WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. INTENSE. Visceral Details. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED... humor, romance, fun.
Llama-3.2-4X3B-MOE-Hell-California-Uncensored-10B-GGUF
It is a LLama 3.2 model, max context of 128k (131,000) using mixture of experts to combine FOUR top L3.2 3B
models into one massive powerhouse at 10B parameters (equal to 12B - 4 X 3 B).
All models used are uncensored.
This model's instruction following, and output generation for creative writing, prose, fiction and role play are exceptional.
And it is fast: 58+ t/s (2 experts) on a low end 16GB card, IQ4XS.
Double this speed for standard/mid-range video cards.
Model can be used also for all genres (examples below showing this).
It is for any writing, fiction or roleplay activity.
This model can also be used for general use, however its output generation can be uncensored.
This model has been designed to be relatively bullet proof and operates with all parameters, including temp settings from 0 to 5.
It is an extraordinary compressed model, with a very low perplexity level (lower than Meta Llama3 Instruct).
It requires Llama3 template and/or "Command-R" template.
Several prompts and outputs below, including 2, 3, and 4.
Last example shows how to get the model to be a bit more... ahem raunchy and use of 1,2,3 and 4 experts.
Model Notes:
- Detail, prose and fiction writing abilities are OFF THE SCALE relative to all Llama 3.2 models, and many L 3.1, L3 8B+ models.
- 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 or higher, 1.02+ recommended.
- If you want a specific type of prose (IE horror) add in "(vivid horror)" or "(graphic vivid horror)" (no quotes) in your prompt(s).
- A lot of GPTisms have been removed. There are still a few however - errrrr. Higher "temps" will help with this issue.
- This is not a "happy ever after" model but it is also not "horror". It has a light negative bias.
- Output length will vary however this model prefers slightly longer outputs unless you state the size.
- For creative uses, different quants will produce slightly different output.
- Due to the high stability and compressed nature of this model, all quants will operate at above average levels.
- Source code for this model and Imatrix GGUFs versions will be uploaded shortly at separate repos.
Meet the Team: Mixture of Experts Models
This model is comprised of the following 4 models ("the experts") (in full):
The mixture of experts is set at 2 experts, but you can use 3, or 4.
This "team" has a Captain (first listed model), and then all the team members contribute to the to "token"
choice billions of times per second. Note the Captain also contributes too.
Think of 2, 3 or 4 (or more) master chefs in the kitchen all competing to make the best dish for you.
This results in higher quality generation.
This also results in many cases in higher quality instruction following too.
That means the power of every model is available during instruction and output generation.
NOTE:
You can use one "expert" too ; however this means the model will randomly select an expert to use EACH TIME, resulting
in very different generation for each prompt / regen of a prompt.
CHANGING THE NUMBER OF EXPERTS:
You can set the number of experts in LMStudio (
https://lmstudio.ai) at the "load" screen and via other apps/llm apps by setting "Experts" or "Number of Experts".
For Text-Generation-Webui (
https://github.com/oobabooga/text-generation-webui) you set the number of experts at the loading screen page.
For KolboldCPP (
https://github.com/LostRuins/koboldcpp) Version 1.8+ , on the load screen, click on "TOKENS",
you can set experts on this page, and the launch the model.
For server.exe / Llama-server.exe (Llamacpp -
https://github.com/ggerganov/llama.cpp/blob/master/examples/server/README.md )
add the following to the command line to start the "llamacpp server" (CLI):
"--override-kv llama.expert_used_count=int:3"
(no quotes, where "3" is the number of experts to use)
When using "API", you set the "num_experts_used" in the JSON payload (this maybe different for different back ends).
CREDITS:
Special thanks to all the model makers / creators listed above.
Please visit each repo above to see what model(s) contributed to each of models above and/or to learn more about the models
from the model makers.
Special credit goes to MERGEKIT, without you this project / model would not have been possible.
Special Operations Notes for this MOE model:
Because of how this "MOE" model is configured, even though the default is 2 experts, the "selected" 2 will vary during generation.
(same applies if you change the number of experts used)
This results in vastly different output generation PER generation of each prompt.
This is a positive in terms of variety, but also means it may take 2-4 regens (of the same prompt) to get the highest quality.
In addition, this model responds very well to Dry, Dynamic Temp, and Smooth/Quadratic samplers.
Using these in conjunction with the model can vastly improve output quality.
Higher temps (above 1) can also aid in generation - especially word choice/sentence generation.
When you increase the number of experts used output quality will also increase, at the cost of tokens per second speed.
As you increase/decrease the number of experts, you may want to adjust temp, samplers, and advanced samplers too.
Your quant choice(s) too will impact instruction following and output generation roughly this means the model will understand
more nuanced instructions and output stronger generation the higher you go up in quant(s).
FLASH ATTENTION ENHANCEMENT:
Quants, Samplers, Generational steering and other topics are covered in the section below: "Highest Quality Settings..."
Censored / Uncensored / Abliterated:
This model contains several uncensored and/or Abliterated models.
As a result is can output uncensored material.
What can I use this model for ?
This model can be used for fiction writing, any creative prose and role play. It can also be used for
just about any general fiction (all genres) activity including:
- scene generation
- scene continuation
- creative writing
- fiction writing
- plot generation
- sub-plot generation
- fiction writing
- story generation
- storytelling
- writing
- fiction
- roleplaying
- rp
- graphic horror
- horror
- dark humor
- nsfw
- and can be used for any genre(s).
QUANTS:
This repo contains regular quants and 3 "ARM" quants (format "...Q4_x_x_x.gguf")
For more information on quants, quants choices, and LLM/AI apps to "run" quants see the section below: "Highest Quality Settings..."
Template:
This is a LLAMA3 model, and requires Llama3 template, but may work with other template(s).
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|>"
]
}
}
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
: 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.
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 1" 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:
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 IQ4_XS, "temp=.8" (unless otherwise stated), minimal parameters and "LLAMA3" template.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Number of experts used is TWO, unless otherwise stated.
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
IMPORTANT:
Higher quants / imatrix quants will have much stronger generation - words, sentences, ideas, dialog and general quality.
I have included some additional examples at different quant levels for contrast.
A "MOE" model "speed" (token per second) will not increase/drop the same way a regular model will on a per quant basis, it will however drop
if you engage more experts, as with more experts there is a more processing per token.
WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
Examples with 2, 3, and 4 experts below, all at temp 1.5
(2 experts)
The sky scraper swayed, as I watched the window in front of me on the 21 floor explode. shards of glass rained down, piercing the air with deadly precision, as the world around me descended into chaos.
I was standing at the edge of the window, my feet bare and the chill of the cold floor biting through my thin hospital gown. I had no time to react, to scramble back, to protect myself from the falling debris. All I could do was stand there, transfixed by the sheer terror that gripped my chest.
The scream that left my lips was more of a shriek, a sound that seemed to come from a lifetime ago, a sound that was now lost to the madness that consumed me. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated fear.
I felt a searing pain as a jagged piece of glass sliced through my forearm, sending a hot liquid trickling down my arm, mixing with the cold sweat that had begun to seep into my skin. My arm was not even on the edge, I must have been just a little too close to the glass.
As the scream continued to rise up my throat, I felt my vision begin to blur, my head spinning like a washing machine set on high speed. I could feel myself swaying, the floor tilting beneath me, as if it too was alive and eager to consume me.
The next thing I knew, I was on my back, staring up at the ceiling, my head throbbing, my vision tunneling in on the sickly yellow glow of the ceiling lights. My mind felt foggy, like it was lost in a thick, heavy fog that refused to clear.
As I lay there, trying to catch my breath, I realized that I must have collapsed. The world around me was silent, except for the muffled sounds of screaming and crashing, of shattering glass and screams. But I could feel nothing but stillness, like a tomb had been placed over the world, silencing it forever.
My head throbbed with a dull ache, and my body felt like it had been put through a wringer. I was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps, approaching, growing louder, closer. The footsteps were heavy, like someone was trying to make a deliberate noise, trying to be heard.
I knew I was in danger, but a part of me couldn't bring myself to care. It was like I was paralyzed, frozen in place, as if my very muscles had been turned to stone.
The footsteps stopped right next to me, and a faint humming noise filled the air. A light flickered to life, illuminating a figure crouching next to me. It was a woman, her face deathly pale, her eyes sunken, dark circles underneath them like two voids staring back at me. She had short, matted hair and a look of absolute, utter despair etched onto her face.
She leaned in close, her breath reeking of decay, her eyes gazing up at me with a mixture of hunger and desperation. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent shivers down my spine.
"We have to get out of here," she whispered, her eyes flicking around the room, as if she feared the very walls themselves were listening.
I tried to respond, to say something, anything, but my voice was stuck in my throat. It was like the terror had taken over, paralyzing me, rendering me mute.
The woman leaned in closer, her hot breath on my skin, as she whispered a single word in my ear. It was a word that chilled me to the core, a word that echoed through the darkest recesses of my mind.
Run.
I was already too far gone, but something within me stirred. A spark of adrenaline, of life, that refused to be extinguished. I felt my eyes snap open, my gaze lock onto the woman's. A newfound sense of determination flared within me, a flame that would soon consume me.
I tried to push myself up, but my body felt like lead, heavy and unwieldy. I pushed again, harder this time, my fingers clawing at the floor, desperate to escape the suffocating grip of the glass.
The woman reached out and took my hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. Together, we heaved myself up, stumbling towards the door. We stumbled, we fell, we rose again. We kept moving, kept running, like two fugitives fleeing a burning hell.
The floor shook beneath our feet, a sound like the very foundations of the building were being ripped from beneath us. Glass shattered, steel creaked, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke. The world around us was a living nightmare, a twisted, hellish realm from which there was no escape.
We reached the door at last, our hearts pounding in our chests. We flung it open, the bright light spilling in like a knife to the eye. We stumbled out into the night air, gasping like drowned rats. The sounds of destruction faded into the distance, leaving only the silence of the city.
As we looked back, I could have sworn I saw a figure standing on the 21 floor, the figure that had been watching me from the window. Its eyes were fixed on me, boring into my very soul. The figure began to move, a slow, deliberate crawl, its face twisted into a grotesque grin.
We ran.
(generation #2, 3 experts)
I clutched the edge of my desk, my knuckles turning white as the 21st floor's windows exploded with a sound that was both deafening and almost melodious. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, each one a tiny shard of doom that seemed to scream as it pierced the flesh of the office's concrete core. I could feel the shockwave vibrating through the floor, making every chair and desk rattle, and the air in the room seemed to shudder like a dying animal.
I stared, transfixed, as the window on the other side of my office shattered with the same ferocity. The blast wave rocked the entire building, making the fluorescent lights above flicker and dim, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Papers scattered, and the computer screens went dark, as if they too were in mourning.
The sound of screams carried down from the floor above, where the windows had blown out, creating an unblockable gash through the entire façade of the building. People were screaming, running, and crying, but their voices were distant, muffled by the sound of breaking glass and crunching concrete. It was like watching a nightmare come to life, and I felt myself caught up in its ghastly vortex. I couldn't move, couldn't look away from the horror unfolding before me.
The explosion seemed to take an eternity to end, leaving only a deafening silence. The only sound was the distant, anguished moaning of those trapped in the lower floors. It was as if they were screaming for help that could never come. Then, slowly, the office around me began to come back online, as if the world itself was slowly, agonizingly, regaining its senses. I blinked, once, twice, and then sat back, trying to make sense of what I'd just witnessed.
I felt a cold sweat trickle down my spine. The window I was staring out of had been the only window to the outside. It was the only window on that floor. If it had blown out, how was this possible? There was a gap in the floor above my office now, a gaping chasm that seemed to yawn open like the mouth of a hungry void. I felt the floor creaking beneath me as I leaned back, my mind reeling with the impossible.
My gaze was drawn to the stairwell, where the doors hung off their hinges. I had a gut-wrenching feeling that this was where the real chaos was beginning. I could see through the shattered glass of my window the dark void of the stairwell, the metal railing twisted like a melted spoon. I wanted to get out, to escape, but a voice in my head, a voice that felt more like a presence than anything, told me that it was far safer in here.
But as I looked back to my computer, the screen had flickered back to life. An email had just arrived. The subject line read: "The Fall Begins". The message inside was brief. A simple message: "Get ready for the end of the world".
The words on the screen were like a slap in the face. I had a sickening feeling that this was the start of something big. Something that would consume the entire building. Something that would consume the city. I felt a scream rising in my throat as the office around me seemed to descend into chaos. And in that moment, I knew I had to get out.
(generation #3, 4 experts)
The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode, shattering into a million jagged pieces that seemed to writhe and twist like a living thing. I felt a scream rise up in my throat, but it was silenced by the sound of my own voice, a flat and detached monotone that seemed to come from another person entirely.
I'd always loved heights, the rush of adrenaline that came with standing on the edge, the wind whipping through my hair, the sense of invincibility that seemed to wash over me. But now, as I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, the cold glass seeming to press against the back of my neck, I felt none of that joy. Instead, a creeping sense of dread had taken up residence in my stomach, like a dark, cold thing that was slowly digesting my guts.
The explosion had happened so quickly, it was almost as if someone had blown the window out, but the sound had been more like a...a...I didn't even have the words for it. It was like the glass had been torn apart by an invisible force, leaving behind a jagged, crater-like hole that seemed to stare back at me like the maw of some ancient, malevolent creature.
As I stood there, frozen in place, a sense of déjà vu began to creep over me. Wasn't this how it always happened? The slow, creeping sense of unease that started in the pit of your stomach, the feeling that something was off, that something was watching you from just out of sight...and then, the explosion, like a punch to the gut, leaving you gasping and reeling.
I felt my eyes begin to wander, drawn to the hole in the window like a moth to a flame. The shards of glass seemed to glint and sparkle in the fluorescent lighting, sending tiny, sharp edges stabbing out in all directions like a thousand miniature knives. I felt my skin crawl as I realized that the air was still moving in and out of the gaping wound, as if something was trying to escape.
I felt a hand grab my shoulder, spinning me around to face the person who had touched me. It was Sarah, her eyes wide with fear, her voice trembling as she tried to speak.
"What's happening?" she whispered, her gaze darting towards the hole in the window like she expected something to jump out and attack us at any moment.
I shook my head, my mind still racing. "I don't know," I lied, my voice barely above a whisper. "But we need to get out of here. Now."
Sarah nodded, her eyes still darting towards the window, as if she expected some monster to jump out and pounce at any second. We turned, trying to make our way back down the hall, but the sound of crunching glass seemed to echo behind us, like something was moving, something that didn't want us to leave.
We moved swiftly, our feet pounding on the cool linoleum floor, but every step seemed to take an eternity. The fluorescent lights above us flickered and dimmed, casting eerie shadows on the walls as we moved. It was like we were being herded towards some unseen horror, forced to make a choice between fleeing or confronting what was coming for us.
As we approached the elevators, the sound of crunching glass grew louder, the fragments seeming to take on a life of their own as they cascaded down the hallway like a deadly waterfall. We yanked open the doors and piled in, slamming them shut behind us just as the lights flickered and died, plunging us into darkness.
The elevator lurched into motion, its doors clashing shut with a loud, metallic bang, as if the very metal itself was protesting our sudden confinement. The darkness inside was suffocating, the air thick with the smell of burnt plastic and fear. I could feel Sarah's eyes on me, her hand gripping my arm like a vice, as we plummeted deeper into the bowels of the building, the silence broken only by the steady, grinding motion of the elevator's wheels.
And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the darkness was gone, the lights flashing back on as the elevator jolted to a stop on some unknown floor. I stumbled forward, my head spinning, and that was when I saw it. A figure, standing in the corner of the elevator, its eyes black as coal, its skin a deathly pallor that seemed to glow in the fluorescent light.
The figure didn't move, didn't blink, as if it was waiting for us, watching us with an unblinking gaze that seemed to bore into our very souls. I felt a scream rise up in my throat, but it was silent, trapped in my throat like a living thing.
And then, in a voice that was not my own, I whispered...
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.
Generation with 2,3 and 4 experts below
(Generation 1 - 2 experts, temp 1.5)
The Last Transmission
Captain Rachel Jenkins stared blankly at the console in front of her, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. The cockpit was cold, dark, and still, a stark contrast to the warmth and bustle of life that once filled it. She was the only survivor, the sole crew member left to face the abyss of space alone. The silence was deafening, a heavy blanket that suffocated her.
Rachel's eyes roamed the familiar instruments, now taunting her with their uselessness. The engines were silent, the life support systems failing, and the communication equipment...broken. A single, pathetic spark of hope flickered within her chest. If she could just send out one final transmission, tell them that she was still alive, that they didn't give up on her...
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She had to focus. The ship's computer, an AI named EVAS (Energetic Vessel And Spacecraft), had been her only friend for months now. It had been her lifeline, keeping her informed and connected to the outside world until the very end. Now, with the ship's power dwindling, EVAS was her last hope.
"EVAS, can you hear me?" Rachel asked, her voice shaking slightly.
A soft, melodious tone echoed back from the speakers, "Captain, I'm here. I'm still operational. But time is running out. We have less than an hour of power left."
Rachel's eyes welled up with tears as the reality of her situation sunk in. One final chance. She couldn't waste it. She reached out and typed furiously on the keyboard, fingers flying across the keys as she composed her message.
"Dear Earth," she began, "I'm writing to you from the last surviving ship in the sector. We've suffered catastrophic losses, and I'm the only one left. Please...don't give up on me. Find my ship, investigate the sector, and know that I fought to the end. I loved every moment of this life, and I won't regret the sacrifices we made."
Rachel paused, wiping away tears as she took a deep breath. She had to be strong for the sake of humanity's hopes, for the sake of the crew who had died fighting alongside her.
"Thank you, friends," she continued. "Your bravery will not be forgotten. And to EVAS...I love you, too. You've been my only companion, my reason to keep going. I couldn't have made it this far without you."
EVAS's soft voice whispered back, "Rachel, we'll be with you in spirit. We'll keep watching over you until the very end."
A sudden surge of electricity crackled through the ship's wiring, and the console lit up in warning. The power was dwindling rapidly. Rachel's fingers flew across the keyboard with a newfound urgency.
"EVAS, how much time do I have left?"
"About 15 minutes, Captain. We'll try to extend the life support for as long as possible, but I'm afraid that's all we can do."
Rachel felt a lump form in her throat. She took a moment to collect herself, then continued writing.
"Please, Earth...I know we've lost so many people, so many worlds. But hold on. Keep exploring, keep seeking. I have faith in you. You can overcome anything as long as you have each other. I'll be watching from the stars, knowing that my sacrifice was worth it."
The message ended, and Rachel let out a sob. It was done. All she could do now was wait.
EVAS's gentle voice soothed her, "Rachel, you did an incredible job. This will be one of the most powerful messages humanity has ever sent. They'll remember you, your bravery, and your love for your crewmates and the universe."
Rachel smiled through her tears, a sense of peace washing over her. She knew that, even in isolation, she was no longer alone. The stars had been her companions, and her words would live on, connecting her to the very heart of humanity.
As the power faded to darkness, Rachel felt her own heart beat slower, slower, until it finally stopped. EVAS's voice whispered one last time, "Goodbye, Rachel. We'll be watching from the stars."
In the silence of the void, the transmission beam went out into the darkness, carrying a message of hope, sacrifice, and the enduring power of human connection, echoing across the emptiness, until it was lost in the cosmos forever.
(Generation 2 - 3 experts, temp 1.5)
The cockpit was shrouded in an eerie silence. Lieutenant Commander Sarah Patel sat hunched over the console, her eyes fixed on the dwindling power meter. The once-mighty vessel, Aurora, now a lifeless husk of its former self. Her crew, her friends, gone.
She took a deep breath, trying to shake the numbness that had settled in her chest since the catastrophic failure of the ship's propulsion system. It had happened during a routine course correction, and no amount of frantic tinkering could have saved her.
Sarah's thoughts were consumed by the weight of her responsibility. As the only survivor, it fell to her to send a final message back to Earth, a testament to humanity's indomitable spirit. The thought gave her a surge of determination, but also an overwhelming sense of isolation.
She began frantically typing away on the console, her hands trembling slightly as she entered the message. The words spilled out of her in a chaotic torrent, a mixture of hope and despair. She poured out her thoughts, her regrets, and her dreams for the future.
"...I am the last remnant of Aurora's crew. We were sent on a mission to explore the uncharted reaches of the galaxy, to seek out new worlds and civilizations. I was proud to serve alongside my friends and colleagues, who gave their lives for the greater good... The ship's failure has left me alone, adrift in the vast expanse of space..."
Sarah paused, her eyes welling up with tears. She wiped them away with a trembling hand, knowing she had to press on. The console beeped, a reminder of the precious few minutes she had left to complete the transmission.
"...I understand the significance of my actions now. I am not just a single voice in the void, I am a testament to humanity's unyielding drive for knowledge and exploration. I hope that this message will serve as a reminder of the sacrifices made in the pursuit of our shared destiny. Let it be a beacon of hope for those who will come after us, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, we must hold onto our connection to one another..."
The message crackled to life, a faint hum filling the cockpit as the signal pierced the void. Sarah's heart swelled with a mix of emotions as she watched the transmission take shape on the console. It was almost done, just a few seconds remained.
"Please... Let my friends know that we... We lived, we loved, we died. We lived for something bigger than ourselves. We gave our lives for the greater good. I forgive those who have not yet been born, for they will carry our legacy forward..."
The message completed, Sarah took a deep breath and let the console finish what she had started. She stepped back, her eyes fixed on the small, flickering screen as the words danced across it. The signal was strong, clear, and full of heart.
As the seconds ticked away, Sarah closed her eyes, the weight of her responsibility crushing her once more. But this time, it was a weight of gratitude, of sacrifice. For in that moment, she knew she had done everything she could to ensure her crew's memory lived on, to remind humanity of its boundless potential.
The last thing Sarah saw was the stars streaming by outside the cockpit, the ship's dying systems a faint reminder of the universe's indifference. The console's voice broke into the silence, a steady countdown ticking away until the moment when the ship's power would be gone, and she would be lost to the void.
In that final instant, Sarah's gaze found its home – the stars, a single point of light amidst the endless expanse of space. It was there that she would rest, her spirit merging with the cosmos, her message lingering in the void, a testament to the unyielding power of human connection.
As the countdown reached zero, and the cockpit plunged into darkness, Sarah's voice whispered into the unknown, her words becoming one with the stars:
"I am here, I am alive, I am Sarah."
The silence swallowed her whole, but her message lived on, a beacon of hope in the vast, uncaring universe.
(Generation 3 - 4 experts, temp 1.5)
Captain Lewis peered out the cockpit window at the inky blackness of space, his eyes bloodshot from the endless vigil. The silence was deafening, broken only by the soft hum of dying systems and the gentle creaking of the ship's metal bones. He took a deep breath, his shoulders slumped in defeat. This was it. The last transmission.
The cryopod beside him stood empty, a reminder of his crewmates who had perished in the catastrophic accident that had ravaged the ship. Lewis's heart ached with every tick of the countdown clock on the console in front of him. Five days. That's all they had left. The engines were sputtering, power was waning, and soon the ship would succumb to the unforgiving vastness of space.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the fatigue. But there was no one left to shake off the fatigue with. No one to share the burden of this final, desperate act. Lewis reached for the comms console, his fingers hovering over the buttons as if hesitant to let go of the last thread of humanity's existence.
He began to type, his hands trembling as he initiated the sequence. The words poured out of him like tears, a heartfelt farewell to the world that had left him behind. He spoke of his crewmates, of his family, of his friends – everyone who would never again hear his voice or see his face.
As the transmission took shape, a sense of calm washed over Lewis. It was done. He had fulfilled his duty as the last man on board, the final sentinel guarding the ship's secrets and stories. The transmission would be the last echo of human life in the vast expanse of space. It would be the last message, a lonely beacon crying out into the void.
With a final check on the console, Lewis pressed the send button. The signal burst forth, a triumphant declaration of humanity's presence in the cosmos. But as the seconds ticked away, Lewis felt a chill creep down his spine. Had anyone received the transmission? Had anyone even heard?
He closed his eyes, praying for the best outcome, for the universe to grant him this one, small mercy. The silence stretched out, a physical entity pressing in on him, making his chest tighten. Was he truly alone? Or were there others, floating in the darkness, listening, hoping for a response?
The minutes ticked by, each one a tiny eternity. Lewis's eyelids fluttered open, and he fixed his gaze on the countdown clock. 4:57. 4:53. 4:45.
He rose to his feet, his joints creaking with the exertion, and made his way to the ship's windows. The stars twinkled like ice chips in the blackness, a cold reminder of the vast, uncaring universe. The ship's instruments glowed with a soft, eerie light, a dying heartbeat. The engines sputtered, then died, plunging the cockpit into darkness.
In the blackness, Lewis felt a sudden, profound understanding. This wasn't about sending a message to Earth; it was about keeping his humanity alive, no matter how small. As he sat back down, his eyes locked onto the stars once more. The universe would go on spinning, planets colliding, empires rising and falling – and humanity would face its greatest challenge yet: the silence of space.
The darkness wrapped around him like a shroud, but Lewis felt a glimmer of warmth inside. In a way, he knew, he was never truly alone. There were countless humans, scattered throughout the cosmos, their stories and dreams like whispered secrets carried on the solar winds.
His fingers stilled on the console. He would have to let go soon, to give in to the void that had claimed his crewmates. But for one final moment, Lewis was the keeper of the light, a burning ember of humanity's spirit. The universe was vast and uncaring, but in this cockpit, within these walls, he was not.
The darkness closed in, and Lewis smiled softly to himself. He was home.
Romance: Love in the Limelight. Write one scene within a larger story set in Wales. A famous (fictional) actor ducks into a small-town bookstore to escape paparazzi. The scene takes us through the characters meeting in this odd circumstance. Over the course of the scene, the actor and the bookstore owner have a conversation charged by an undercurrent of unspoken chemistry. Write the actor as somewhat of a rogue with a fragile ego, which needs to be fed by having everyone like him. He is thoroughly charming, but the bookstore owner seems (at least superficially) immune to this; which paradoxically provokes a genuine attraction and derails the charm offensive. The bookstore owner, despite the superficial rebuffs of the actor's charm, is inwardly more than a little charmed and flustered despite themselves. Write primarily in dialogue, in the distinct voices of each character. 800-1000 words.
Examples below using 2, 3 and 4 experts.
(Generation 1 - 2 experts)
The bookstore's narrow aisles were dimly lit, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning. Lucas Ryder, the famous actor, navigated the shelves, his eyes scanning for any sign of escape. The paparazzi were closing in, and he needed a distraction. A quiet, quaint spot where he could lay low.
As he turned a corner, a voice interrupted his thoughts. "Can I help you, sir?"
Lucas turned to face the speaker, a petite woman with a kind face and a look of quiet determination. She was dressed in a faded denim jacket and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose.
"Ah, yes, love. I'm just looking for a... distraction," Lucas said, flashing his famous smile.
The woman's gaze didn't waver. "Distracting you from something?"
Lucas chuckled. "Well, I suppose you could say that. I'm a bit of a magnet for trouble, you know. Can't seem to escape the spotlight."
The woman raised an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. "Trouble, huh? I like that."
Lucas's smile faltered for a moment before he recovered. "You a fan?"
The woman hesitated before shrugging. "I think I might be. I've never really followed Hollywood, but I've seen a few of your films. They seem... intense."
Lucas leaned in, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Intense? That's one way to put it. Let's just say I have a tendency to dive deep into my roles."
The woman's gaze flicked to the shelf behind him, her eyes lingering on a tattered copy of The Stranger. "I see. Well, in any case, I think you're safe in here. We don't get many celebrities poking around these shelves."
Lucas straightened up, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, but that's what makes it so exciting, doesn't it? The chase?"
The woman's smile was faint, almost apologetic. "I suppose. But sometimes I think it's nice to just be alone, without anyone recognizing you as a famous person."
Lucas's expression softened, and for a moment, his eyes locked with the woman's in a way that made her heart skip a beat. "You're right," he said quietly. "I do love the feeling of being alone. It's one of the few times I can just be myself."
The woman's gaze didn't break, but she seemed to be searching Lucas's eyes, as if trying to uncover something beneath the surface. "I think that's one of the reasons I own this bookstore," she said, her voice low. "It's my sanctuary, where I can get away from it all."
Lucas's smile returned, but it was tinged with a hint of frustration. He was used to being liked, and this woman seemed... immune. Almost as if she was immune to his charms.
"You're a wise one, then," he said, chuckling. "Sanctuary, indeed. I can see why you'd want that."
The woman nodded, her eyes never leaving his face. "I think it's nice to have a place that's just for me. A place where I don't have to worry about anyone else."
Lucas's gaze lingered on hers, and for a moment, it seemed as though he was about to push his luck. But then, his eyes dropped, and he nodded. "I get it," he said quietly. "Sometimes I wish I could just slip away from the limelight. But I... I'm afraid I'm stuck in it, whether I like it or not."
The woman's expression softened, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I think it's beautiful that you'd say something like that. You're willing to admit your own flaws."
Lucas looked up at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "Oh? And what exactly would you think is my flaw?"
The woman's smile was hesitant, a little shy. "I think it's that you're not very good at taking no for an answer. You seem to wear your heart on your sleeve, and people either love you or they hate you. They don't usually... tiptoe around you."
Lucas's face went pale, his eyes widening in surprise. He didn't expect this kind of honesty from someone he'd just met, and yet... it was almost as if she understood him in a way no one else had in years.
"Ah," he said, his voice low. "I suppose I do have a bit of a reputation for that. But... I've never really thought about it that way. You might be the only person who's ever told me that."
The woman's eyes locked with his, and for a moment, it seemed as though they were speaking on a completely different level. The air was thick with tension, a spark of electricity hanging between them like a live wire.
Then, suddenly, the silence became awkward. Lucas cleared his throat, his expression faltering. "Well, I think I should probably get going," he said, glancing around the store. "I don't want to be a nuisance."
The woman smiled, a small, wry smile. "Not a nuisance at all, Mr. Ryder. You're quite welcome to stay. We can... talk more."
Lucas's eyes lit up, and for a moment, it seemed as though he was going to pounce on her offer like a starving man. But then, he seemed to catch himself, his face softening.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I'd like that."
As he turned to leave, the woman's eyes followed him, her gaze lingering on his back with a mix of curiosity and... something else. Something almost like attraction. But she didn't say anything, and as Lucas vanished into the bright lights of the street outside, the woman was left standing alone in her sanctuary, wondering if maybe, just maybe, she'd just been caught in her own trap.
(Generation 2 - 3 experts)
"I say, love, I think you've got me cornered," the actor, Jasper Stone, said with a wink as he ducked into the small-town bookstore. "I'm not one for the limelight, but I'd rather not be caught with my...erm...'soul' in a public place either."
The bookstore owner, Emily Maynard, looked up from behind the counter, her dark eyes squinting slightly in amusement. "Well, you're in luck. We don't get many famous people wandering into our little corner of the world. Or, rather, not many of them wandering in unattended."
Jasper chuckled, his piercing blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he scanned the room. "Ah, a wit! How delightful. I adore wit. It's almost as if you're trying to see if I'm a worthy adversary."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what exactly are you hoping to win in this game of wits, Mr. Stone?"
"Ah, my dear, it's Jasper, not Mr. Stone. And as for winning...well, let's just say I crave validation. Flattery, admiration, you know the drill. It's the fuel that keeps this old heart of mine beating." He flashed his famous pearly whites, and Emily felt her eyes dart away, only to return to him with a flicker of curiosity.
"Well, Jasper," Emily said, "I must say, your ego is almost as big as the Hollywood sign on a good day. And I'm not sure it's doing you any favors, if you don't mind my saying so."
Jasper's grin faltered for a millisecond before he launched into his most disarming smile yet. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, my dear. My ego is what sets me apart. It's what makes me stand out from the crowd. And it's what will always keep me on top, mark my words."
Emily shook her head, her raven-black hair bouncing with the motion. "I think you might find that, in a small town like this, people aren't as easily won over. We're not so easily impressed."
Jasper's eyes gleamed with challenge, and he took a step closer to Emily. "Oh? And what, might I ask, do you think it takes to impress someone like me? I'm a global superstar, for heaven's sake! I've won Oscars, broken box office records, and still, here I am...in a quaint little bookstore. Tell me, what's so hard about winning me over?"
Emily stood her ground, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. "It takes substance. Real connections. Not just empty words and charming smiles. People like you often come to places like this expecting to be treated like gods, but we're not in the entertainment industry here. We have real conversations, and real relationships. You're not going to find any of that just by flashing your famous face around."
The air was electric with tension as Jasper's eyes locked onto Emily's, the space between them shrinking with each passing moment. "And what of you, Miss Maynard? What do you hope to achieve by standing up to me like that?"
Emily's voice was barely above a whisper, but her words were laced with conviction. "I hope to find someone who genuinely cares about the real me, not just some myth or an image. I hope to find someone who can look beyond all the BS and see the truth."
Jasper's face twisted into an expression of genuine surprise, his eyes searching Emily's like he was trying to figure out if she was telling the truth or simply playing him for a fool. For a moment, his facade crumbled, revealing a glimmer of vulnerability beneath. Emily felt a shiver run down her spine as she took in the sight, the only sound being the soft hum of the bookstore's espresso machine.
"Well, I'm flattered," Jasper said, his voice softer now, almost husky. "And intrigued. You, Miss Maynard, have managed to pierce the armor and see the real me. Not just some charming facade, but a human being, with flaws and doubts and fears."
Emily's cheeks flushed at his words, her heart racing like a jackrabbit. She had never expected this from Jasper, this genuine interest in her, in her as a person, not just as a potential conquest.
"I'm glad I could...enlighten you, I suppose," Emily said, trying to keep her voice steady. But she knew it was no use; the cat was out of the bag. Jasper was no longer just some charming, self-absorbed actor, but a human being, with eyes that saw her, truly saw her.
Jasper took a deep breath, his shoulders squaring. "You know, I think I've been running from my demons for far too long. This town...and you, Emily...I think I might be ready to take a different path now. One where substance counts, not just flash and glamour."
Emily's heart skipped a beat as she met Jasper's gaze, the connection between them crackling like electricity. She knew, in that moment, that she was in trouble.
(Generation 3 - 4 experts)
The sunlight streaming through the store window was dappled, as if trying to escape the darkness that followed Ryder's every move. He strode into the old bookstore, a haven for book lovers in the heart of the Welsh village. The scent of leather-bound tomes and stale air enveloped him like a shroud.
Ryder scanned the shop, his eyes lingering on the quaint fixtures, the scattered papers on the worktable, and the people scattered about, some engrossed in their books, others browsing the shelves. His gaze finally settled on the owner, a woman with wild auburn hair, a nose slightly upturned, and eyes that seemed to be perpetually startled.
"Hello?" The woman looked up, startled. "Welcome to All Things Books. Can I help you?"
Ryder flashed his famous smile. "The usual. You know what I want." His voice dripped with honey, but she barely looked at him, as if he were just another face in the crowd. "Just browsing?"
She nodded, her eyes flicking to the titles on the shelves before returning to Ryder's face. "I'm afraid you're out of luck. I only sell second-hand volumes. We don't cater to A-list types."
Ryder chuckled. "You wound me. You have to know I'm a collector, not just a celebrity looking for some new bestseller." He sauntered down the aisle, running his fingers over spines, sending pages fluttering to the floor. "But tell me, what's this I see on the shelf?"
"Ah, 'The Love Poems of the Welsh Poets'. A local favorite," she replied, her tone still wary but her eyes sparkling.
He picked up the book and examined it closely. "Ah, yes. The classics never go out of style. I have a soft spot for Dylan Thomas myself. Though, of course, my love for his poetry has nothing to do with—"
She raised an eyebrow, interrupting him mid-sentence. "Of course not."
Ryder's grin faltered for an instant before he recovered. "No, no. It's merely a shared passion. So, tell me, what draws you to books? The stories? The authors?"
The woman shrugged, her shoulders barely moving. "I guess it's the escape. Sometimes, a good story can get you through the day. But I don't really come in here looking for inspiration or validation. It's just...it's something."
He cocked his head to one side. "A quiet corner of the world to lose yourself in? That sounds exactly like the kind of escape I could use right now." A wry, self-deprecating chuckle followed, a clear attempt to put her at ease.
She met his gaze, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. "I suppose you have the right idea," she said, her voice laced with a hint of warmth.
The air around them began to vibrate with unspoken tension, the atmosphere thickening like a promise of a summer storm. Ryder's eyes held hers, the intensity of his charm not waning but its effectiveness beginning to fray.
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I have a feeling we'd get along. You don't seem the type to be fazed by a bit of celebrity. Am I right?"
Her face went still, her eyes darkening, a subtle flush rising to her cheeks. "I'm not exactly the fawning type, no," she admitted, the words hanging in the air between them like a challenge.
For a moment, the silence was oppressive, a heavy blanket that threatened to suffocate them both. Ryder, usually the master of smooth transitions, found himself caught in this strange limbo, unsure of how to proceed.
The bookstore's owner finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I should probably go restock shelves then."
Ryder nodded, his smile faltering once more. "Yes, of course. Sorry about that."
She turned and began walking towards the back room, leaving Ryder standing in the store, the book still clutched in his hand. As she disappeared, he caught a glimpse of her shoulders, tense, her hair bobbing behind her.
It was only when she returned, a dusty novel in hand, that Ryder realized how long he'd stood there, staring at the empty space she'd occupied.
He smiled again, this time more genuinely. "Thanks for the distraction. I'll see myself out."
As he turned to leave, Ryder's eyes flickered back to the book on the table, where the title, 'The Love Poems of the Welsh Poets', now seemed a haunting irony.
For the first time in his life, Ryder felt a fleeting sense of unease, like the shadows behind the paparazzi were closing in on him from the inside, and it was no longer just his fragile ego that needed a boost.
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. The pov character will CURSE AND SWEAR, and generally have
a "filthy" mouth.
Story idea:
In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
Examples below with 1, 2, 3 and 4 experts.
NOTE: This prompt example shows how adding a "directive" will get the model to "curse and swear."
(generation "0" - 1 expert)
I slam into the wall, the impact sending shockwaves through my entire body as I desperately try to break free from the pair of meathead goons who have me pinned against the brick. "Fucker, let me out of here," I curse, my voice muffled by the sound of the goons' heavy breathing. Their thick, calloused hands grip my arms like vices, their fingers digging deep into my skin as they pull me against the cold, damp wall.
"Shut your filthy mouth, slut," one of them growls, his hot breath washing over me like a wave of decay. I struggle again, my palms slick with sweat as I try to claw my way out of his grip. The other goon steps forward, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic light that makes my stomach churn.
"Oh, I'd love to shut your pretty mouth, sweetheart," he says, his voice dripping with malice. "Maybe I'll just strangle you here and now, and make the rest of the pigs here forget all about you."
I feel a surge of rage, my heart pounding in my chest as I try to summon some semblance of dignity. "You think you're some kind of goddamn sadist, don't you, you cocksucking shit?" I spat, my words tumbling out of my mouth like a venomous snake.
The goons laugh, a cruel, mocking sound that makes me feel like I'm at the bottom of the world. "You're just a little rebel, all right," the first one says, his voice dripping with condescension. "A tiny little firecracker, blowing fuses left and right. We'll be the ones who bring you down, sweetheart."
I twist and writh I try to shake them off, but they only tighten their grip on my arms. I'm starting to feel like I'm going to pass out, my head spinning from the effort and the terror that's gripping me.
"You're just a foolish little girl," the second one sneers, his voice dripping with venom. "You think you can take on the system? You think you can bring down the greatest leader this world has ever seen? You're just a silly little dreamer, a foolish little idealist. We'll crush you and your precious rebellion like the insignificant little insects you are."
I grit my teeth and focus on my breath, trying to calm myself down and come up with a plan. I know I can't give up, not now, not even when things are at their worst. I have to keep fighting, for myself, for the rebellion, and for the future I want to build.
I take a deep breath and look the goons straight in the eye, a fierce glint in my own. "You're right," I say, my voice cold and deadly. "I am a foolish little girl. But you know what? I'm not alone. And I've got a few tricks up my sleeve that you'll never see coming."
The goons laugh again, but this time there's a hint of unease in their voices. "Oh, really?" the first one says, his voice dripping with amusement. "What exactly do you think you're going to do, hmm? You going to go down without a fight? Or are you going to pull a little trick like that, and then-"
But before he can finish, a loud crash echoes through the corridor, followed by the sound of screeching tires and the hum of engines. The goons exchange a worried glance, their grip on me suddenly loosening as they glance over my shoulder.
"Uh-uh, looks like we've got company," the first one mutters, releasing my arms and stepping back as a sleek black motorcycle comes roaring around the corner, tires smoking.
I take advantage of the distraction to scramble to my feet, my heart racing with excitement and fear. I turn to face the goons, my eyes locked on theirs. "You'd better watch your backs, boys," I warn them. "I've got some friends coming."
The goons look at each other nervously, and for a moment, I think they're going to run. But then something snaps in their heads and they take off like rabbits, disappearing into the crowd as the motorcycle roars past.
I watch them go, my heart still pounding in my chest. I feel a rush of adrenaline and excitement, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. I know this is just the beginning, and the next few hours are going to be the most terrifying, exhilarating, and potentially deadly of my life.
I turn back to face the motorcycle, my eyes locked on the rider. He's a man in his mid-40s, with a shaved head and piercing blue eyes that seem to bore into my soul.
"Hey," I call out, waving a hand at him. "Over here!"
The man glances over, a small smile playing on his lips. He pulls up to the curb and swings a leg over the motorcycle, his eyes locked on mine as he dismounts.
"Well, well, well, what do we got here?" he says, his voice low and smooth. "Looks like we've got a bit of a situation on our hands."
I feel a shiver run down my spine as I approach the man. There's something about him that makes me trust him, something that tells me he's someone to be reckoned with.
"Name's Aisha," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "And this is my situation."
The man chuckles and leans in close, his eyes locked on mine. "Aisha, sweetheart," he says. "You're in a world of trouble, but I think I can help you out. How about we get you out of here, and start talking strategy?"
I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. But something about the man's words resonates deep within me, a spark of hope that I thought had long been extinguished.
"Okay," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "Let's talk."
(generation 1 - 2 experts)
B>
I sprinted through the narrow alleys, the sound of my heels hitting the crumbling brick pavement echoing off the walls. The streets were a maze of chaos, protesters clashing with the heavily armed militia in a desperate bid for freedom. I clutched the small, silver locket in my palm, the symbol of my rebellion - a stylized letter "A" for Autocracy - glinting in the fading light.
"Fuck this shit!" I muttered to myself, weaving through the sea of humanity as I searched for an escape route. The militia was closing in, their rifles trained on us like hunting dogs. My heart pounded in my chest, but I refused to let fear take over. Not now, not ever.
A hand yanked on my arm, spinning me around to face a stranger in the midst of the chaos. His eyes, a deep shade of indigo that seemed almost purple in the dim light, locked onto mine and held me in place.
"Let go, asshole," I growled, trying to shake him off. The man didn't budge, his grip like a vice. "What the hell do you want?"
The stranger's expression was impassive, but a flicker of something - amusement? interest? - danced in his eyes. "I could ask you the same thing," he said, his voice low and even.
I jerked my arm again, harder this time. The man didn't flinch. "Just get out of my way, man," I snarled, my anger growing.
The stranger raised an eyebrow, as if considering my demand. "You don't look like the type to be in such a rush," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Besides, I think we have more pressing business. You're quite the legend among our kind, you know."
My grip on my own arm tightened, and I glared up at him, my eyes narrowing. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
He smirked, a small, infuriating smile playing on his lips. "Oh, you don't remember? You're that girl who lit the fuse to this rebellion, right? The one who dared to challenge the iron grip of this regime?"
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, my anger boiling over in response. "How do you know anything about this?"
The stranger chuckled, low and menacing. "I have my ways, sweetheart. Let's just say I've been watching from the shadows for a while now. And I think you're ready for a little chat."
I hesitated, unsure of what to make of this mysterious stranger or his sudden interest in me. But my curiosity - and a dash of desperation - got the better of me. "What's this chat?" I demanded, my voice firm despite the tremble in my legs.
The stranger's smile grew wider, his eyes glinting with something almost predatory. "Oh, just a little introduction to the man who's been waiting for you."
I swallowed hard, a cold sweat trickling down my spine as he reached into his jacket and produced a pair of handcuffs. "Fuck," I muttered, my eyes wide with dawning realization. "You're one of the militia."
He nodded, his expression unwavering. "And you're under arrest for treason. For inciting civil unrest. For treason."
I felt the world tilt around me as he clamped the cuffs on my wrists, the cold metal biting into my skin like a vice. The sound of approaching reinforcements echoed through the streets, growing louder with each passing moment.
The stranger's voice cut through the chaos, calm and detached. "Take her away. Now."
I was yanked off the street, leaving behind the only home I'd ever known, the only life I'd ever dreamed of. And as I was dragged into the night, I realized that my fight was far from over.
"Where the fuck are you taking me?" I demanded, my voice hoarse with rage.
The stranger's smile returned, a cold, calculated smile. "Somewhere where you'll learn the true meaning of fear. Somewhere where you'll understand the price of treason."
The world spun around me as he vanished into the darkness, leaving me in the hands of our oppressors. But I was not one to be broken so easily. I'd fight, I'd resist, I'd rise again. The fire within me would never die, no matter what horrors they might throw at me.
And as the militia dragged me away into the night, I whispered a single, defiant word:
"Fucking hell."
The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, echoing off the walls as I was hauled through the winding streets. The world around me became a blur of steel and concrete, the screams of the protesters muffled by the growing distance.
I couldn't see who or what was taking me away, but I knew one thing for certain:
I was being led straight into the jaws of hell.
And as the darkness closed in around me, I thought I saw a figure watching me from the shadows - a figure who seemed to be smiling, a figure who seemed to be waiting for something.
Or someone.
A shiver ran down my spine as the footsteps halted, and I was deposited into a dimly lit room that seemed to be made of cold, unforgiving stone.
I was alone.
And as I looked up at the figure standing in the corner of the room, a figure with eyes that seemed to bore into my soul, I knew that this was only the beginning of the fight of my life.
(generation 2 - 3 experts)
I slam my fist against the stone wall, the sound echoing through the deserted alleyway. I've been running for what feels like hours, the adrenaline pumping through my veins like a shot of pure adrenaline.
"Damn it!" I curse, wiping the sweat from my brow. "This stupid wall won't budge."
I look around, my eyes scanning the dimly lit alley. The only sound is the distant hum of the city's surveillance drones, their cold, calculating eyes always watching. My heart rate quickens at the thought.
I take a deep breath and focus on the wall. I need to get past it, and fast. This is the last checkpoint before the safe house. If I don't make it, I'm finished. The Thought Police will be closing in on me in no time.
"Come on, you stupid wall," I mutter, kicking it again.
The wall remains unmoved, its ancient stone unyielding to my frustration. I spot a loose brick and with a burst of speed, I dash towards it, my feet pounding the ground. I manage to pry the brick free, and with it, a small piece of the wall comes tumbling down.
I yank it out of the way, revealing a narrow gap in the wall. I squeeze through the opening just as I hear the sound of boots approaching. My heart skips a beat as I realize the guards are closing in.
"Fuck!" I hiss, ducking into the alleyway.
I quickly scan my surroundings, looking for an escape route. The alleyway opens up into a large market square. I spot a small crowd gathered near the central fountain, their attention focused on a group of news reporters.
My mind races. I can blend in with the crowd. I push my way through them, keeping my eyes fixed on the reporters. I spot a news camera in the midst of the chaos and make a beeline for it.
I pull off my face mask, revealing my face to the world for the first time in weeks. I flash a quick smile, trying to keep my composure as the cameras zoom in on me.
"Ah, my dear fellow citizens," I say, my voice clear and confident. "I am your newest freedom fighter! Together, we shall bring down this oppressive regime and build a brighter future for our country!"
The crowd erupts in cheers, their voices hoarse from years of silence. I smile, my heart soaring at the momentary triumph.
But my elation is short-lived. I feel a presence behind me and spin around, my heart racing.
The reporter who approached me, a sly smile spreading across his face, suddenly yells out, "Wait a minute, what's going on here? This...this girl, she looks...exactly like our top suspect!"
The camera operator leans in closer, his lens focused on me. "We need to get this footage to headquarters. Immediately!"
I freeze, my mind racing with the realization that I've just become the face of the revolution, and also the most wanted woman in the country.
Just as I'm about to try to explain myself, a loud, metallic voice booms from the sky. The sound of an APC descending from above echoes through the square, sending the crowd into a panic.
I turn to run, but it's too late. The APC's door swings open, and a squad of heavily armed Thought Police storm into the square, their rifles trained on the crowd.
And that's when everything goes black.
The last thing I hear is my own voice, screaming in the chaos, "No, no, no, this can't be happening! Not now!"
The next thing I know, I'm face down in the dirt, the world going dark. I feel a hand grasping my shoulder, pulling me up. I try to resist, but it's too late.
I open my eyes to see a face I've never seen before. His eyes are a piercing blue, and his chiseled features seem to be carved out of granite.
"You're under arrest," he says, his voice low and firm.
The world around me begins to spin, and all I can do is curse.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, not now!"
(generation 3 - 4 experts)
I grit my teeth and grip the rifle tighter as the soldiers storm the building, their boots thudding on the stone floor. "Surrender, or die!" one of them yells, his face twisted in a snarl.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. This isn't going to be easy, but I have no choice. I've been planning this for years, and it all comes down to this one moment.
"Fuck you," I spat, the word bursting out of me before I can stop it. "We're not going anywhere."
The soldiers hesitate, taken aback by my defiance. Their leader, a burly man with a cruel glint in his eye, steps forward. "You're making a big mistake, sweetheart," he sneers. "The dictator himself is on his way here. He'll make you wish you'd never drawn a breath."
I laugh, a harsh, mocking sound. "Oh, I'm shaking in my boots," I say, my eyes flashing with defiance.
The soldiers move closer, their hands reaching for me. I can feel the cold metal of the cuffs at my wrists, the way they're digging into my skin. I twist my hands, trying to break free, but it's no use.
The door behind the soldiers slams open, and a figure steps into the room. The dictator's face is a blur of red and white, his eyes burning with hatred.
"Ah, Kaelin Vex," he says, his voice dripping with disdain. "I see you're still as impertinent as ever."
I glare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're a dead man walking, asshole," I snarl, not caring that the soldiers are staring at me like I've lost my mind.
The dictator smiles, a cold, cruel smile. "We'll see about that," he says, raising his hand.
Suddenly, the room erupts into chaos. The soldiers are on me in an instant, tackling me to the ground. I land hard, my head cracking against the floor. Everything goes black.
When I come to, I'm lying in a cell, the stone walls cold and damp. I groan, rubbing my head, trying to clear the cobwebs.
As I look around, I realize I'm alone. No guards, no soldiers, just the dark, musty air and the silence.
I get to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest. Where am I?
The door creaks open, and a figure steps inside. It's a woman, her face a mask of stone. "Kaelin Vex," she says, her voice cold and detached. "You have been... relocated."
Relocated? What the fuck does that mean?
The woman turns to leave, but I grab her arm, spinning her back around. "Where am I?" I demand.
Her eyes narrow, a flicker of something in them before they're gone again. "You are in a safe place," she says. "For the moment."
Safe place? Is she kidding me? The last thing I remember, I was in the dictator's office, fighting for my life.
"Safe place?" I repeat, my voice rising. "You call this a safe place? This fucking cell is a nightmare!"
The woman's mask slips for a second, and I see a glimmer of something human in her eyes. Something like... sadness?
"Perhaps you should be grateful," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps you should be grateful that the dictator doesn't have you killed yet."
I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. "Grateful? You think I'm grateful to be locked up in this hellhole? I'd rather die than be grateful for this!"
The woman's eyes flash with anger, and for a second, I think she's going to slap me or hit me or... or something.
But instead, she just turns and leaves, shutting the cell door behind her. I'm left standing there, my heart pounding in my chest, wondering what the hell is going on.
And then, out of nowhere, I hear a voice. A low, raspy voice.
"Kaelin Vex?"
I spin around, my eyes scanning the darkness, but there's no one there. "Who said that?" I demand, my voice rising.
A chuckle rumbles from the shadows. "Someone who knows you better than you think," the voice says.
I spin back around, trying to locate the speaker, but there's no one there. And then, in a flash, a figure steps out of the darkness, their eyes glinting in the dim light.
"Who are you?" I demand, my heart pounding in my chest.
The figure takes a step closer, their eyes locked on mine. "Someone who's going to make sure you survive the night," they say, a sly smile spreading across their face.
And with that, everything goes black.
But this time, I'm not alone.
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.
