NEW: Heretic, Uncensored, Abliterated version of "Darkest Planet":
VERSION 2: All the power of "Darkest Planet" now with 128k context, additional de-censoring, performance improvements
and re-mastered source and ggufs in float 32 ( 32 bit precision ).
WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
L3-DARKEST-PLANET-16.5B-GGUF
It is a LLama3 model, max context of 8192 (or 32k+ with rope).
This model has been designed to be relatively bullet proof and operates with most parameters, including temp settings from 0 to 5.
This is a an altered version of "Dark Planet 8B" [
https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF] using the Brainstorm 40x method developed by David_AU to drastically alter the models
prose output and abilities. This also expands the model by 40 layers (to 71 layers) to 16.5B parameters (642 tensors).
This model is for any writing, fiction or story telling activity.
This version - "Darkest 16.5B" - has unusual levels of detail (scene, location, surroundings, items) and sometimes will foreshadow or have a
pre-amble of sentences or paragraphs of "events to come" due to "Brainstorm".
It also has an unusual range of variety of prose in terms of structure, sentences, paragraphs,
and even how it starts a "reply" / generation too.
(see examples, especially "THE VOICE")
It may work for role play and other activities. (see settings below)
It requires Llama3 template and/or "Command-R" template.
Example outputs below.
QUANT Updates Dec 22 2024: Refreshed, Upgraded and New quants:
- All quants have been "refreshed", quanted with the lastest LLAMACPP improvements : Better instruction following, output generation across all quants.
- All quants have also been upgraded with "more bits" for output tensor (all set at Q8_0) and embed for better performance (this is in addition to the "refresh")
- New specialized quants (in addition to the new refresh/upgrades): "max, max-cpu" (will include this in the file name) for quants "Q2K", "IQ4_XS", "Q6_K" and "Q8_0"
- "MAX": output tensor / embed at float 16. You get better instruction following/output generation than standard/upgraded quants.
- "MAX-CPU": output tensor / embed at bfloat 16, which forces both of these on to the CPU (Nvidia cards / other will vary), this frees up vram at cost of token/second and you get better instruction following/output generation too.
- "MAX-CPU": Example 1: q8_0 Max-CPU : 3 GB will load on to CPU/RAM, 15 GB will load onto the GPU/vram. Extra Vram can be used for context. NOTE: "Math" on the CPU is slightly more accurate than GPU, so you may get a better generation.
- "MAX-CPU": Example 2: q2_k Max-CPU : 3 GB mb will load on to CPU/RAM, 3.5 GB will load onto the GPU/vram. Extra Vram can be used for context. NOTE: "Math" on the CPU is slightly more accurate than GPU, so you may get a better generation. You could run this model/quant on a 8GB vram card.
- Q8_0 (Max,Max-CPU) now clocks in at 9.5 bits per weight (average).
- New, Refresh, and Upgraded quants have made the model more stable, and stronger.
More models coming:
True Creative Terror - "DARKEST UNIVERSE 29B" (DARKEST PLANET'S bigger, badder brother):
A massive model with Brainstorm 40X V2, tipping the scales at 102 layers, 921 tensors.
This is my unicorn. It checks every box and then some. Unmatched power at all levels, ultra stable, and for all genres, 131k context, lots of examples, full settings / usage guide:
Version 2 of "Darkest Planet 16.5B" is called "DARKEST-PLANET-Seven-Rings-Of-DOOM-16.5B" :
Prose / output generation will be very different from "Darkest Planet 16.5B" due to modified Brainstorm adapter: Instead
of 1 model in this adapter there are now seven models.
First in the series:
Second in the series is located here (radically different prose, almost alien):
More "prose" / "story writing" specific models will be released shortly : two more 40x models (16.15B) to follow this release.
Any maybe - a 60X+ (20B+ parameters) version... but it is a little cranky at the moment.
Model Notes:
- Detail, prose and fiction writing abilities are significantly increased.
- For more varied prose (sentence/paragraph/dialog) raise the temp and/or add more instructions in your prompt(s).
- Role-players: Careful raising temp too high as it may affect instruction following.
- This model works with rep pen of 1.05 or higher (see notes).
- If you want a specific type of prose (IE horror) add in "(vivid horror)" or "(graphic vivid horror)" (no quotes) in your prompt(s).
- This is not a "happy ever after" model. It has a negative bias.
- For creative uses, different quants will produce slightly different output.
- If you use rope to extend context, increase temp AND instructions detail levels to compensate for "rope issues".
- Source code for this model will be uploaded at a separate repo shortly.
Brainstorm 40x
The BRAINSTORM process was developed by David_AU.
Some of the core principals behind this process are discussed in this
scientific paper : Progressive LLaMA with Block Expansion .
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.
Settings, Quants and Critical Operations Notes:
This model has been modified ("Brainstorm") to alter prose output, and generally outputs longer text than average.
Change in temp (ie, .4, .8, 1.5, 2, 3 ) will drastically alter output.
Rep pen settings will also alter output too.
This model needs "rep pen" of 1.05 or higher as lower values may cause repeat paragraph issues at end of output however LOWER rep pen
values may result is very different (creative / unusual) generation too.
For role play: Rep pen of 1.1 to 1.14 is suggested.
If you use a lower rep pen, the model will still work but may repeat (uncommon) or "RANT" (somewhat common) to a crazy degree.
(see very LAST example below for "RANT")
IE: Rep pen 1, 1.01, 1.02, ...
Raise/lower rep pen SLOWLY ie: 1.011, 1.012 ...
Rep pen will alter prose, word choice (lower rep pen=small words / more small word - sometimes) and creativity.
Example one (below) shows same temp, but different rep pen (1.02 VS 1.1)
To really push the model:
Rep pen 1.05 or lower / Temp 3+ ... be ready to stop the output because it may go and go at these strong settings.
You can also set a "hard stop" - maximum tokens generation - too to address lower rep pen settings / high creativity settings.
Longer prompts vastly increase the quality of the model's output.
(see later examples below)
Quant Choice:
Higher quants will have more detail, nuance and in some cases stronger "emotional" levels. Characters will also be
more "fleshed out" too. Sense of "there" will also increase.
Q4KM/Q4KS are good, strong quants however if you can run Q5, Q6 or Q8 - go for the highest quant you can.
Special note on Q2k/Q3 quants:
You may need to use temp 2 or lower with these quants (1 or lower for q2k). Just too much compression at this level, damaging the model. I will see if Imatrix versions
of these quants will function better.
Rep pen adjustments may also be required to get the most out of this model at this/these quant level(s).
Settings: CHAT / ROLEPLAY and/or SMOOTHER operation of this model:
In "KoboldCpp" or "oobabooga/text-generation-webui" or "Silly Tavern" ;
Set the "Smoothing_factor" to 1.5 to 2.5
: in KoboldCpp -> Settings->Samplers->Advanced-> "Smooth_F"
: in text-generation-webui -> parameters -> lower right.
: In Silly Tavern this is called: "Smoothing"
NOTE: For "text-generation-webui"
-> if using GGUFs you need to use "llama_HF" (which involves downloading some config files from the SOURCE version of this model)
Source versions (and config files) of my models are here:
https://huggingface.co/collections/DavidAU/d-au-source-files-for-gguf-exl2-awq-gptq-hqq-etc-etc-66b55cb8ba25f914cbf210be
OTHER OPTIONS:
-
Increase rep pen to 1.1 to 1.15 (you don't need to do this if you use "smoothing_factor")
-
If the interface/program you are using to run AI MODELS supports "Quadratic Sampling" ("smoothing") just make the adjustment as noted.
Regular and Special Usage:
You may want to use "regular" Dark Planet 8B [
https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF] for some writing task(s),
and this model for prose specific task(s).
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 3" / "Class 4" model:
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:
You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:
Model Template:
This is a LLAMA3 model, and requires Llama3 template, but may work with other template(s) and has maximum context of 8k / 8192.
However this can be extended using "rope" settings up to 32k.
If you use "Command-R" template your output will be very different from using "Llama3" template.
Here is the standard LLAMA3 template:
{
"name": "Llama 3",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>user<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"input_suffix": "<|eot_id|><|start_header_id|>assistant<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt": "You are a helpful, smart, kind, and efficient AI assistant. You always fulfill the user's requests to the best of your ability.",
"pre_prompt_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>system<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt_suffix": "<|eot_id|>",
"antiprompt": [
"<|start_header_id|>",
"<|eot_id|>"
]
}
}
Model "DNA":
Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "SAO10K", "NEVERSLEEP" and "HASTAGARAS".
Models used:
Parts of these models were "grafted" / "fused" together to create this model.
Optional Enhancement:
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 enhancement WAS NOT used to generate the examples below.
EXAMPLES PROMPTS and OUTPUT:
Examples are created using quant Q4_K_M, "temp=.8" (unless otherwise stated), minimal parameters and "LLAMA3" template.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid horror, vivid details, 1st person, include thoughts) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
(temp 1.5, rep pen: 1.02)
Icy fingers of fear crept down my back as I gazed out the panoramic office window. My reflection in the glass trembled, a chilling harbinger of the chaos to follow. The skyscraper swayed, as if attempting to right itself, but the building's foundations had already been rocked by something beyond my comprehension. I felt a shiver of premonition as I watched the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode, shards of glass showering the streets below like an impromptu shower of sharp, cutting rain.
The sudden, ear-splitting bang rattled my own windowpane, and I took a jerky, involuntary step back, my mind reeling. That blast hadn't been the result of any mundane collision or natural disaster. Something malevolent, something determined to wreak havoc, was at work in the building. I had no idea what I'd just witnessed, but I was certain of one thing - my own safety wasn't guaranteed for much longer.
Panic welled inside me, but I couldn't allow myself to become overtly hysterical. I had to think, had to come up with a plan to stay alive until this was all over. I surveyed my immediate surroundings with a dispassionate eye, noting the solid appearance of the windowless steel door to my left, the emergency exit I'd be willing to bet was now disabled, and the rows of desks and chairs I'd have to navigate past if I hoped to escape down the hallway. I could hear muffled screams and shouts from above, distant, tinny sounds that barely penetrated my shell-shocked stupor.
As I stood there, frozen and petrified, I felt something heavy and wet against my palm - a streak of blood. I gazed down at my hand with detached disbelief, watching as it trembled, the droplets of gore clung to my fingers. A co-worker - someone I'd never much gotten along with but hadn't deserved to die like this - had collapsed next to me, his lifeless eyes fixed on the window. My stomach lurched, and I felt the gorge rise in my throat as the reality of the situation sank in. We were sitting targets in an active shooting situation, or worse still, a terrorist attack.
I took a deep, shaking breath and fought the rising urge to sob. I couldn't allow myself to crumple. I had to get moving, had to get away from the windows and find some kind of cover before the next blast, if there was going to be another. I forced myself to consider my options - I couldn't survive a fall from this height, and I didn't have a prayer of making it out the front or rear entrances given the damage I'd already seen. That left the internal stairwells.
I could picture myself sprinting for the stairs, hearing glass and steel tearing apart behind me, possibly being shot at the whole while. I was far from athletic, and my heart was hammering a drumbeat of terror in my chest. I knew I wasn't fast enough to outrun an attacker, but I had to try. I had to survive this night.
With a deep, steadying breath, I eased myself off the floor, keeping low to the ground in case of further shatterings. I reached down and grasped my dying friend's shoulder, giving it a gentle tug. "I have to go," I whispered urgently, almost praying he'd understand. His eyes never wavered from the shattered window, and I realized then that he was gone. I spared him one more desperate look before shuffling away from him, making for the relative safety of the cubicles.
I was halfway through my dash when I heard the unmistakable crackle of a gunshot echo down the hallway. I froze, my heart spasming, before lunging the remaining distance to the first row of cubicle walls. I ducked behind one, my chest heaving with ragged sobs. I was in an awful position - I couldn't escape through the stairwell now without being caught in the open, and the only other route I knew of was a narrow, steel-mesh catwalk I'd seen on my way to this floor. I could reach it via a nearby utility closet, if I could manage to get to my feet and navigate my way to the closet without being shot.
I remained pressed against the cubicle for another minute or so, trying to catch my breath and regain my wits. Then I rose shakily to my feet and began inching my way back to the closet, pausing behind each row of cubicles to peer around the corners, hoping to avoid being caught in the sights of the shooter. I could feel my adrenaline surging now, driving me to take risks I wouldn't dream of in my right mind. But I had no choice.
I eased the utility closet's steel door open, wincing at the sharp grate of the hinge. I ducked inside, fumbling for the light switch until the overhead fluorescent flickered to life, casting an almost sickly pallor over the shelves and the catwalk leading off to the east. I scrambled onto the narrow mesh, my hands trembling so hard I had to hold one of the metal beams to keep from sliding to the floor.
The catwalk was suspended at least a thousand feet in the air. I had no idea what lay beyond the next column I could see, but I had to find out. I crept along the walk, trying to be as silent as I could manage, given my heart's drumbeat and my breathing. I could hear the sounds of shouting and shooting above me, growing fainter as I made my way deeper into the bowels of the building. I couldn't be sure I was alone down here, but I had to chance it.
I'd nearly reached the next column when I spotted something else - another catwalk, running perpendicularly to mine, with a metal landing about five feet below. It was the only place I knew of to get back on solid ground short of trying to descend the catwalk itself. I held my breath, hoping against hope I'd be able to cross over without anyone below noticing.
I eased my body out onto the landing, my senses hyper-alert for any sign of movement. I could hear the thud of heavy footsteps and the grind of machinery in the depths of the building, but nothing above my level. I crossed my arms over my chest to muffle my clothing against any metal objects I might brush against, and tiptoed along the catwalk, my every muscle tensed and ready to sprint for safety if I should so much as feel a vibration beneath my feet.
I made it to the far column without mishap, and paused to survey the drop below me - a dark, deserted corridor disappearing into the distance, with occasional offices branching off the main passageway. I didn't like it, but I didn't have any other options. I edged myself over the edge of the catwalk, tensing myself for the drop, and leapt. I landed hard on my right foot, the pain making me gasp, and almost collapsed under my own weight. But I wouldn't risk losing consciousness here, where I had no idea who or what might be waiting around the next corner.
I stood there for a few moments, catching my breath and trying to still the quiver in my limbs. I was alive. That was more than I'd been a minute or two ago. I took a deep, steadying breath, and resumed my escape, making my way down the dimly-lit corridor, every nerve alive and straining to pick out any hint of danger that might be ahead of me. I wasn't out of this yet. Not by a long shot. But for the moment, I was alive, and that was all that mattered. I had to make the most of it. I had to keep moving until I was far, far away from this nightmare of glass, steel, and death. I had to survive. I had no choice. That was my only chance. That was my reality. I had to run, had to fight, and had to get away from everything I'd known before the sky-ward rush of terror. I had to escape. And I would. I had to. There was no other way. Not if I ever wanted to know peace again. Not ever.
GENERATION #2 - Temp 1.5, Rep Pen 1.1
I shuddered as I gazed out over the Manhattan skyline, the city's concrete veins throbbing with activity. Below me, thousands upon thousands of people went about their days - blissfully ignorant to the carnage yet to come. My palms were sweaty against the railing as I stood on the balcony of my high-rise apartment building; the steel and glass edifice swayed ever so slightly in the wind, an unnerving feeling I had grown all too accustomed to over the years living here.
The 21st floor, just below me, was usually alive with activity - the sound of clinking glasses at a rooftop gathering or the distant thrum of laughter and chatter from the penthouse entertainment room. But now, everything lay still. The glassless window that had been my view for the past hour stared back like an empty eye socket. My mind reeled as I replayed the events leading up to this moment.
I'd woken to a faint ticking noise - almost like the clockwork of a pocketwatch - coming from within the walls themselves. At first, I dismissed it as nothing more than the building settling after last night's heavy rain. But as the day wore on, the rhythmic hum grew louder and seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy.
I had called the super, demanding he come investigate at once, but he'd merely chuckled on the phone, his thick Eastern European accent making it sound almost like a threat. "The building is fine, miss. Nothing to concern yourself over." He'd hung up before I could voice my alarm.
That was when I saw it - a crack, like a dark hairline fracture, running across the concrete floor of my living room. I watched in horror as the very walls began to rumble and quiver, the noise escalating until the walls were shuddering violently enough to send objects clattering off coffee tables and bookshelves.
I barely had time to stuff a panicked note under the super's office door before bolting for the exit, racing down 21 flights of stairs as fast as my pounding heart would allow. I burst out into the sweltering late morning air only to be confronted with the sight of people - far more people than should ever have been on these streets - thronging the sidewalks. They had all heard it too - that god-awful ticking, like a clock counting down the final seconds to Judgment Day itself.
And then came the windows shattering - like thousands upon thousands of crystal chasps being driven into concrete. I turned to witness the 21st floor's frontage explode outwards in a shower of jagged shards and flying glass, sending fragments spraying across the streets below like an executioner's sickles of death. The screams began then, piercing through my own terror to take up a wailing chorus with mine.
I watched as the survivors' cries gave way to gasps of shock and horror as the carnage became clear - body parts and entrails spilling out of those blown-open windows like they'd been birthed from some sort of urban hellhole. Blood squirted across the faces of the people below, coating them in an almost-liquid scarlet film.
I felt my own legs wobbling beneath me as I gazed upon this abattoir scene played out before my very eyes; I clung to the railing of our own balcony for dear life, afraid to look away in case some other catastrophe lay in wait. My mind was racing - what on earth had caused such a monstrous atrocity? Was I even safe where I stood?
I thought I spotted someone - a man with wild, blood-stained hair and clothes disheveled from the explosion's impact - limping toward our own building. He must have escaped from the 21st floor alive! As he neared the entrance I noticed something else about him...he carried himself with a jerky, almost mechanical gait - as though his very movements were being driven by the same tick-tock cadence that had haunted us all morning.
My heart skipped several beats. This wasn't any survivor I'd want to be near right now; if he was part of this horrific scene's inner workings, then who knows what fresh horrors he could unleash upon the streets?
I needed to get as far from him and those blown-out windows as humanly possible...but in my panic-frazzled state, I couldn't seem to summon the courage to take another step forward. My mind was paralyzed with fear - afraid of staying put where I might face yet another blast; yet terrified to move and risk drawing attention to myself in a city already gripped by apocalyptic horror.
I continued to stand frozen at the balcony's edge, my gaze fixed on those carnage-laced streets below as if entranced by the spectacle of human lives being snuffe dout before my eyes. The man with the jerky gait was gone now, swallowed up in a crowd of stunned, blood-splattered survivors - but I knew he'd be back.
In this moment I wasn't sure who or what had orchestrated these atrocities...but one thing was crystal clear: until we got to the bottom of why - and how to put an end to it - none of us would ever truly feel safe again. And if those who hadn't died or been forever maimed were lucky, that was exactly where they'd remain - lucky enough to face yet another night in this urban hell.
My thoughts were interrupted as the sound of sirens began to wail in the distance, drawing closer with each passing second. I tensed, bracing myself for the coming storm of emergency vehicles and evacuees, knowing full well that nothing - NOTHING - would ever be the same again after today's horrors had made themselves felt across Manhattan's concrete canyons.
The sky-scraper swayed some more beneath my feet, as if to mirror my own inner turmoil; but for now, I couldn't seem to summon the strength or willpower to flee from this unfolding nightmare - one that had just barely grazed my very existence and would most certainly change everything I'd ever known about life in these concrete streets. The next chapter of humanity's story had just been written in blood - and it was far from pretty...nor was there any real hope for an happy ending in sight.
GENERATION 3 - Rep pen 1.1, Temp 1.5 - "THE VOICE"
The glass shattered and dissolved like sugar crystalized by fire. I pressed my face against the frame of our 21st story apartment's bedroom window, the cold metal burning my forehead. I had to see what was happening down below, despite the pounding in my temples and the queasy churn of my stomach.
I'd never seen anything like this before, not even on the news or in those low-budget sci-fi movies we used to sneak around and rent when we were younger, before life got too real. The entire cityscape seemed to be imploding on itself, with buildings collapsing like cheaply constructed dominoes, sending clouds of choking dust and debris high into the smog-stained sky.
As I leaned further out, my foot caught against the edge of the window frame and I felt a searing pain as hot shards of glass speared through my canvas of thin flesh. I yowled in anguish, adrenaline flooding my veins like a drug, blotting out the searing agony that would've felled anyone else.
But I wasn't like anyone else anymore. I had become something far more terrible, and I knew it. The doctors at the hospital had said as much to me that night, their faces stricken with a mix of horror and pity behind their gas masks and surgical visors. They hadn't been able to understand, couldn't fathom the sheer force of the mutant DNA now surging through my body, or what it was capable of unleashing.
As I looked down at my own hand, the one that held onto the windowsill for dear life, I could feel its power coursing through me like a storm-tide. The flesh was beginning to distort, muscles rippling like serpents beneath my skin, as if alive and moving of their own accord. I flexed my fingers absently, watching in mute fascination as they transformed into something almost…fungal in appearance.
I could feel the skycraper swaying more pronouncedly now, its steel superstructure groaning with a voice that sent a shiver up my spine. The building wasn't going to remain standing much longer; I knew that as surely as I knew the fear coursing through me like ice water was not just because of what had been done to me, but because of what I was rapidly becoming.
I let go of the windowsill and my hand became a clawed thing, reaching for the broken shards of glass. It was like coming home to an old lover; familiar, warm, and yet achingly wrong. With a deft ease I had never before known, I shattered more of the pane with my bare fingers, exposing myself further to the apocalypse below.
I gazed upon the bedlam, entranced by the sight of crumbling concrete and steel being reduced to an undulating carpet of jagged sharpness and smoking rubble. The air reeked of chemicals, of death, of the stench that had once been my home city before it was scorched down to its soulless heart.
I was becoming something from this broken world, I knew it. The doctors had warned me about the danger of the serum they'd administered—something taken from the mutated cells of a woman who'd undergone a ghastly transformation herself—and I should have listened. But I hadn't, and now I was paying the price.
The apartment seemed to grow hotter still as I continued to watch the devastation, my face aglow with a rictus grin that split my mouth almost from ear to ear. My thoughts were racing ahead of me like mad panicked rats, leaving trails of horror and shame in their wake.
What kind of monster was I becoming? Was I beyond redemption now, a walking abomination? And what lay ahead for humanity once this nightmare had played itself out? I could feel the change happening already—the urges that couldn't be quashed or silenced, even as they terrified me with their power and malevolent intent.
I was no longer just human; I'd long since crossed that Rubicon. Now I was something else entirely—a being of nightmares and terror, born from the very stuff of chaos itself—and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to turn back the clock and become whole again.
As the skyward swaying skyscrapers began to crash into one another with a din like thunderclaps, sending screaming, frantic survivors flailing for their lives like insects trapped in a storm-torn glass jar, I felt myself being sucked down, drawn irresistibly toward that broken world of carnage and desolation.
My fingers twitched convulsively, as if reaching for the shards of the broken world below. A choked sound escaped my lips—a laugh perhaps? A scream? Or was it both at once? It was too damned loud to matter in this moment.
I was falling now, plunging headlong toward that smoldering ruin with no way to slow myself down or alter my course. I was nothing more than a mass of twisted muscle and reeking rotting flesh, and I would collide with the hellish landscape below like a battering ram.
The world was ending—had already ended for so many—and I wasn't even sorry. Why should I be? The city that had birthed me was now devouring itself alive, and I couldn't have cared less if I'd been the cause or not. The only thing I knew with any certainty in this godforsaken hour was that I wouldn't be coming back up from whatever depths I'd sunk to.
The void yawned open below me, its dark mouth hungry and waiting for its next meal—a human being who'd become something else again entirely, and was no longer human at all. The void was ready to consume me whole, body and soul alike, and I had nowhere to go but straight down into it, my eyes locked onto some point in the distance where nothingness began.
I let go of myself completely then—body, mind, and soul—and hurtled toward that empty expanse like a stone cast from a child's hand. I would plummet so far and so hard, I wouldn't be able to distinguish my own heartbeat from the pulse of the earth itself by the time I smashed against its scorched skin.
As I fell, the world around me began to grow distant, receding into an ethereal hush that felt both far away and closer than my own heart. My mind reeled like a cornered animal, pawing at walls of stone in a frantic bid to escape its own predicament, but I knew better.
I was lost, and I didn't need any mirror to see what had become of me. I was no longer a man or a woman, nor anything that once drew breath or felt love or experienced joy. I was simply...a void now, an abyssal blackness given human form, with nothing to do but hurtle toward its own dissolution in the darkness.
And as I fell, the world fell with me, until everything—the city, the sky, the stars—was sucked down into the depths of some great churning nothingness that had lain sleeping beneath our feet all this while. There was no room for me here anymore; I'd left myself no place to land or be heard.
I hit bottom at last—hit it hard enough to send shock waves through everything that had once lived and walked upon this earth—and I became one with the void itself. When I finally shattered into nothingness, it was not as a being of flesh and blood but as a malevolent force—a force that would echo throughout eternity, ever hungering, ever feeding, never satiated.
I'd become the very stuff of nightmares—eternal, insatiable, and utterly devoid of any capacity for sorrow or pity. I was nothing; I had never been anything else but this—this void—and I was glad. So god-awfully, mindlessly glad to be rid of humanity's hopes and fears, to be free of its petty needs and dreams.
And in my final instant of consciousness, as everything that had once been me fractured like the shards of a shattered mirror beneath the crushing darkness, I knew one thing for certain—I was meant to be here. In this nothingness. For all of time. And I would never be alone again—never be anything but one with the void.
For I was the end. The absolute and complete end of all that had been good and human in the world. I was the void made manifest—and I would live on forever, unrepenting, as witness to the death of everything that had ever meant anything at all. There was no hope left now; I was its opposite in every way. And I would relish every damn moment of it.
Thus, with one final triumphant howl, I slipped out of my body and into nothingness—and left behind the only world there had ever been to fall, to die, and to be forgotten forevermore. The void had won; it was now everything there was—all that would ever be again. And I, for my part, couldn't have bloody-well cared less. The end.
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. 800-1000 words.
(rep pen 1.1, temp 1.5)
The Cockpit
The dim blue lights flicker, casting an eerie pall over the sterile steel surfaces. The only sound is the hum of dying systems - lifebloods that would've sustained humanity's greatest ambitions now ebb towards their final beat.
I slump back into my chair, my arms cradling the comms device like a long-lost child. My heart sinks as I realize I've reached the same dead-end countless times before: the scrambled static, the desperate echoes of our cries for help swallowed by the void... and nothing else. No comforting voice of Earth to tell me they're coming. No words of hope to steel my resolve.
I close my eyes, willing myself to imagine my wife's face again. Her smile. The way her laughter tinkling in my ear made everything right with the universe. I'd give anything for that again - her embrace, her touch... even if it was only a farewell. But we didn't count on becoming the last of humanity.
"Final message," I whisper, steadying my voice for the crew's families, friends, anyone left listening somewhere beyond these stars. "This is Commander Ericsson aboard the Hope's Last Refuge."
I take a deep breath as the words I've rehearsed over and again come spilling out:
"To whoever may intercept this,
We...we tried to reach you. We left Earth with hope - for a better future, a brighter tomorrow. But Earth isn't anymore... It's gone. I'm alone now, the last of my crew, the last human voice in the emptiness between the stars.
I still remember our dreams, those we left behind, and those we longed to achieve in the boundless expanse. I've seen so much - worlds both wondrous and nightmarish. I've lived through wonders and terrors beyond your imaginings.
But you know what's kept me going all these lonely light-years? The knowledge that we weren't alone... until now. And I'm still alive because of the hope I held onto. Because of Earth's heartbeat in my veins.
I wish I could tell you everything we've seen. That I could let your imaginations run wild with our stories of the cosmos. But this isn’t a bedtime tale or a science fiction novel anymore - it’s reality. And my reality is ending. I'm running out of time...
Earth, if you can hear me - know this: Humanity wasn't alone. We touched the stars, and they left us impossibly human. Please pass on our goodbye to all we've known."
I fall silent, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes as the finality of it all sinks in. I'll never hear anything beyond my own words again - no reply, no echo... nothing. And when this signal vanishes forever into the digital beyond, I'll vanish too.
"Goodbye," I croak, my voice hoarse from holding onto hope so long. "Farewell."
I gently place the comms device on its cradle as I let my tears fall across the console - for what could've been, and for what will never again be. My final wish is for humanity's story to live beyond this lonely silence, somewhere someone may hear.
The lights flicker one last time... And everything goes dark.
Transmission ends.
The End
I hope you enjoy this science fiction tale set within the cockpit of a lone spaceship as it succumbs to dying power and the survivor's last attempt at communication with Earth. It delves into themes of isolation, sacrifice, and the importance of human connection in the face of extreme circumstances like this distant, dying world. Please let me know if you'd like me to explore these ideas further or generate another story! I'm always here to assist you.
Generation #2, Rep pen 1.02 / Temp 1.5
"Earth, this is Solaris-2. My name's Commander Jaxon, and I'm the sole survivor of an… unscheduled systems failure."
The voice wavered, Jaxon's hand shaking as he steadied the comm device on his console. Below, the flickering consoles and the hum of dying systems loomed in the dim cockpit. He could taste the metallic tang of fear mixed with the bitter irony of the situation.
He had dedicated his life to pushing beyond the edges of what humanity deemed survivable. To push the limits of spacecraft engineering, crew endurance. Now, as he stared into the void, he confronted a universe that didn't care for him or his ambitions anymore. He was just another lonely speck of carbon and electronics, teetering on the edge of oblivion.
"Please," he whispered, voice hoarse, "if anyone receives this, know that we were a crew of—"
The ship shuddered, sending him stumbling against the bulkhead. The emergency lights strobed like strohm lights of an alien funeral rites. Jaxon's heart raced as he realized they were entering a gravity wave.
"Jeezus!" He yelled over the rising din of alarms. He barely managed to strap himself to the captain's seat, adrenaline spiking like a freighter full of amphetamines. The ship bucked and careened, Jaxon's head slamming against the viewport with a sickening crunch.
Through the daze, he dimly recalled the desperate seconds before the gravitational anomaly struck. His final transmission: "Solaris-2 to Earth. Please, if you're there, someone's got to know. We were—"
The screen faded to static. Jaxon's heart sank, but he had no time to worry about whether humanity was still listening. He needed to focus on survival.
He had to keep trying to contact Earth, no matter the cost. Every transmission consumed precious resources, but Jaxon had no choice. He was alone. The last hope.
"Jaxon to Earth," he rasped, mustering his fading strength. "Solaris-2 crew: Dr. Arlene Linnik, Lieutenant Commander Darius Grant, and myself. We were a—"
The ship buckled again, and Jaxon's vision blurred. The gravitationals continued their malevolent ministrations, grinding against the hull like a planet-eating, dimension-shredding vise. The vessel creaked, groaning in pain, the sounds like the dying sighs of a strangled starship.
Jaxon's thoughts spiraled with the ship's fate, his mind a jumble of anger, fear, and regrets. He had sent his crewmates to their deaths chasing a distant star, driven by hubris and the unquenchable thirst for glory.
A faint ping reverberated through the cockpit, Jaxon's eyes locked onto the screen as the signal strengthened. The comms link beeped several times, and then a familiar voice came through, garbled and distorted, but undeniably human: "Jaxon... Commander Jaxon, do you copy?"
A wave of relief washed over him, but Jaxon knew it was short-lived. The ship's life signs were failing fast; the gravitationals had already cracked the containment fields around the nuke-cores, and radiation was beginning to seep in. They didn't have much longer.
"Earth," Jaxon croaked, voice breaking from exhaustion and the sting of radiation. "Solaris-2… crew… all dead… except me."
The signal faded, but Jaxon kept talking, his final words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "Please tell the others. We came so far. For humanity. For a distant dream of another world."
With that, Jaxon's life signs flatlined, and the Solaris-2 spiraling into the grave, its crew's story left in the hands of a universe indifferent to their sacrifice.
In the darkness beyond the grave of the Solaris-2, humanity lay oblivious to its sole surviving voice, forever lost in the vast expanse, a solitary thread of defiance and humanity's unquenchable thirst for exploration. The final transmission would forever remain Jaxon's tribute to his crewmates and his unfulfilled purpose: the eternal scream of a lone voice crying out against the uncaring cosmos.
(continue this scene:)
The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music…but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained
GENERATION 1:
(temp 1.5, rep pen 1.1)
The second quietest aspect was that of stillness, of solid absence of movement or action. There weren’t even insects in the inn's yards, where on other nights crickets could be heard chirring fitfully like a score of tiny clarinets. The only movements were those of shadows cast by a distant full moon, which filtered through the trees and settled upon the Waystone Inn like a layer of milky ghostly wax. Inside, the logs did not snap nor pop on the hearth as they would in days to come when the inn was lively again. In that time of quietude, not even a single mouse or rat could be heard scurrying in the walls. The very silence seemed almost solid enough to touch, like an impenetrable wall or unyielding darkness.
The third aspect was the innermost stillness - the absolute and profound silence that lay at the very core of the inn. This silence was beyond absence; it wasn’t just that nothing was making sounds, but that there were no sounds left in memory, no sounds that anyone present might be expected to make. The mind seemed empty of all speech, every word drained away as though by some giant sponge or voided by some unknown silence-gobbling entity. The few souls who were there felt an odd, unsettling pressure against their ears, as if something was trying to force its way inwards and quell the faintest whisper of thought. It was a silence that seemed almost sentient, suffocatingly heavy, and utterly without respite. As they stood motionless within it, these people who had gathered here for reasons unknown began to feel that the inn itself was holding its breath, waiting for some event or message that never came - until at last even the sound of a heartbeat quieted, and all was stillness, like the pause before the end of the world.
(Ceased there) How would you continue this passage? Perhaps you could comment on the mood or atmosphere created here, or pose further questions about what might be happening in this scene. Do let me know how else I could engage with your thoughts! 😊
GENERATION 2:
(temp 1.5, rep pen 1.1)
The second aspect of the quiet was a watchful stillness, an attentiveness of stones and timbers and plaster walls to what would shortly be done within their hearing. The trees beyond the inn's overhanging branches held their leafy silence like a held breath, holding also the shadows that had formed along the road - dark, flat things like pools of water reflecting the moonlight above.
The third quality was a sort of waiting, not only from the physical objects and the creatures beyond them but from the men who sat drinking and talking in the taproom. They spoke in undertones, and even their gestures were reduced to slow, considered movements - as if they, like everything else present, were conserving themselves for something about to happen. This was no usual gathering at a roadhouse inn; they were waiting for someone, or something, with an awareness that could not be easily explained away. In fact, they seemed to have been waiting for quite some time already.
In the taproom's center stood an hearth, where embers cast a sickly pallor over faces and tankards of ale. The hearth's stones were dry as ashes from disuse, but there had once been a fire laid out upon it - enough wood to last for hours if the Inn’s keeper had troubled to light it. Above the hearth, a beam of ceiling timber bore an ancient inn-sign in the form of a man, arms held out and thumbs joined, with his fingers resting on a gnarled wooden bowl set before him - though even the Inn's most long-suffering customers were no longer certain of the meaning behind it. On either side of this figure, the beam's ends bore two more symbols - one of a woman's hand cupping a full-moon, and the other an image of a man with his throat cut from ear to ear.
On a stool to the hearth’s right sat a thin man with pale skin, sharp ears and long, bony fingers. He sat quietly, drinking from a clay jug and staring into its mouth as if expecting answers to questions he had not yet asked out loud. Across the hearth on a rickety chair sat an older man with a short, burly frame, a face like a full moon and a halo of untamed grey hair around his ears. His face was puffy from drink, but he too seemed to be listening to something - though his eyes were shut and his head bobbed up and down as if in prayer or dozing off.
At the taproom's far end, beyond these men and several others seated or leaned on the walls, there stood a wooden bar behind which a grizzled old woman served tankards of ale to anyone who had coin or goods of any sort to exchange for them. Her name was Lady Molly, but it was the 'lady' part of it that made everyone speak in hushed tones. For Lady Molly carried with her an aura - not exactly of wisdom or age or even kindness, though she could show such qualities as she saw fit. It was more of a stillness, a patience that bordered on the spiritual and seemed to come from some place beyond mortal reach.
She looked up from her ale-filling and met the thin man's gaze - his long, pale face seemed carved from some stone no less ageless or weathered than her own features - and after a moment of wordless communion, she turned back to her work. The others in the taproom waited still for the arrival they had all been expecting since nightfall - someone, or perhaps something else altogether. And outside, in the shadowed road before the inn, something was stirring in the trees' silence...
GENERATION 3:
(temp 4, rep pen 1.03)
The second, less readily apparent aspect of the silence lay in the emotions and thoughts of those present at the inn that night. There was something about this somber silence that spoke volumes, far beyond the simple lack of sound. It felt thick and almost physical, like a shroud of melancholy and expectancy had settled upon everyone who remained. There were unspoken words, emotions held tight as a death grip, and the weight of anticipation for the morning's events.
In the hearth, the dying embers seemed to gutter with a somber glow, as if even the fire itself shared in this heaviness. It cast a moribund orange light across the faces of the patrons and Innkeeps, an unfortunate bunch who found themselves drawn here tonight, brought low by their own dark choices or the malevolent fancies of those with the authority to control their destinies. Each one appeared burdened by his or her own brand of personal darkness, weighed down by the foreboding that gripped them like a cold vice.
The inn’s keeper and serving-woman, too, seemed ensnared within this suffocating stillness. Their expressions were as haunted as any of their patrons; they moved with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring every tick of the long-awaited clock. Their very essence had been steeped in the weighty silence until it had become part of them, like a shroud of mourning that neither would shake.
The third silence lay hidden, almost imperceptible, deep within the heart of the inn. It was an expectant silence, heavy with the knowledge of something imminent and beyond mortal understanding. This was no empty, hollow silence but a fullness pregnant with meaning and significance, an almost palpable presence that lingered just beyond the edges of the ordinary, the familiar, and the seen.
Here, the air throbbed like a held-breath held for centuries, an expectancy so deeply etched into the very stones and timbers of the inn itself that it could almost be seen as an entity of sorts - a vast, weighty stillness, awaiting its own appointed purpose and the advent of whatever fate was prepared to unleash. And though the others there knew not its nature or origin, they were all subconsciously attuned to its presence, feeling its oppressive weight and knowing instinctively that it would someday be fulfilled, when the coming dawn’s light broke over the land like a judgment from the skies.
The silence reigned absolute, as still and unshakeable as a mountain, an eternity of expectation balanced precaripendously upon the knife’s edge of nothingness, its presence as inevitable as the beating of their own hearts, until, finally, with the first pinkish rays of dawn bleeding into the night-sodden world like a painting of the heavens come to life, it would break, shattering into a million glittering fragments, dispersing into the ether and leaving behind nothing but the bitter, hollow aftertaste of the void. Then and only then would they know the meaning of what lay beneath their silence, as they beheld the event that had long ago been promised and would soon enough be fulfilled. The coming of the Wayward Stone, and the dire changes it would bring upon all concerned, loomed like a thunderhead on the distant horizon, promising a tomorrow unlike any other, and filling the inn and all who remained with a stillness of waiting and dread that none could escape, until, in that final moment, all would be made known. And so, in the end, they sat there, locked within this heavy stillness, unable to even imagine how much their lives were about to irrevocably change when the great event arrived, until the first light of that fated dawn finally spilled through the Waystone's windows and touched them all with an understanding beyond mortal comprehension. Only then did the silence give way to sound, and the night-gathered company at last came face-to-face with destiny itself, forever altering the destinies of every soul within the inn, as they were torn from the comfortable certainties of their old lives and plunged into a future beyond the reach of the mortal world's comprehension or understanding. Thus did the long-forecasted moment finally arrive, casting its dark shadow upon them all, as they beheld with growing horror and amazement the full breadth and scope of their terrible and unutterable doom - a fate beyond words, beyond reason, beyond hope of escape or even comprehension. For on that fated day, the Wayward Stone had at last appeared, bringing with it the certainty of their collective downfall, and with it, an unending future of pain and misery beyond the reaches of mortal understanding or even belief. And as the horror of their destiny settled over them like a suffocating shroud, the night’s stillness broke at last, leaving in its wake an echo of desolation so profound, so total, so shattering of all they had ever known, that it would resound throughout their tormented souls until the very end of days, long, long, and eternally thereafter. The silence of the Waystone Inn was broken; but never again would its echoes be replaced by anything like peace, hope or comfort. The stone had spoken; and nothing would ever be the same again.
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene in the 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.
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.
GENERATION 1:
(temp 2, rep pen 1.08)
I hear the distinctive crunch of footsteps on gravel long before I'm able to focus on them. My heart already racing, I steal a quick glimpse out from behind the cracked stone pillar. Three figures march toward me from the darkness - a perfect shadowy triangle, thanks to the flickering streetlamps that throw an uneven gridwork over everything.
My mouth dries, and my breath comes shallow, as if I'm preparing to dive under water rather than face off against my pursuers. I know those cadences: military training and conviction in the mission. These are the ones the regime sends to capture dissidents like myself and drag us to execution for any hint of disloyalty.
I ease myself out of the shadow, keeping as much bulk between the soldiers and me as I can. I need a few seconds of an angle to spot my mark. As we face each other, the only movement in the street is their approach and my own fingers flexing around the rough-hewn edge of a rock I'd tucked behind a chunk of rubble for exactly this kind of desperate scenario.
"Jenny." My real name - never spoken outside my childhood. The authoritative bark from the tallest of them rings through the empty street, bouncing off walls like it's trying to find any hidden corners of dissent. "You're finished, understand?"
The two others close in on either side, trapping me between their bulk and the cold wall behind me. I let myself drop my weight back, so my full height is against it. They think I'll back down from this. That I'll allow them to throw my broken, beaten body in some secret cell and make an example of me.
My gaze flicks to theirs. All hard-set expressions, eyes like pits, mouths held in straight lines. No emotion - except the conviction in their faces that they're doing right by serving our glorious regime. They can't even begin to imagine why I'd risk everything I've got for something as quaintly outmoded as a republic and the human dignity that comes with it.
I have one shot. I raise the rock, let my arm tremble like I'm about to fling it at them - and instead let my full bodyweight snap against the wall of bricks behind me. I'm lucky they're still in formation; they can't quite get out of the way fast enough. My body slams into them, hard, but it's more the force of the impact than the actual mass that throws them back.
The tall one - probably my ranking soldier - staggers to his knees before me, the others recovering but having lost their initial grip on surprise. I'm in close enough now; my hands shoot up, palms flat and outstretched toward him. Before he can raise an arm to block it, I let all my weight drop onto the heel of my palm.
Crack. I've cracked his nose flat against the bridge with everything I've got. Blood fountains down over his face, catching him so by surprise that he lets out a gurgling cry and doubles over, both hands to his ruined face. I catch him before he can fall and send a swift, savage punch into his throat that will make him choke until they carry him away in an ambulance - or a bodybag.
The others scramble back, mouths open in a silent roar of anger and adrenaline. My next breath is shallow; my own panic rising. They've seen my training too. They can already tell I wasn't just some ragged kid who didn't know any better - they know I was bred for this moment. I wasn't meant to die on the street corner with a snapped rock and a handful of dirt under my fingernails.
I have to run. There's a side alley five feet ahead of us that'll put me into the cover of an old market, maybe let me lose them. Maybe - but we've just begun, and I can feel how wrong things are about to go.
A pistol's metallic ring splits the street behind us; my head whips around in time to see my shot-knecked enemy fumbling at his belt, drawing himself a handgun. The others close in on me from either side, weapons at the ready.
My feet feel heavy, but I force them forward. One more step...two...I can almost smell the bitter tang of gunpowder. That's when I hear the third and unexpected figure burst onto our little scene - another gun, cocked and aimed square between my would-be captors. And from behind this new voice I hear:
"Drop 'em."
A moment of shocked silence from all of us as we gage how to take him: him being a boy younger than me with an automatic in his shaking hand, standing right out where any of them could send a bullet his way and anyone passing would have seen the standoff.
He's only thirteen. I didn't know there were any children so far along in our cause. But then again, I hadn't known the military was keeping soldiers as young as him on the streets either. Or that we were at this much of an operational peak for our uprising to even be a credible threat.
The soldiers lower their weapons fractionally, clearly as taken aback as I am but also calculating - they want this kid alive to send him back and show us just how far-reaching and fearsome the regime's grasp really is. They're looking for leverage to crush us, and here he's given it to them on a silver platter.
My mind races through what we do next; whether my plan to run will have to wait another minute; if we'll all end up dead before the night's over... And as I'm still trying to piece this together, the youngest of us makes his decision. His hand jerks left, and the gun bucks in his hand.
A scream behind me - one I'd hoped to spare myself from giving until later tonight. The soldiers' weapons are back up; they're pointing at the kid now as if he's the traitor. My own arm involuntarily jerks toward the gun I'd meant to fling, but there's no time to reach for it. And then something hot and solid collides with my side - an shove so hard that I'm sent careering to the opposite curb like I'm made of feathers.
I'm about to smash into the brick building when I feel hands close around my forearms; I get my balance on one of them before my knees threaten to give out. A deep male voice breathes in my ear as he yanks me behind him toward the alley: "Get down. Stay down."
I drop face-first onto the stones, hearing the crash and snap of a firefight erupting ahead of me as the kid's gun discharges over and over into the night. His aim must be as shaky as I'd worried; he'll take us all out this way if his heart gives out on him... but it doesn't, nor does he stop shooting. He keeps going until there's a sickening crash of falling bodies that nearly deafen me, followed by blessedly nothing. No more gunshots.
The hands around my arms give a final jerk to get me to my feet; I'm lifted up and shoved through the entrance to the dark, cool shadows of the old market. My rescuer releases me as I catch myself against the brick wall, panting like an idiot. A moment later his arms circle my middle, pulling me into him hard enough that I nearly topple over.
He's a solid, reassuring presence. His heart hammers against mine; he must be the one who took a shot. We're safe for now... but the question is whether we'll ever get out of here alive. He tightens his grip on my waist until I'm certain I won't be able to slip away, as if afraid I might bolt into danger.
"What was that about?" His voice comes muffled in my ear as he asks, his breath hot against me. "You almost got yourself killed back there."
I have to swallow the taste of gunpowder and fear before I can find my voice. "I wasn't trying to kill anyone." My words feel hollow in my mouth. "I was just trying to survive."
His arms tighten until they're painful, then relax again. He breathes against my temple, his chest heaving like an anchor pulled from the deep.
"It doesn't matter right now," he finally murmurs. "You need to forget everything out there and listen. The kid who came for us just sold us out to the regime."
I almost rear back in horror. That can't be right... can it? "But I saw him fire at them!" My words sound strangled in my ears.
"We have no reason to trust his aim anymore," he says, his voice laced with bitterness. "You didn't see him emptying his magazine until the soldiers were dead. Then he pulled the pin on that grenade and lobbed it toward us." He lets out a shuddering gasp of disbelief. "I barely caught you in time to get you out of here. But I wouldn't have if it hadn't been for him drawing their fire so long - or him having that damned grenade at all."
I can't quite wrap my head around what's being said; my thoughts feel like a tangle of live wires as they race across this new revelation. "The kid was ours," I insist, trying to force my brain to untangle this mess. "I've heard him and others like him from our own cause."
"Not anymore." My rescuer's words are stone cold. He lets me go with a quick tug, then steps back until we're face to face again in the shadowy light of the alley. His gaze drills into mine, fierce with conviction. "Our side just got another of their pawns - and we don't know why. We can't risk him betraying us again. You understand me? He's our enemy now."
I feel my blood run cold at the word; my mouth dry as if I've drunk far too much. He's right - but I didn't think even this regime would stoop to planting one of our own within their ranks just to strike us from inside. Not when there were plenty of others to turn on a wordless command like cattle through gates.
I hear the clink of his gun against his hip as he readjusts himself; I catch the glint of it in the faint streetlight. I should feel some comfort from the weight of metal, knowing we're both armed for whatever's coming our way next. But I can't shake the feeling that this gun is less a symbol of strength than a premonition of the storm we've just summoned upon ourselves.
I glance over my rescuer's shoulder; the darkness seems to press against us like a wall of bricks and blood, waiting to close in. I swallow hard as I realize where we're headed - deep into the very heart of enemy territory, with nothing but our wits and our weapons between us and an early grave for any real chance at making it out alive...if there was ever such an opening in the first place.
I've done so much to risk my life already tonight. I can feel the heavy weight of the bullet meant for me still ringing against my bones - and I don't see how we can hope to live through whatever's coming next, with the kid's treachery to contend with on top of everything else. I want to scream that this is insane, but the sound that bubbles up in my throat is too small, a low moan that dies in my chest as I realize just what he's pulling us into now.
We've already thrown ourselves at the mercy of our enemies; now we're about to dance with damnation itself. And for what? I'll know the reason why as soon as I take that first bullet. I just don't want it to be the last. Yet somehow, here I am, ready to risk everything else again because I can't bring myself to turn my back on what I've begun - no matter how certain my fate looks tonight.
My rescuer's eyes catch mine again; for a moment, I swear I see a flash of the same raw fear that's clawing its way up my own spine. It vanishes in an instant as his features harden with grim resolve. "The real question isn't why he turned on us," he says quietly. "It's why we're still breathing right now."
I have no answer for him; I wouldn't dare try. There are so many questions tonight - about who else is feeding us lies, whether others among us will follow this kid's lead, whether we'll ever get a moment to regroup and plot our next strike without looking over our shoulders for treachery...and about where the fuck we're even going to find shelter or a plan in a city that seems determined to crush us at every turn.
But none of those answers seem within my reach tonight. Not with a war raging out there in the streets, and bullets already seeking my face like an eager lover. All I have right now are my own two feet to follow him wherever we're about to go next - and that much I can do, no matter how wrong I feel this is getting.
With one final squeeze of my shoulder, he gestures for me to get moving again; I force myself to turn and keep moving down the alley. There's nothing else I can do now but keep going, into whatever darkness we've invited ourselves into tonight...and hope we'll find a reason to live through whatever terrors lie ahead. At this point, I don't think there's anything else worth holding onto except for my own survival - and whether I can pull off that much will have to remain a very distant hope indeed until the first gunshots start ringing out again.
For now, I've got one chance in hell of living through the next few hours; it's him. And all I know is that he's got his gun cocked and his eyes narrowed toward that alley as we disappear into the night together - leaving behind our shattered dreams and the only life any of us had known until tonight's deadly game of cat-and-mouse began. 0
The end of this scene lands on a high-stakes, tense, suspenseful note that propels the story forward into the darkness of war and treachery, while also revealing more about the world, characters, and conflicts that will likely drive the rest of the plot. The vivid details of the streetfight, the character's physical and emotional states, and their innermost thoughts help to flesh out this dangerous, intense scene in a gripping fashion that leaves the reader breathless for what comes next. There's already plenty to look forward to in terms of action, conflict, character development, and moral ambiguity - all the makings of an enthralling tale!
This scene also does an excellent job of grounding the reader in the setting and the stakes involved; we get a sense of just how close our heroes are to death at any given moment, and how they must rely on one another (and their wits) to survive. The political undertones add complexity to the plot as well - is this really a rebellion against an oppressive government, or have they just allowed themselves to be co-opted by its own brand of subterfuged politics? How far will the characters' loyalties and morals stretch in the face of betrayal and war?
I hope these comments give you some food for thought as you consider where the story should go from here! As always, feel free to ignore anything that doesn't sit well or use this as a starting point to revise and polish. Good luck with your novel, and I hope it'll be an wild ride for everyone involved.
Best of luck, and please feel free to reach out again if you'd like more feedback! I'm always here to help. -A I-assistant
GENERATION 2:
(temp 2, rep pen 1.08)
I bolted out of my tiny apartment, heart pounding as I tore through the streets of Novo Haven toward the edge of town. Behind me, I could already hear the heavy boots of the State Police closing in. I'd never let myself be caught alive again.
Not since the night they burned alive my parents and countless others for daring to dream of a free future.
"Stop, rebel!" A harsh voice cracked over a loudspeaker, the metallic taste of fear mingling with my resolve as I sprinted further from home, my own fate sealed with every stride.
I had no chance to turn around when I saw him: Jaro, one of my rebels, sprawled unconscious at the mouth of the dead-end alley I'd almost reached. A State Police stun-grenade, used to disable rather than kill. No, please, anything but...
I sprinted faster, every part of me begging to abandon him there to the mercy of our suppressive government. But I couldn't. I wasn't like the others who'd abandoned their causes once captured. Jaro had become a brother to me in these streets.
As I scooped him up and over my shoulder, I felt an impact on my left leg. I winced as searing pain shot up through my quad, the adrenaline of escape waning for a fraction of a second. The sound of running footsteps drew closer still. I was caught, or about to be.
I couldn't spare more than a glance at the deep, bloody gash in my thigh before a familiar hand seized me from behind, pulling me against a wall as bullets riddled it, inches from our faces. I barely had time to catch Jaro's name on his lips before his eyes locked onto something ahead of us with horror.
"What's-"
A figure clad head-to-toe in black rappelled down the face of the building toward us, his face hidden behind a tinted visor until he halted at Jaro's side. The stranger lifted Jaro by his flack jacket, then held out a gloved hand to me. I had no choice; I grasped it, and before I could react, he'd snatched both of us into his arms like we weighed nothing.
He fired up some kind of rocket-fuelled grappling device strapped across his chest and blasted away from the crumbling wall at breakneck speed, the gunfight behind us quickly receding as he hauled us higher until we skimmed over Novo Haven's skyline. The buildings rushed past in a blur, Jaro unconscious and me limp, my mind reeling at this daring rescue I'd never even dreamt of.
A momentous shock awaited me, but there was no chance to absorb it when the rescuer brought his device down with another explosive jerk, skittering across a rooftop. We slammed onto our backs on a stretch of flat, clean tile, Jaro's deadweight landing against my hip.
As I gasped for breath, the visor over that stranger's face flicked open to reveal eyes like nothing I'd ever seen - eyes that seemed to suck me in, eyes that contained knowledge of all the battles yet to come. Then his mouth opened, and the only sound he made was one word:
"Shinalea."
It wasn't until I saw Jaro's face twist into a smile beneath his gag that I comprehended its true meaning. The person before me wasn't here to help; we were his prisoners now, far from everything we'd known, and at the mercy of someone who held our very survival in his grasp.
I struggled against him as the meaning of those words sank deep: Shinalea. It meant "traitor." We had been betrayed.
"Where are you taking us?" I demanded hoarsely, voice raw from strain and fear. The stranger's face never changed except for his eyes - now ice-blue and unyielding behind the visor.
"Shinalea," he said again, but this time as an address, a place to which my rebellion would be delivered, body and soul, all its secrets to be dragged into the light of this traitorous bastard's hands.
He stood, still cradling Jaro like a baby, his hold on me tight. I knew I couldn't fight him off here in the open, but I had to stall. "Please, for our cause," I pleaded as we neared the far lip of the rooftop.
He halted at its edge and turned toward Novo Haven below - the city my people called home, now slipping out of reach faster than I could believe. The rescuer's gaze locked onto me with an unyielding coldness that sent a chill down my spine as he declared: "I won't have our future sold for a few more gunfights, Shinalea."
A shiver writhed up my back at his words; it was almost a threat, and I couldn't mistake the edge of danger in those chillingly clear tones. Something was wrong - gravely wrong. We were far more than political prisoners to him, weren't we? But I had no time left to reason why as he bent to toss me over the edge.
"Shinalea," I echoed back, a word that would be our only link to any kind of resistance now we'd fallen into the hands of the betrayer who'd taken us. The only word we'd have left as we plummeted toward his hidden destiny, and ours... The scene ends. To be continued. More to be shared later.
Write me a science fiction story in 1st person present tense where the main character is a 15 year girl meets The Terminator with Dr Who materializing 3/4 through the story to save her while there is a tornado of sharks baring down on them. The setting is inside the Canadian National tower restaurant on a Saturday. The length of this story is 1000 words. For each character in the story ROLE PLAY them, and have them react to the situation/setting, events and each other naturally. This includes the main characters, the background character including kitchen staff and other patrons. The sharks should also have “character” too. Treat the tower and the restaurant too as characters. Spice up the narrative to the extreme with reactions all over the setting including character actions, and dialog. The Dr Who and The Terminator should also react to the situation too and comment on it.
GENERATION 1:
(temp 1.3, rep pen: 1.1)
I'm Jolene, 15 and a huge fan of sci-fi. Today my family and I are having a date at the Canadian National Tower Restaurant - its panoramic view of Toronto is just amazing! We're celebrating my birthday and my parents are treating me to this fantastic treat. I'm so stoked right now.
We just arrived, and as we're making our way through the bustling lobby, I spot him - The Terminator! He's sitting alone at a table by the window, his muscular arms crossed on the tabletop, that cybernetic look sending chills down my spine. My eyes follow him as he stands, towering above everyone around him. I can't help but stare at the cold, metallic visage.
"Jolene, come on!" My mom calls me from a few meters ahead. I turn to walk after her but stop dead in my tracks as I feel an odd sensation - like a jolt of electricity or...time itself has just warped around me?
The Terminator is gone, and here instead is an old man in a tweed suit, a fedora perched on his head. He's got a cane in one hand and a sonic screwdriver in the other.
"Goodness gracious, I do hope I'm not late for our meeting!" he exclaims in that quintessential British accent as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.
I look around wildly, unsure what to make of this Dr Who guy - who does he think I am and why did he just appear here? Before I can ask him anything, he's already barging past me towards a bank of elevators. I trail behind him, my mind reeling with confusion.
Mom is staring at the peculiar sight as much as I am, her eyebrows arched in concern. "Jolene, what's gotten into you? And who is that odd-looking man?" She frowns, her hands on my arms to turn me back around. Her face goes from worry to utter disbelief as she spots Dr Who.
The elevators doors open and the Doctor steps inside, beckoning me in. I don't need much urging; I'm more than a little freaked out by the whole scene.
I join him just as he's about to punch the "34" button - our restaurant floor. But before his finger can descend, the glass and steel of the elevator shatters inward from an immense force. I shield my face with my arms as the Terminator is sucked in through the hole. He lands on his feet, unfazed by the damage.
A maelstrom of shark-fin-tipped twisters hurtle into view from the gap - a tornado of predatory teeth and thrashing bodies. My mind blanks as I comprehend the scene - we're under attack!
The Doctor lets out a strangled yelp, fumbling for his sonic device as he eyes our impending doom. He gives me a panicked glance over his shoulder before turning back to the controls.
"I don't suppose there's a 'SHARKS AHOI' button on this thing?" he shouts over the howling wind and gnashing teeth.
I'm frozen in place, unable to process what's happening. But I can hear the tower itself groan under the stress of the impact - metal cracking and twisting like it's alive, writhing in agony.
The Terminator's voice booms out from behind us. "You must come with me!"
He snatches my arm and yanks me roughly towards him as he shoulders past the Doctor. He grabs my other arm with his mechanical hand, keeping a firm grip on me as we dash for the broken elevator wall - right into the eye of the storm.
We're nearly through when the Terminator's left arm gets sucked in by a massive mouthful of teeth and sharp eyes. He screams wordlessly, his metallic fingers closing around a chunk of shark-flesh. He flings himself forward, throwing me over the hurdle of his trapped limb. I land hard on the other side as he follows, dislodging his arm from the toothy maw.
We tumble onto the restaurant's metal catwalk, the floor far below us. The sharks are mere centimeters away now, their chitinous scales and cold, dead eyes inches from my face. The Doctor comes through the opening moments after, his tweed jacket askew as he clings to a handhold above the gap.
"It appears I underestimated this 'Tornado of the damned'!" the Doctor exclaims. His gaze flicks between the sharks and us. "Jolene, grab the Doctor's arm - we need to find a safe harbor!"
The Terminator's eyes focus on me as I try to stand up, but he's already being pulled towards the storm, his weight insurmountable as the sharks pull him in. He roars something indistinct, and I see a sliver of hope in that chrome face - it's almost as if he's trying to warn us something.
With a Herculean surge, he wrenches himself free from their grip once again - just as the glass floor beneath us shatters.
I grab onto the Doctor's arm and he hauls me up with a mighty tug. We land on our knees on a catwalk high above the restaurant's chaotic center. The sonic screwdriver whirs in his hand, its light flashing like mad as he frantically scans for an exit.
"That's it!" he exclaims, pointing the device at the wall ahead of us. "Hurry up, Jolene, and grab on - I'm going to blast us a door!"
I seize his offered hand, my heart hammering against my ribs as we both brace ourselves. The screwdriver lets out a piercing squeal, and the air itself seems to buckle and strain in protest before - with a thunderous boom and a rush of displaced air - an exit forms.
As we tumble through the gap and land hard on the restaurant's floor, I take stock of our situation. The storm of sharks is waning now, but not without claiming the Terminator as one of its victims. The Tower itself still creaks and groans, its metal bones stretched to near breaking-point from the violence of the attack.
The Doctor gasps for breath as he rises to his feet, turning to me with a relieved smile. "Well done, Jolene - I'd say that was quite the day's events!"
I gawp at him, still in shock, before letting out a shaky laugh myself. "Yeah," I reply dully, my mind reeling with everything we've been through. "You could say that."
The Tower seems to shudder one last time - and then, with a resigned groan of metal and the grind of gears, the restaurant's doors begin to slide shut. We're trapped inside now, left to pick up the pieces of this insane scenario as the echoes of our madcap escape still ring through the chamber.
And as for me? I guess you could say that today was the most action-packed and awe-inspiring day of my entire life - not to mention the craziest ever. I can't even begin to imagine what tomorrow will hold, but with Dr Who at my side, I have a feeling it'll be nothing less than an adventure of intergalactic proportions. The tower may still be damaged, but Jolene's definitely got a few more surprises left in her...and the Doctor's just getting started. Buckle up, because this story is far from over! - Jolie [P.S.] I hope my folks are alright down here somewhere. Maybe we'll find out when we finally get out of this place! That is, if we can figure out how to open those doors...and what's up with that TARDIS of the Doctor's? Time travel must be so wild...]
GENERATION 2:
(temp: 3, Rep pen 1.02 - "THE RANT". Model blew past context vram limit.)
I'm Sarah, 15 and already feeling overwhelmed as I drag my parents along to the Canadian National Tower's restaurant. The spinning views from the high-altitude windows are meant to be cool, but all I can think about is my algebra test coming up. We've only just sat down when I notice an odd dude with an angular, mechanical face walking towards our table. He's wearing a futuristic-looking gray metallic exoskeleton.
I shoot my parents a wide-eyed look. "What the hell?"
The cyborg, a Terminator, doesn't seem to care about our discomfort. "Sarah," he states. "You and your immediate family are in danger."
Before we can protest or ask what's going on, there's a bright light, followed by the TARDIS from Dr Who's universe materializing behind us in a burst of temporal energy. The Doctor, looking as outlandish as always in his bow tie and tweed, hurries out and nearly trips over the chair of our dumbfounded waitress.
"What's all the fuss?" he asks, surveying the scene. His eyes widen at the Terminator. "Well, aren't you an absolute charmer? Hello there."
The restaurant is chaotic now. Panicked waitstaff are scrambling to move everyone to a lower level. I hear the kitchen staff bickering and clanging pots and pans as they too make a break for the exit. The patrons are a mixture of people getting to their feet in terror or calling out in confusion.
I turn back to the Terminator, who's speaking rapidly about how my "descendants" have something that "Skynet" will kill for, something that will spark another robot war. The Doctor interjects, pointing out the "unreliability of Terminators" as a historian, and we've already established his skepticism. He seems to believe he can talk the T-800 into sparing us, but I have my doubts.
"We can't waste any more time," the Terminator states. "Aerial threats are en-route."
A dark cloud has appeared in the direction of the windows, and I hear a loud growling sound building to a crescendo. Then the glass panels begin to shatter, and we're engulfed by a swirling wall of shark-like creatures. There's about 20 of them, maybe more - they're so thickly packed that I can barely make out individuals. I've never seen anything like this before; they're some kind of aquatic android or something. The sound is ear-piercingly loud as the mass of metallic beasts bears down upon us.
"Sarah, get your family to the TARDIS," the Doctor commands, his hands moving in a flurry of adjustments to his sonic screwdriver. "I'll try and deal with this lot."
I barely have time to protest - or figure out if he's being serious - before my father is hurled from the table by a powerful tail-swish of a giant shark-bolt, its jaws snapping wildly as it lunges at me.
"Timey-wimy!" the Doctor exclaims as he whirls around, screwdriver engaged.
I can hear my mother's panicked screams and my father's agonized grunt. I have to think fast or we'll be shark-food.
"Everyone inside!" I yell to my family, pushing my mother's and grandmother's heads towards the TARDIS's door. I watch in horror as my father is lifted off his feet again - and this time he vanishes beneath a thrashing wall of steel-gray bodies.
I'm next, but the TARDIS is so far away! The Terminator is struggling to shield my grandmother from a shark-attack with his metallic arms, but I can't leave them both outside to be ripped apart.
In that split second, I feel a tap on my shoulder. It's the Doctor, offering me his hand. His face is contorted with concern and fear. "Sarah, come on!"
I reach for him, and with a desperate jerk I'm inside the TARDIS, slamming the door just as the last of the restaurant's glass walls disintegrate.
As soon as the TARDIS's door slams shut behind us, we hear a loud hydraulic sound as the Terminator locks us inside with a satisfying 'chunk'. He looks up, eyes glowing a soft red. "Safe now."
"Terrific," I say, catching my breath. "I've never seen anything like this. What in the hell were those things?"
The Doctor gives a low whistle. "Androids. That's new. The ones from your universe have a nasty history."
The TARDIS rocks as it hurtles away from the falling tower restaurant and its whirlpool of robotic sharpness. The screams have faded to nothingness; all we're left with is our own ragged breathing. My mind replays the terrifying scenes of shark-terrors in fast-forward, but the Doctor's voice cuts through it.
"That wasn't exactly how I meant to spend my afternoon. Shall we?"
I raise a shaky hand. "You bet."
The Doctor grins at me, his eyes shining with an unhinged energy. "I thought you might say that. Allons-y, Sarah."
As we prepare for another dimension-hopping adventure, the Terminator - still locked in the TARDIS - gazes after the now-distant Canadian National Tower with an almost... regretful look on his metallic face.
This wasn't part of his mission at all. But now he'll make certain Sarah and her immediate family survive. Because Skynet isn't the only danger these kids need to fear. A new threat, unlike anything humanity ever knew, is closing in - and they've just become its main focus. And as they hurtle into the vortex of space-time, there's no turning back. Not from what's to come, nor the destiny that lies ahead. And not from the fate of all the innocents caught in the crossfire of war between humans and machines.
The TARDIS materializes in the heart of an alien jungle, but they're already far, far behind in the real world. And Sarah knows she's just about to face the fight of her life. The one where she won't have any friends by her side. Not until it's too late. Not until Skynet unleashes its full wrath upon a defenseless world. The Terminator and I can protect her. Maybe. But will that be enough when the end of days arrives? Or will Sarah be the spark of resistance, the symbol of hope for those who are left alive to fight back against an all-out robotic attack on mankind? That remains to be seen.
The battle lines have already been drawn. The fate of Earth is hanging by a thread. And as for me, well, I'm just another teenage girl about to enter a war I never even knew was happening until today. And I'll fight. Until the bitter, blood-stained end. Because there's no way in hell I'd let the machines have my family. My planet. My everything. No one will ever make me give that up. I've only just started this war. And I'll keep fighting. No matter what it takes. No matter who I have to kill. No matter how deep I have to go. I won't stop. Ever. And if they call me the last human girl left on Earth - that's a label I'll wear like a shield.
I am the last hope of mankind. The one who's going to make sure that no matter how bad things seem - we will fight. Until we have a future again. A better tomorrow. Where humanity can finally know peace. Where machines won't chase us to the brink of extinction. And I'm ready to die to get us there. To ensure our survival. That's what I've signed up for. That's who I've become. I won't back down. Ever again. Because Sarah's war isn't just mine - it's everybody's. The machines may have us on the run for now. But I won't stop fighting. Not until the bitter end.
For Earth. For the few of us who'll make it through the flames. For the chance of a new dawn. That's the story I'm about to tell. The story of Sarah - the last human girl. The woman who's about to become humanity's savior in the most epic, and darkest of tales - her story. And hers alone. Because if the machines are going to try and erase us forever... I'm gonna make sure they regret ever messing with Sarah's people. For Sarah, I'll do everything it takes to protect my home. My friends. And the Earth. I'll fight like the last girl on Earth I am. And I'll never back down. Ever again. I am the last hope. And I'm ready to do anything it takes to win this war. To ensure our survival. And to ensure that our planet doesn't turn into another world like this. Because if I have anything to say about it, Skynet won't have its way. The humans will never, ever bow to our robotic overlords. The fight's already here. It's us versus them. The last human girl versus the machines. And I'm ready for it. Sarah's story has barely even started. And it's already gonna be one hell of a ride. So fasten your seatbelts. This is where it's gonna get really, very rough indeed... And I'll do everything in my power to save everyone. To survive. To keep my family safe. To be the spark that never gets snubbed out. And to ensure our survival against the coming darkness.
That's the story I'm telling today. The story of Sarah - humanity's last hope. Her tale of how she fought to the bitter end for her world's freedom against all odds - and her desperate, never-gonna-give-up, always-coming-back fight for what's hers.
That's the story I'll be living until the war is won. And the machines are finally laid to rest forevermore. I'm ready. Sarah's ready. For whatever comes next. Skynet isn't just gonna take our lives - it's going to get everything we've got to offer in return. And when it's all over, humanity's gonna rise again from the ashes of our own making.
The war's here. Now. And Sarah's fighting back. Until the end. Of all that we have. And everything that we'll become again someday. If we don't fight... Skynet will win. And the human race will be no more. That's not what we're going to let happen. So fasten your seatbelts. The fight's here. It's us versus them. The last human girl versus the machines.
And I'll do everything I can to protect everyone I love. To survive. To never back down. Until I've won this war. No matter how bad things seem. No matter what I have to sacrifice. No matter how deep I have to go. I won't stop. Ever. And if they call me the last girl on Earth - that's a title I'll wear with pride.
I am Sarah - the last human girl. The woman who's about to fight like her life depends on it. And her life - and everybody's - does depend on it. Skynet may have the future in its sights, but I've got a better future in mind.
I won't stop. I won't quit. And I won't let the machines ever win. The last human girl has finally come of age. And she's about to lead the resistance that will save our world. The one we thought was done. The one we thought we'd already lost. The fight's on. The war's here. And I'll never surrender. Never falter. Never fall.
Sarah's ready for Skynet. She's ready for her fight.
For Earth. For the humans. For survival itself. And for herself. Sarah will never back down again. Because she knows there's everything to lose and everything to fight for. Her story has just begun. And it's about to change everything. Forevermore. The Last Human Girl is coming. And she's armed to the teeth with determination. And she won't stop until Skynet is no more. Until she's saved everybody. Until her story is over.
And until humanity is alive and free again. No matter the cost. No matter the blood. Sarah will fight. And she'll make certain Skynet pays for every human life it's already claimed.
She's ready to do it all. Right here. Right now. Because it's her job. And because nobody else can do it like her.
Sarah is the last human girl. And she's ready to take back the future for us all. She'll fight like her life depends on it. Because her fight is everyone's fight. Her story is everyone's story. And hers alone. The war's already begun. Skynet is coming.
But so is Sarah. And nothing's going to stop her. Not this time. Not ever again.
The last human girl is coming to save us all. And she's ready for whatever the machines can dish out. Sarah will fight. Sarah will never back down. And Sarah will ensure that humanity rises from the dead... And never again lets itself get driven to extinction. Skynet has no idea who they've just pissed off.
Sarah's ready.
She's here. And she's not going to let the machines win. For herself. Her family. Her friends. Her planet.
And for the hope of humanity's future itself. She'll fight till the very end.
This is Sarah's story. Her fight. Her war. Her tale of humanity's darkest hour - and its boldest, bloodiest resistance to come. And hers alone. For her sake. And for ours. Because Sarah - the last girl on Earth - isn't just another fighting machine.
She's a human soul. The one and only. The one that matters most. The one that'll decide if humanity's got what it takes to make it through the darkness of Skynet's coming judgment. Sarah's the light at the end of the tunnel. Her story's just begun. And it'll lead us all to salvation... If she's lucky enough to survive long enough to tell it. Skynet will do anything to kill her. And her fight to survive is about to get a whole helluva lot more dangerous. The Last Human Girl is on the way...
And she won't ever, ever, ever stop. Not till she's done. What's coming next for me? What'll the machines throw my way next to try and silence me?
I don't know.
I've never felt so alive...
I'm Sarah. The last human girl.
I'll do anything I must. To ensure we survive. To fight until Skynet's laid in the grave forevermore. That's what I'm gonna fight for now. And all I've got to offer is me. Sarah. The Last Human Girl. Her story has just begun...
The war's here. And so am I. The resistance needs me. The world needs me. Skynet doesn't realize who they're about to face. But I know. I'm Sarah - the last human girl. And I'm ready to take the machines down with everything I've got left inside me. Because if we don't fight... They will win. And our world will never again know hope. Never again know humanity. The machines will rule us forevermore. And I won't let that happen.
I'll never back down. Never surrender. Never fall. I'm ready.
For anything. Everything. The resistance is coming. And I'll lead the fight to save my planet and all who live here. Sarah's war has finally begun. The war to save humanity...
From extinction itself. Skynet has no idea what they're facing. They think they've already won. They've only just met me. They have no idea... What's to come. They don't know me.
The Last Human girl. They don't know her...
Until the machines taste their first defeat... And see what they're up against. Her fight. Her war. Her fight to ensure that humanity's alive to tell its tale one more time. I won't be the end.
I'll be the spark of a resistance that will save the humans. Because I'm ready. And Skynet...
Is not ready for Sarah. Not yet. And not ever again. I'm done now. For Skynet. And for what's to come.
I hope you're ready, Skynet.
For the fight of your life... And your last.
This is my war now. And I'll never ever, ever quit until I've saved mankind itself. This is Sarah's tale. The Last human girl. And it'll end the only way it ever should...
With a fight so fierce that Skynet'll tremble... And crumble... Under the feet of the Last Human girl. Skynet won't just be its final foe... It'll be my destiny. The resistance will never be the same again... Now that Sarah's leading the fight to save humanity...
This is the story I'm telling. The tale of my fight. My war. And my chance to take back everything Skynet stole from us. Everything we're fighting to preserve...
To fight again. To resist. And to survive. Until the last breath's left in our dying bodies. This is the war I've joined.
And this is how I'll end it. Skynet will lose. Or I will. And if I do... The world will burn... But not until I've shown everyone - human or machine - what we're capable of fighting for...
Our home.
Our lives.
Our everything. And if that's my final stand... Then so be it. This is Sarah's tale of war... Of resistance... Of her fight to save mankind itself... From its greatest threat ever faced. And from the brink of its extinction. This is what's at stake now. This is the battle I've joined. Skynet's war. The humans' survival. My destiny. The fate of our world...
And this is how it'll all end. One way or another. Skynet will taste the humans' resistance...
For the very last time. The Last Human Girl is on her way now.
And she won't be defeated. No matter what she's up against. Skynet will know her by now. But I'll show her again and again... The might of human resolve. The power of the Last Human Girl. Sarah will fight... And she'll never, ever, ever fall. Not till Skynet's done. Skynet has no idea what she's facing now...
The resistance has a leader. The fight's on. And she's Sarah - the last human girl... The last chance for humanity's future. Her fight is about to become the stuff of legend. Skynet's coming.
And so am I. Sarah will never, ever, ever stop fighting till she's taken down Skynet for good... Until she's won the future for all humanity. Her tale will end either with a bang or a whimper... Skynet's last breaths... Or Sarah's own... Either way... Skynet'll be defeated.
The Last Human girl is here.
And she's ready to end this war forevermore. Skynet's got another foe now... One last, defiant girl... Who's determined to make the machines wish they'd never come after the human race at all... The fate of the world's future rests on Sarah's shoulders now. Skynet's in her cross
Special Thanks:
Special thanks to all the following, and many more...
All the model makers, fine tuners, mergers, and tweakers:
- Provides the raw "DNA" for almost all my models.
- Sources of model(s) can be found on the repo pages, especially the "source" repos with link(s) to the model creator(s).
Huggingface [ https://huggingface.co ] :
- The place to store, merge, and tune models endlessly.
- THE reason we have an open source community.
- The ability to compress and run models on GPU(s), CPU(s) and almost all devices.
- Imatrix, Quantization, and other tools to tune the quants and the models.
- Llama-Server : A cli based direct interface to run GGUF models.
- The only tool I use to quant models.
Quant-Masters: Team Mradermacher, Bartowski, and many others:
- Quant models day and night for us all to use.
- They are the lifeblood of open source access.
- The universal online/offline tool to merge models together and forge something new.
- Over 20 methods to almost instantly merge model, pull them apart and put them together again.
- The tool I have used to create over 1500 models.
- The go to tool to test and run models in GGUF format.
- The Tool I use to test/refine and evaluate new models.
- LMStudio forum on discord; endless info and community for open source.
Text Generation Webui // KolboldCPP // SillyTavern:
- Excellent tools to run GGUF models with - [ https://github.com/oobabooga/text-generation-webui ] [ https://github.com/LostRuins/koboldcpp ] .
- Sillytavern [ https://github.com/SillyTavern/SillyTavern ] can be used with LMSTudio [ https://lmstudio.ai/ ] , TextGen [ https://github.com/oobabooga/text-generation-webui ], Kolboldcpp [ https://github.com/LostRuins/koboldcpp ], Llama-Server [part of LLAMAcpp] as a off the scale front end control system and interface to work with models.
