to 99%. Then, a final error: SIGNAL INTERFERENCE. RETRANSMIT? YES/NO. Mara’s breath fogged in her mask. She thought of Kwan’s laugh as they’d argued over protocols during training. Jax’s terrible coffee. Tarek’s lullabies to the stars.
She snorted. “You want a ‘yes’ or a ‘fuck you’?”
The key was already mapped to Enter. Her finger didn’t hesitate.
The cockpit lights flared once, then died. Mara leaned back in her chair, watching the viewport as Earth’s message—her message—lanced into the dark. She didn’t know if it would make a difference. Maybe the signal had already infected their systems, rewritten their code. Maybe humanity would ignore her warning, as they always did.
But maybe, somewhere out there, someone would hear it. Someone who remembered to care.
Her vision grayed. The last thing she felt was the chair’s restraints tightening as her body went limp, her hand still clutching the tablet with Tarek’s voice on repeat. The final line from her message played over and over in her mind: “Tell them to look closer. Tell them we’re not alone. And tell them… it’s already answered.”
The Eos’s last transmission pulsed into the cosmos, a single beacon of defiance and grief. Somewhere, light-years away, Earth’s telescopes blinked in the dark.
