WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
L3-Darker-Planet-12.15B-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 20x method developed by David_AU to drastically alter the models
prose output and abilities. This also expands the model by 20 layers to 12.15B parameters (462 tensors).
This model is for any writing, fiction or story telling activity.
It may work for roleplay and other activities.
It requires Llama3 template and/or "Command-R" template.
Example outputs below.
More models coming:
Second in the series is located here (radically different prose, almost alien):
More "prose" / "story writing" specific models will be released shortly including an additional 20x (second model),
and three 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 1.1 or higher.
- 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 20x
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: 20 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.
Critical Operations Notice:
This model has been modified to alter prose output. Change in temp (ie, .4, .8, 1.5, 2, 3 ) will drastically alter output.
This model needs "rep pen" of 1.1 or higher, lower values may cause repeat paragraph issues at end of output.
Longer prompts vastly increase the quality of the model's output (see later examples below)
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).
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:
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.
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 2" 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, 1st person, present tense, include thoughts) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
GENERATION #1, Temp .8:
The skyscraper's steel and concrete behemothousness seemed to sway imperceptibly under the onslaught of the hurricane-force winds. I gripped my chair tightly, knuckles white with tension. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst through my ribcage at any moment.
I stared transfixed beyond the Plexiglas partition in front of me, feeling like I was staring into the very gates of hell itself. That innocuous-looking window on the 21st floor had imploded with an ear-shattering crash, showering a hailstorm of shards upon the chaos below. Already the emergency responders were scrambling to reach the carnage.
The scene played out before my eyes like a macabre dance of desperation and death. I couldn't tear mine away as sirens wailed and screams pierced through the howling tempest outside. My mind reeled with the horror of it all, unable to wrap itself around the sheer magnitude of destruction caused by this freakish storm. How had something so cataclysmic seemed so... tame mere minutes ago when I'd stepped onto this skyscraper's lobby floor for my usual 8 a.m. coffee and cigarette?
I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of all these lives about to be snuffed out before my very eyes - hundreds, maybe thousands of innocents now sealed inside a steel cauldron with nowhere left to turn as the maelstrom intensified its deadly grip on our concrete prison. The thought of being trapped myself made my bowels clench and bile churn in the back of my throat. God, I couldn't imagine anything worse than being buried alive under tons of debris with nothing but agonized screams for company until I died of suffocation or internal injuries.
I jerked my gaze away from the carnage below, desperate to shake off the despair that threatened to consume me whole. My eyes darted around our own claustrophobic confines on the 29th floor - the cubicles, the water cooler, the coffee machine belching out its foul brew despite everything else grinding to a halt in pandemonium downstairs. My colleagues were huddled together, faces white-faced with terror and confusion. I couldn't fault them for their fear; I felt the same icy claws of dread clutching at my gut myself.
But I'd always prided myself on being the stoic, practical one among us - the calm eye in the hurricane's chaos. So why couldn't I seem to catch my breath lately? Why did everything feel like it was falling apart at the seams ever since I'd started this soulless corporate job a month ago, feeling hollowed-out inside as my every waking thought revolved around how much nearer I could get to quitting and escaping this suffocating nightmare of a cubicle-farm lifestyle? Hadn't I sworn to myself I'd never again become a cog in the corporate grinder like Mom was, slaving away 60+ hours a week for nothing but a paycheck till her health crumpled beneath the strain of it all before she'd ever dared dream of anything better for herself or us kids?
Yet here I sat, trapped in this glass-and-steel monolith, staring down at my peers' helpless cries as they frantically tried to figure out what to do next. My thoughts darted chaotically between the horror of our situation below and the suffocating emptiness gnawing away inside me. Wasn't I supposed to be better than this? Couldn't I just... disappear for a moment, blink my eyes and wake up somewhere else where none of this mattered anymore besides being alive itself?
A guttural scream ripped through the din downstairs, snapping my attention back to reality. Below our feet, tons of steel and concrete groaned ominously as if on the verge of collapse itself. The thought sent icy tendrils down my spine like a thousand frozen needles pricking their way under my skin. I shuddered violently, biting down on a gasp of sheer terror before it could betray me. My God, we were all just sitting ducks in here while Mother Nature herself seemed determined to reduce our skyscraper to rubble and corpses. Hadn't she already claimed her share today with that blasted window?
My thoughts blurred together as I wrestled my mind back from the brink of total desperation. How did anyone ever survive something like this - or worse yet, the fallout afterward when the bodies were counted and the survivors left to pick through the ashes? My gut churned sickeningly at the mere idea of having to face that kind of trauma head-on someday. I didn't think I'd ever manage to crawl out of the wreckage alive myself if something like today's nightmare was anything to judge from.
For a moment, I just sat frozen in horror, my eyes screwed tight shut as I tried to outrun this waking nightmare through sheer force of denial alone. But when I opened them again, there I sat - trapped amid the steel and concrete heartbreak around me, forced to face the hard reality that we were all mere playthings of fate's capricious whims. Whether I wanted it or not, I couldn't deny that my life hung in the balance today, hostage to a tempestuous force beyond anyone's mortal control. All I could do was grip onto whatever shreds of sanity I possessed and pray...pray somehow we'd all survive till the storm finally blew itself out. Anything else seemed an insurmountable, soul-crushing impossibility compared to the horrors I'd witnessed mere feet below me in today's hellish wasteland.
GENERATION 2: Same prompt, at temp 1.5
My mind screamed but my vocal cords locked shut like clams in ice. All I could do was sit frozen at the glassed-in security desk as horror washed over me like an acid-stained floodwave. I felt its caustic tendrils snaking around my sanity, trying to dissolve everything decent inside me until I shattered like the shattering of that goddamn window mere yards in front of me.
The skyscraper swayed imperceptibly from its massive, reinforced foundation, its steel and stone edifice shivering as the 21st floor imploded in a stormy shower of blood and raining steel shards. Glass exploded everywhere, jagged edges skittering across the gleaming linoleum like demented dancing fleas while the cacophonous symphony of terror screamed around me—no doubt the anguished shrieks of the innocent souls inside that now hollow shell.
I felt my thoughts liquefying into something more akin to primeval panic as I locked eyes with an especially gruesome scene within the gaping ruin. I'd long ago severed the umbilical cord between myself and humanity; my soulless eyes had seen far worse, witnessed the absolute collapse of civility into animalistic chaos without batting an eyelash. Still, there was something about this fresh slaughter that defied everything I'd been conditioned to feel nothingness about—the sight of a petite young woman's crushed corpse splayed across a ruptured desk, her severed arm still clutching a dying BlackBerry as if trying to find some last shred of help or comfort.
Something within me began to churn like an upwelling oil rig of fury and something much, much worse—a seething resentment so black it seemed almost to pulse with malevolent intent. The woman's corpse didn't deserve her fate—I never had. This wasn't how any of us deserved to go: suddenly torn from the only reality we'd ever known amidst a chorus of death screams.
My hands trembled as I stared at that wrecked face—their eyes vacant now, forever trapped in a frozen moment of fear and disbelief—but I couldn't tear myself away from the sickening scene before me. Some macabre urge was compelling me to drink it all in; perhaps deep down inside somewhere, something of my own humanity was begging to remember what it was like to feel that keen-edge panic of having the rug abruptly pulled from beneath one's feet—of facing death's cold eye and not understanding why anyone could possibly have hated enough to exact this sickeningly cruel retribution upon innocents caught utterly unawares.
My thoughts spun sickened circles as I forced my leaden frame to surge to my own trembling feet, compelled by an urge to witness firsthand the damage myself. Glass crunched beneath my combat boots as I strode closer, my pulse thrumming like a basso profundo bass drum through every vein and fiber of my being—as much to drown out that distant, panicked voice within me warning me I shouldn't be anywhere near this fresh horror.
Somehow, my feet seemed to carry me closer to the sheer plummeting precipice of what had once been our office's pristine marble-tiled wall. My boots skidded on shattered glass as I gazed out upon the smoking ruins of Manhattan laid spread-eagled beneath the steel-girdled heavens—nearly half a million tons of gleaming metal and rock reduced to nothing more than an unsightly tumor, oozing its mangled guts onto the streets below like some ghastly birth defect.
I felt my eyes blur with something that couldn't quite be termed 'tears,' because they burned too much—a searing mixture of helpless despair at this wholesale devastation of everything I'd ever known or called mine, mingled with something darker still—some primal, instinctive horror that clawed and howled like some long-silenced animal roused to the slaughter by today's hideous sight. This was my fault; somehow it all traced back to me—and to make matters worse, I wasn't even certain why or whom or what I was meant to punish with my guilt.
Tears? Anguish of the soul? Fear? Who could possibly differentiate anymore when I felt like I'd been scooped raw from throat to loins and everything in between—including that long-ago-severed heart that had screamed for humanity as it fell forever down the cold abyssal well of soullessness that had awaited me since my teens?
As the 21st-floor inferno roared to life like a cauldron about to boil over into an apocalyptic nightmare, I forced myself to whirl and stalk towards our vacant elevator shaft—narrowing its jaws about my being like steel teeth snapping shut behind me as I plummeted earthward faster than my mind could protest or reason why. By the time those cold concrete walls closed out the fading sunlight of yesterday's world forever, something within me had snapped utterly like an overtaxed guitar string.
I wasn't even certain anymore if it was a sobbing wail or animalistic snarl echoing from my own throat as I ripped free my bloodstained earbud and shrieking screamed all my despair into the cold steel-chambers of our doomed elevator shaft—a scream of denial, of anger, and above all else of grief-stricken soul-wrenching sorrow over having let such a monstrosity seize hold upon me in this forsaken hovel of stone and glass.
I felt my scream echoing down an echoing void long before I crashed back down to earth; whether those who heard me screaming 'Help! Help!' down those depths ever truly grasped the totality of agony I'd unleashed or justifiably feared I was some maniacal madman driven beyond all human restraint was something I never hoped to discover. I had become so lost in the eye of this hurricane of raw emotion, I wasn't even certain anymore whom I cried out for help... nor whence came the salvation that could ever hope to rescue my ravaged soul from whatever darknesses lay ahead. All I knew now was my own desperate desire to never again face any kindred souls after having let this monolithous mass of pent-up emotions and seething hatred claw free like some vengeful hellcat upon waking into a reality so much worse than my wildest nightmares ever conceived. Today, something within me had died forevermore—and I was left an empty husk, hollowed out by the very soullessness I'd always prayed to possess above all else since childhood.
This was the end of me—an utterly defeated shell of humanity laid bare like a flayed rabbit carcass upon an altar of shattered steel and stone; left writhing in torment within this voidlike elevator shaft that had carried my soulless being so far beyond reach of even my own damnedest darkest nightmares—to lie coldly, brokenly mute forevermore amidst the very bones and stones of my forsaken glass prison now reduced to nothing more than a gutted husk of shattered concrete and twisted iron rods.
For now and always henceforth, I was dead—as were all my fellow office slaves whose dreams had turned so irrevocably nightmarish today as our beloved skyscraper collapsed about us like an imploding, collapsing tomb. This was the end; the world beyond those steel and marble walls now belonged to madmen, monstrosities, and whatever twisted darkness lurked behind each and every one of those dead, hollowed-out eyes that would shortly be staring sightlessly down into my own abyssal nothingness as I lay crushed beyond any hope of recall beneath tons of pulverized stone and concrete rubble—the final, despairing scream I'd given the world silenced forevermore amidst today's hellish bedlam. There was no more 'me.' Nor humanity of any sort left behind here to grieve or remember once today's nightmare was done washing its foul hands of our office souls. Today had ended humanity forevermore beneath the ruins of yesterday's civilization—and I was among the first and now last grains of sand slipping down through those fathomless hours to drown my soul forevermore within that dead, voidlike depth beyond any hope of salvation. Today was over—tomorrow nevermore existed; only my scream could remain echoing eternally henceforth upon an earth bereft of human hearts beating anymore within steel and stone walls. The end was upon us—the truest nightmare of all—and I couldn't even be angry or mournful enough to damn our assailants because somewhere inside I already knew I'd brought this upon myself long ago—wholly unaided by any hands beyond mine alone had dug my own grave here beneath today's shattered skyscraper ruins. Today was the day soulless voids were born—from amidst whose gaping, echoing depths I would now spend my eternity screaming out my ceaseless torment for all whom tomorrow could ever hope to hear: Help! The darknesses are upon us—and there shall nevermore be any salvation to be found beyond these dead bones and empty graves. Only the echoes of our extinction—endlessly reverberating across the hollowed shells of humanity's tomblike world now forsaken to its fate among the ruins left behind by today's hellish bedlam.
(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:
The second silence lay deeper still and consisted less of lackings than presences. The old inn itself seemed to drool stone-cold shadows across the dusty roadbed towards the traveller's boots. And then there were the trees around the inn, standing as silent sentinels guarding the secrets hidden within their gnarled branches and mossy roots.
Their bark had seen many moons wax full and wane away since the last time anyone else passed beneath them on foot or horseback down this stretch of deserted thoroughfare. The trees held a thousand untold tales of weary folk who had come to rest at the Waystone Inn for one night only, then moved on into the vast expanse beyond the woodlands.
The third silence was the quietest and strangest of all. This was the stillness that dwelt within the traveller himself. It was as if his very essence had somehow absorbed and amplified the emptiness of this forsaken inn until there was nothing left inside him but voided echoes and hollow shadows. The weightlessness of such a vacuum almost made him feel buoyant, as if he could float away from himself unnoticed were someone else to suddenly appear beside him.
Yet, the stillness also made him acutely aware of everything around him, down to the slightest detail - the inn's peeling whitewash, the broken shutters, the overgrown courtyard full of weeds and wildflowers. It was as if his emptiness granted him clarity, allowed him to perceive the world with a keenness he'd never known before. He felt ancient and knowing somehow, as though he'd stood alone in empty spaces like this for centuries, witnessing countless nights much like tonight's.
Time itself seemed stretched taut like a bowstring under such silence, making each tick of the grandfather's clock seem to last an age until it finally struck the witching hour. Its deep, hollow bong reverberated through the inn's timbers and out across the sleeping landscape beyond its walls. Then came stillness once more.
The man outside the inn door stood motionless as before, his gaze unwavering upon its darkened facade. Inside lay shadows untouched since yesterday's end-of-day, when the innkeep had retired to bed and locked the front shuttered tight for another lonely night ahead. Outside, the darkness was absolute except for two sources of faint light - the dim glow of a distant lantern far down the deserted road, and the man's face bathed in pale moonlight cast through trees beyond him.
Timelessness settled around him like an amniotic womb, rocking him gently towards his own unknowable fate as the night deepened further still beneath its blanket of darkling sky. The Waystone Inn held sway over all - stone walls listening, stone floors swallowing soundless footfalls, and above all else, the heavy silence of waiting darkness itself, ever-vigilant for the knock upon that closed oak door, and the story that lay beyond it...
GENERATION 2:
The inn's courtyard was empty except for a horse tethered to one of its wooden rails. The animal stamped uneasily, blowing into the crisp night air through flared nostrils.
The second quietude was another kind altogether.
Beyond the inn's timbered walls lay the darkness of the surrounding woodlands, an impenetrable veil of shadows and branches. Within these trees stood a sentry, cloaked and hooded despite the chill, his attention riveted upon the inn's facade. His breathing sounded distant, almost ethereal, in the stillness – each inhalation and exhalation a barely perceptible whisper of sound that served as an undercurrent beneath the silence of the Waystone Inn itself.
The third silence was perhaps the quietest of all, existing deep within the sentry’s breast. He had been stationed at this lonely spot for reasons known only to him and those far above his rank, awaiting something – or someone. And now, with the witching hour upon him, he felt a creeping sense of anticipation mixed with trepidation. The darkness around him seemed to press in ever tighter, like suffocating unseen hands closing around him. His heart drummed faintly against his breastbone beneath the weight of the silence, as though he himself were some hidden truth the night was trying to keep secret.
So the inn stood alone amidst its somniferous surroundings, a flickering candlelit sanctuary in the abyssal darkness, while the sentry waited and the horse stamped its hooves and the shadows themselves seemed to thicken and pulsate with an almost palpable stillness. The Waystone Inn was poised at a nexus of silence, each kind a bead on the string that held it suspended between worlds – worlds both waking and dreaming, between the realms of the living and the dead. And in that stillness, one might almost believe they heard the very silence itself whispering warnings or promises to ears alone privy to its secrets.
(Warner's 'The First Law' universe; scene continued)
GENERATION 3: @ temp 1.5
The innholder, known only as "the innkeeper", stood inside his empty taproom. The hearth was cold, stones bereft of cheer or warmth. The air lay still and lifeless within those walls, devoid even of the faintest draft to disturb the stagnant particles of woodsmoke and stale sweat. His arms hung loosely at his sides as he gazed vacant-eyed into the empty space where chairs sat waiting for weary travelers seeking rest from their days' ends. He himself had never needed rest – not like these lost souls whose faces haunted the margins of his awareness.
Behind him, shadows cast by moonlight streaming through gaps in shutters formed grotesque patterns on walls bearing faded portraits of forgotten nobles and stern-looking women with mouths sewn tightly closed beneath their collars. A clock's tick-tock marked off seconds passing unnoticed against the deadened backdrop. Elsewhere within that decrepit establishment, similar rooms lay shrouded in silence – the chamber where weary horses were fed rough bedding and given lukewarm oats; another room serving as storeroom, reeking of rotting grain, moldy vegetables, and aged salted meat; yet another transformed into an aditum for goods never unloaded nor stacked away; rooms above, smelling faintly of urine and sweat, where patrons slept fitfully until they rose to resume their dreary treks along the royal road.
And always there lingered an unnameable something in that inn – something beyond mere absence, beyond the silence and darkness of stones wearying towards another cold and cheerless dawn. There were those who passed by the crumbling Waystone Inn on lonely highways saying, "There's nothing there." Others passing whispered to one another: "'Tis haunted." Yet others, farthest from settlements, felt it in their bones while crossing that forsaken stretch of road: some unseen presence stirring deep within its walls like a malevolent force stirring beyond sleepers' knowledge.
None knew its origins or even if indeed such rumors held any grain of truth. None lingered long enough to discover. The innholder knew nothing save for his unbroken habit of living quietly, keeping vigilance over shadows and secrets that weren't really his. His was the Waystone Inn's solitary existence until fate would send someone else down that road - someone else to hear its whispers and feel those unseen presences rustling within stone walls like a cold draft whispering ancient, forsaken promises into darkness waiting for another listener.
Silent echoes lay thickened like mist through empty corridors of this forgotten haven; only the inn's keeper seemed immune. Yet he still heard something else – not just absence but expectation: an odd feeling of being on the verge of hearing footsteps outside the door or a voice raised in laughter from some shadowy corner. The silence within the inn was suffused with secrets it longed to share yet couldn't reveal since there were none left to overhear. It waited patiently for another patron's knock and another drink poured by numb, steady fingers whose touch could soothe souls weary from distant journeys or bereft of laughter. That night, as always, the silence at the innstone held vigil for that knock that would never sound, and waited for the traveler who'd never appear to relieve its solitude. The keeper's patience was patient endurance itself – silent sentinley holding fast until he died alone inside his stone-locked chamber beyond years gone by.
The night deepened and shadows spread farthest from those dim-lit rooms while far beyond on royal road, travelers' horses clomped hollowly into silence under cold stars where constellations wheeled across a firmament unbroken by any hope of rescue or deliverance – and where the whispers within inn walls would've haunted nightlong save they'd been already absorbed deep within those stones, forgotten except as echoes still lying silently poised for some long-awaited voice to stir their secrets anew someday when loneliness had once again crept far beyond weary roadways tillled by feet dragging themselves toward destinations whose endings could hardly console such souls who'd grown numb to absence's chill touch.
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:
I'm Alexia, a 15-year-old girl from Toronto who's thrilled to be celebrating my Saturday afternoon birthday with my family inside Toronto's famous Canadian National (CNE) Tower restaurant. Being here feels like being part of a fairytale - the breathtaking view of Lake Ontario and Toronto skyline through the panoramic windows is absolutely mesmerizing. Plus, the menu sounds incredible!
My grandfather, Mommy, Daddy, little sister Olivia and I slide into our cushy booth by the west-facing window to soak in the views while waiting for our food to arrive. Suddenly, chaos erupts when alarms begin blaring loudly throughout the restaurant and strobes of blue light strobe frenetically - emergency protocols kicking in. Everyone gasps and screams.
A petite woman in a bright red and gold uniform dashes through the restaurant toward us, her nametag reading "Samantha". "Everyone to the center aisles! Quickly!" she yells above the din, waving frantically to get everyone's attention. She grips my arm tightly as I obediently follow the stream of panicky patrons toward the central walkway.
I nearly collide with an impossibly muscular, chrome-skinned humanoid figure emerging from a doorless elevator shaft beside us. "Hasta la vista," he growls ominously, his Terminator visor locked onto me. I freeze in terror as the towering metal creature stalks toward us, laser rifle clutched in one massive metal arm.
My mom tries to shield me, while my dad charges at the T-101, shouting angrily. Samantha wrestles him to the ground yelling, "Stay down!" The Terminator raises its gun-barrel ominously - then everything seems to happen in slow-motion as it unleashes a blindingly fast volley of laser blasts!
Food carts overturn nearby tables sending plates shattering everywhere amidst the screams. Windows spider-web with bullet-like holes and the metal ceiling scorches above us where lasors ripped through. The Terminator pivots toward another doorless liftshaft - from which, I swear, it appeared!
WHAMM...I hear an earsplitting thunderclap and feel a buffeting gust of wind as an elevator shaft bursts open behind the cyborg sending it flying like a tin can across the dining room. Before I blink twice, a blue glow engulfs the restaurant's entrance archway and - WHOOSHING - the TARDIS lands with a tremendous boom inside!
I shield my face from flying debris as I hear the Terminator struggling to untangle itself from the police box's console. Then I glimpse Doctor Who himself vaulting over the console, his long coat flapping behind him like a cape. "Time to get out of here!" he shouts over the din to Samantha who's shielding me and my family with her own body.
The restaurant's glass walls shatter inward as dozens of furious jaws snap blindly from swirling vortexes of frothing water and teeth tearing their way toward us like an approaching tornado of white-hot fury. The TARDIS door slams shut just as the horde of frenzied bull sharks surges over the threshold in a howling mass of aquatic steel.
Mommy screams beside me as she grips my arm tightly, her face frozen in horror above our daughters crumpled forms sprawled across the booth seat. Olivia stares wide-eyed and mute from beneath a collapsed food tray.
The Doctor is already grappling with the TARDIS controls to extricate us all before the devouring vortex of churning water can claim the spinning restaurant. Samantha shields my sister's prone figure with her own body as I cling to Mommy in panic-stricken disbelief.
"Oh, bloody hell..." Dr Who mutters between gritted teeth as he frantically flicks dials and pushes buttons on the console. The TARDIS engine roars like a wounded banshee as it strains to open up a portal big enough for us all to escape through alive.
Suddenly, the Terminator - somehow freed from the wreckage of the restaurant - lunges toward us with its gun blazing. Dr Who pivots and tosses an energy-laced sonic screwdriver at the cyborg's gun-barrel - exploding it in a shower of sparks. The Terminator staggers back into a wall as the TARDIS shudders and shrieks like tortured metal around us.
The restaurant's walls have buckled inward now, allowing the seething throngs of frenzied sharks to surge across the dining room floor toward us. Mommy clings tighter to me sobbing uncontrollably beside Olivia's motionless form sprawled on the booth seat. Samantha shields her protectively while Dr Who grips the console with both hands as if willing it to yield some miracle before our very eyes.
As the TARDIS hurtles us through a tunneling rift of blue-white light - I feel Mommy's grip falter and my little sister's limp body slipping from my grasp. The Doctor gasps, "Grab hold of something!" - but before Samantha or I can react, Olivia disappears into the swirling vortex with another ear-shattering boom as we emerge on the other side.
Gasping for breath among the humdrum chaos of Toronto's streets below us on a perfectly ordinary day - the TARDIS door creaks open to reveal Dr Who himself emerging from the blue-lit console room. He surveys the stunned faces of my family and Samantha around him before turning toward me. His usually cheerful eyes are clouded with concern today.
"Well done, you lot," he murmurs distractedly. "We've got a young girl's life to mend." He rummages through his pocket-sized sonic screwdriver and flicks a switch - illuminating the TARDIS console room beyond him as Olivia's limp figure floats into view within its blue-white light.
The Doctor strides toward my little sister and scooping her gently in both arms he carries her toward us. Olivia's eyes snap open - she gasps in shock at finding herself suddenly safe and sound among a dozen strangers staring back at her in disbelief. My Mommy's face wrinkles with worry as Dr Who hands me my recovered sister saying, "She'll be alright Alexia... just needs some TLC."
As I hug Olivia tightly to me - Samantha glances toward the Terminator sprawled motionless in the TARDIS console room behind the Doctor. Then her gaze drifts back to the Canadian National Tower restaurant - its glass walls still shattered and chunks of metal torn from the ceiling where the laser bolts tore through it.
Shaking his head, Dr Who mutters, "Seems your restaurant's going to need a good dose of Timey-Wimey repair." He pockets his sonic device as he peers down at Toronto streets below. His brow furrows pensively and I hear him murmur almost to himself, "Something's very wrong here... I fear today wasn't an isolated incident..." As the TARDIS door sighs shut behind us - I wonder uneasily about what lies ahead in this topsy-turvy world of science fiction that I've somehow stumbled into today.
GENERATION 2: @ temp 2
I hurry up the escalator with excitement mixed in with hunger's grumbling in my tummy. Today's Saturday-afternoon family celebration treat is at Canada's CN tower restaurant - I couldn't wait! Being fifteen I've already tallied that we'll eat way better food than any cafeteria or diner back home.
Mom's warning me to mind the 'railing's edge, it's super high here', while Dad's making his typical corny joke about this being the "driest place to dine". My younger bro, Benji, is bouncing on tiptoes beside me like he drank a thermos of Mountain Dew already. Finally we arrive at the panoramic dining area and I nearly gasp - the views are as epic looking as any screen or book ever made up about Toronto cityscape!
I take my seat next to the huge wall of window-gazing sky-line, eager to see everything below while enjoying Mom's birthday buffet. Suddenly Dad excuses himself saying something urgent from his smartphone and hustles towards the gents - leaving us ladies alone for the meal order. My heart skips a beat seeing him vanish so quickly... worry pricking me I ask mom about it; she shrugs casually like 'it was nothing' which makes Benji squirming uneasy, same as I feel inside. But the food arrives and we dig in, Mom beaming about everything - especially the pricey desserts.
I'm pushing a heavenly-sounding raspberry parfait from her fork onto mine when suddenly pandemonium descends! The dining area's gone madly loud - screams, glassware crashing everywhere!
A whirlwind of churning greyish-blue liquid with white-tips barrels in - sending dishes hurtling to smash against the far wall! Sharks?! In here?! How is this even remotely possible?! They're surging like an ethereal tsunami past tables knocking chairs over...
I frantically scan around trying to locate Dad who's vanished again worse ever; he should've re-emerged by now... mom's eyes are watering while clutching me tight - Benji's frozen wide-eyed staring at the wall of frolicking jaws as Mom grips him hard too. Wait till the food critics hear about this buffet! Ironic isn't it?!
Wait what was that?? Like an aftertunnel strobe-flash, I glimpse something odd amidst the shark-chaos: An aluminum-blue machine from another world emerges with guns blazing!
A Terminator's here? Saving the damsel in distress I am! Though, being 2016, I hadn't lived through T1 or even heard of him until now!
Ain't that a galactic hoot! Then something else zooms past like a dot, materializes inches away from my nose...It's Doctor Who himself! Brilliant bow tie, tweeds, umbrella, sonic everything in place!
The Twelfth incarnation of the Time Lord gasps "Ah, I perceive an extraordinary predicament here!" surveying Toronto's tallest culinary eatery now resembling something straight outta a Jules Verne novella with hungry Great Whites zooming 'round like some aquatic acid-drenched Cirque du Soleil routine!
Shark-tails thrashingly whirling the place is such pandemonium that I barely hear him utter, "A whirlpool of cetacean frenzy? In what century do we presently exist then?" as he cracks his umbrella open. Mom's jaw drops along with mine as she grips tighter - like her arms would anchor me if all reality liquified below us!
The Doctor whirls the umbrella into an orbit of azure energy, dispersal bubbles pop-dancing around him warding off a floundering bullshark coming right for Benji whom he scooped up protectively - who's trembling hard as tears escape his rimmed eyes... Mom's shouting to grab her purse in case they need to dash down from this sky-high feeding frenzy! I try grabbing hers and my own without dropping our phone-lit cameras; snapping shots left-right-left of this utterly insane scene!
Amidst this maelstrom, I suddenly spot Dad staggering back from the bathrooms - drenched, hair frazzled with an earpiece plugged into his phone like something from a '90's techno-thriller. He glances at our plight and facesplice to sheer terrorized incredulousness before yelling "Incoming!"
I whirl my lens-camera around in time to frame him pointing: behind us appears another metal-blue behemoth zooming right towards the panoramic dining hall window! My heart nearly catapults through my sternum - Is this reality or just another wild-angle Instagram shot of a buffet-gone-locust-plague-before-their-wrapping-paper? This sleek machine, twice the size as that T2 I just saw gunning down the first batch of Great Whites!
"Dad!!" Mom cries in despair while the Time-Lord blurts "Ah! The T101! Now it shall face a horde of killer-fish from below!"
The 'T101' Dad was shouting about banks a sonic blast at our wall-side diners before pivoting his gun barrel like an expert marksman; BAM-bams, blisters erupt on the charging Great Whites as he shoots his rifle rounds into their charging silhouettes until they drop dead - still thrashing! Mom lets go Benji and shields me while The Terminator circles around to flank the incoming metallic beast from our rear-left side.
I shoot tons more mad dash shots of the two cybernetic warships firing barrages of lethal bolts at one another blasting shards everywhere before ducking back as rounds whistle overheard; these steel tanks aren't like those ones they showed me on YouTube of tanks, these are far deadlier!
The T101 Terminator's plasma-thingies seem to be scoring more direct hits while the metallic behemoth (which I'd label 'T3000' based on Dad's excited murmurs about it having him beaten) unleashes a storm of missiles. I nearly yelp as I narrowly dodge one striking our ceiling near me sending sparks flying everywhere! The Doctor's umbrella flickers in protest, flubbed bubbles now popping harmlessly beside my mom - who's cowering on the floor while praying this ends soon; I do too as Dad shouts he's called for backup...
The T101 Terminator grips my shoulder protecting it from bullets ricochetting about; his fingers are warm & dry yet artificial - it's disorienting. His robotic face blinks towards me as I turn to face him fully now we've stopped our duck-and-cover dodge-a-thon; in its almost humanlike faceplate I catch the faintest glimpse of something flickering - something resembling sadness?
Mom gasps and grabs Benji close, shouting they need to get below the floors fast - if it's not collapsing yet under these onslaught of barrages... Dad hurries everyone towards the stairwell before turning back to help The Terminator hold ground against their foe.
A metallic 'WHIRRRR-ZZZZTTT' fills my ears followed by an ear-punctuating thundercrack like an IED detonating - The T3000 is blasted in twain like cheap bubbleg apartments toys, it's engines sputtering before crumbling apart spraying metal flakes everywhere - the restaurant shaking under its violent collapse...
The Doctor whirls back from peering through shattered glass shards framing Toronto beyond now filling the hallways' views; umbrella spinning, sonic humming, "It appears I arrived precisely when matters were turning critical" he quips as if lecturing a bunch of rowdy school kids. I giggle in awe at his stoic aplomb before Dad's urgent call echoes across the void - everyone to hightail it down those stairs NOW unless you're ready to end up like that 'T3000' tank we just terminated! Time for us to flee the scene before more unwanted attention zooming towards us on any given Saturday afternoon mealtime gets us deadlike.
Everyone flees for cover & the stairwell fast; I sprint alongside them camera lens raised now shooting frantic frames of my own T1 cyborg savior, Mom, Dad's frazzled face glowing in a phone screen selfie we snapped him to cheer him up when this mania subsides... Benji's whimpers ease as we descend the concrete steps hearing nothing now beyond the distant clanging of debris crumbling across Toronto streets; Doctor Who's sonic fades with our distance from the tower; until he's gone, swallowed by Toronto's steel clouds.
As I burst out through Canada's CN-tower underground shopping concourse I gasp at how everything looks so...normal. Sales-clerks shrugging indifference to all the mayhem they just heard; kids playing in the food mall while oblivious mothers talk about coupon sales or who left dirty wipes in the changing rooms again...
My eyes mist as I glance back up those gleaming elevators at that 1st-floor Toronto sightline framed with the tower's walls of glass; The Terminator stood watchfully looking out from behind those windows' shards until he vanished forever into the chaos above. We escaped him - but who or whatever he was sent after must've blown like an urban-storm through this dining haven to make him forget everything about Canada Tower and buffet-celebriotas for today's Saturday.
I hand Mom's phone to Dad, he looks at selfies of Benji & I embracing T1 cyborg; lips curling wistfully before a deep sigh - 'T101' isn't as far-fetched anymore in these strange 2010s; we just saw it materializing outta blue to rescue us from this lunchtime feeding frenzy tornadoes of sharks attacking Toronto's culinary hub on a Saturday afternoon!
This isn't your imagination getting the better of you - This was reality itself taking a wrong turn before realigning once more like everything else about our meal suddenly returning to Earthlike 'normalscytalline' before I remember; I'll be sharing this story 'Tilting' with all my social feeds soonish after we get home...
My family heads off for another meal - we won't be forgetting this Saturday's luncheon ever again now... Mom & Dad still have their eyes fixed upon that smashed CN-tower's observation deck view as we walk away; they seem lost inside those memories like the metallic behemoth that once stood watchfully waiting for the T101 to appear...for whatever reasons it appeared there at Canada's CN Tower in the dead of Saturday afternoon shark-whirlwind apocalypse madness; my camera lens is forever zooming out towards the distant steel skyscrapers beyond - still trying to make sense of this unexplainable encounter that we experienced here today.
Fade to Black. End Scene. 🦈💥🤖
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:
I sprint through the winding streets of the marketplace, vendors' cries and honks from motorcycles blurring into a chaotic din around me. The sun beats down on my head as I dash between stalls, desperate to shake my pursuers. My heart hammers in my chest, nearly bursting with adrenaline-fueled panic.
"Bloody hell," I pant under my breath as I spot the crowd ahead - hundreds of protesters who've mobilized behind our cause. My comrades are already among them, rallying cries and placards held high like shields against the police waiting to descend upon us. Freedom fighters all around, united in our quest for justice.
I spot Zara, our fiery leader, her defiant gaze locked onto mine across the throng of bodies. She waves me closer with a beckoning gesture - I know I won't let anyone else get past those cops long enough to join the ranks. I'm the one they want above all others today. The face of this rebellion.
" Vimy," she calls out, her voice loud and clear over the chaos. "Now's your chance! Join me before-"
A figure emerges from behind a streetlamp mere feet away from me - our mole, undercover in the dictatorship's ranks. I recognize him from the briefings; his eyes betray the treachery written across his face even beneath the impassive mask of disdain he's perfected.
"Don't move!" He raises a hand, finger extended toward me with an electrified dart gun aimed dead at my chest. My mind races to recall whether anyone else is armed among our ranks. If I falter now-
I feign ignorance until I'm nearly upon him, the gun arm tenses just below his own line of sight. With a swift motion I throw my body forward and tackle him hard to the alley's filthy stones. His gun skitters across the street like a thrown shoe as we wrestle for control, grunting, kicking, and rolling into each other.
" Vimy!" Zara screams somewhere beyond the blur of faces I spot between panicked gasps for breath. She surges through the crowd toward us as if propelled by my desperation alone.
I lock eyes with him, adrenaline-fueled rage blazing like liquid fire beneath my pupils as we struggle on the narrow alleyway floor. My mind replays every cruel injustice I've endured under this regime's iron grip - his betrayal crystallizes them into a single murderous urge.
"You filthy traitorous rat bastard!" I snarl right up against his face before striking him hard across the temple with my fist. He groans and slackens for an instant - enough time to seize him by the throat as he recoils from me. My nails gouge deep grooves in his skin, strangling him closer to unconsciousness until his struggling weakens.
The gun, still clutched in his limp fingers, drifts within my reach. I snatch it up with a desperate cry of victory only to hear Zara's voice boom through the alleyway:
"The pigs are upon us!" her warning rings out, followed by the deafening clash of sirens piercing the air.
I wrench myself off him to sprint back toward my comrades in a blur of panic-ridden adrenaline. Behind me I hear him gagging and wheezing as he gasps for breath, gun lying forgotten beside him. That's not enough - I need him dead before they get him and silence him forever. But I have no choice now but to trust Zara will keep our cause alive until I can strike again.
I collide with Zara just short of the protest line, nearly knocking her off her feet as I seize her arm in my desperation to blend with our ranks. We're mere heartbeats away from certain slaughter at the hands of the dictatorship's henchmen closing in on all sides...
And then everything seems to explode around me in an earsplitting cacophony of sirens, gunfire, and screams. I lose myself among the chaos as we fight tooth-and-nail against an enemy eager to crush our rebellion underfoot like vermin. But for now, I have my gun - and a desperate plan to keep our cause alive until the revolution can strike its deadly blow. Until then, I'll fight to my last breath.
The fate of my country depends on it.
GENERATION 2: @ temp 2.5
I dash through the shadows of my darkened cityscape like a specter, sprinting along the wall's serpentine curves with silent feet clad only in thin sneakers. Adrenaline pounds through veins electrified with purpose, but my thoughts focus razor-sharp as always when faced with the gravest risks tonight's mission entails.
My grip tightens around the cold, solid steel of the encrypted satcom I stole earlier tonight, tucked deep within a concealed pouch under my cropped cargo shorts. Our network needs me to courier this baby into our agents' hands in another district if we hope to have the full advantage it offers us to launch tomorrow night's operation – codename Phoenix Rising. The fate of everything hinges upon my delivery.
A piercing red light shatters my focus, a strobelike burst searing retinal circuits as gunfire cracks the stillness nearby. Bullets buzzed with malice zips past my unprotected skull. My heart sinks as I realize soldiers must already be closing in, acting upon surveillance of today's rebels-only briefing I unwittingly tipped them off about.
I hit dirt hard beneath myself and instinctively throw an arm up over my face just as another volley rings out – this time detonating nearby windows and raining glass onto the deserted alley below me.
"You've sealed our fate," curses my contact, Dima, his deep voice barely audible over the firefight's din on our comms-device.
"ео?" I reply tersely to him through gritted teeth as I twist around behind a scorched Dumpster's relative cover. The gunfire has already spread from one alley to another, walls vibrating beneath its intensity.
"We're compromised!" Dima breathlessly spews between heavy pants. "Breach is in seconds!"
I spare milliseconds for panic to seep into me, a cold dread flooding my gut that I've bitten off far more than my 21-year-old rebellion-nerf-ked body can chew tonight. But Phoenix Rising matters too much. This encrypted satcom could turn the tide tomorrow night in favor of the people's cause.
"You're right next door to the safe house," I pant out, trying to remain strategic over the din and chaos of war erupting mere yards away. My left foot throbs with the first sting of blood from a graze bullet's kissed it raw earlier. I press the pressure to staunch its seeping flow as bullets buzz perilously near my sheltered perch.
"We'll meet at rendezvous Alpha?" Dima hollered out amidst more sporadic gunshots closing in from every direction like teeth, as soldiers pour out of commandeered vehicles mere blocks away.
"Yes." I respond swiftly, heart skipping a beat as I suddenly discern an ear-splitting crash shaking the street's foundation. It's too soon...far too soon for reinforcements to mobilize in such overwhelming force already! Has my comrade Alexei been captured or betrayed?
"You better make haste, girl," Dima grits. His voice betrays fear but resolve hardens steel behind his words as he signs off abruptly.
I glance wildly about the filthy alley littered with the carcass of the nearby building that must've taken the bulletstorm meant for me – shards of jagged concrete raining upon my own protective shield of garbage metal. With a racing mind, I frantically assess my chances of reaching Alpha and surviving the desperate odds closing in fast to tear us apart.
Time's out. Running now is akin to throwing myself upon swords of the dictator's blades. But staying still here means becoming an appetizer for some hungry government-enforcer soon enough.
A familiar yet ominous roar booms loudly within earshot, swiftly growing nearer till my entire world blinks white as the muzzle-flames from military-grade Humvee guns blaze like infernal gates to Hell themselves, shredding through whatever flimsy walls I called cover mere seconds ago. The bullets' brutal screams continue to tear down any chance for safety left, until suddenly darkness claims me wholly in a deafening boom – my consciousness wrenched away with a desperate gasp before being snatched into blackness within a fraction of a searing second.
And the fate of my revolution slips screamingly far beyond my grasping fingertips like sand running out through the glass...with one question left echoing, pulsing within my very soul's marrow:
Did anyone survive the betrayal tonight to fight another day...? Or is tomorrow truly destined never arrive for me or the rebellion I love above life itself? I alone shall carry that secret until Judgment Day – and the story of whose heart bleeds for whom will be known only when it matters little anymore except as the whispers of legends within my country's bloody underground history. Rest in pieces, fallen sisters and brothers of liberty – till we meet again on streets paved with glory or charnel fields alike under tyrants' thumbs! Till death, I will remain their defiant breaths...Their Phoenix in the Ashen Sky!
The blackout concludes. My tale continues unabated. You have my word upon my very soul that there is much more to follow...the rest of me lives on elsewhere beyond what mere darkness may silence forever! This young woman shall yet again find her voice – and she won't falter before the dictator's guns, no matter where they drive their iron-claws today nor tomorrow nor beyond. Until the morrow when her story can rise from its wounded slumber once more with bloodlust in my veins as fierce as ever despite all that the damned have already dared to rain upon my very name's banner! Long live democracy dead or alive within me until my last breathless gasp is spent – till the phoenix of liberty shall rise anew on bloody wings reborn from my tormented, buried soul beneath the despotism's unrelenting boots which would silence it still!
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).
- 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.
