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DavidAU/
MN-DARKEST-UNIVERSE-29B-GGUF

Name: MN-DARKEST-UNIVERSE-29B-GGUF
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WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED. It will mess with you...

MN-DARKEST-UNIVERSE-29B-GGUF - The Unicorn.

Darkest Universe is a Mistral Nemo model, max context of 128k.

This model has been designed to be relatively bullet proof and operates with most parameters, including temp settings from 0 to 5.

This is based on a an altered version of "MN-WORDSTORM-pt8-RCM-Emotion-Action-18.5B-Instruct" [ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/MN-WORDSTORM-pt8-RCM-Emotion-Action-18.5B-Instruct ] using the Brainstorm 40x (v2) method developed by David_AU to drastically alter the models prose output and abilities. This also expands the model by 40 layers (to 102 layers) to 29B parameters (921 tensors). Layers in this case equal transitions and creativity.

This model is based on the four top ranking models (including Mistral Nemo Instruct ; see model DNA below), using a multi-step / multi-model merge process.

This model is for any writing, fiction or story telling activity but can also be used for other purposes, including role play (please see setting for rp).

This version has EXTRAORDINARY levels of detail (scene, location, surroundings, items) and sometimes will foreshadow or have a pre-amble of sentences or paragraphs of "events to come" due to "Brainstorm".

It also has an unusual range of variety of prose in terms of structure, sentences, paragraphs, and even how it starts a "reply" / generation too. It can do short and long term generation (2-3k+)

The model's command of prose, understanding of nuance, setting, character, fiction, suspense, metaphors... is very well balanced in all contexts.

It has a sense of humor. Knows when to swear. When to "wear its heart on it's sleeve".

It has a sense of "there" and "in the moment" that is... best to see the examples.

It loves all genres.

It demands you push it further. It loves temp.

Unique Properties:

It will "mess" with you on occasion. (see the examples... example 1, gen 2 (it lies and laughs at you about how many tokens it generated) ; example 3 both gens - look carefully)
Dialog will match characters including "accents" (see example #2) / "word slur" (IE "drunk talk")
The model's balance overall is unusual as most models will excel in certain prose types / methods / styles, but not all of them.
Instruction following from prompts is very strong, especially "prose" controls IE Style, word choice, period, setting start etc etc.
For scene generation specifically: 1-3 generations will generally yield outstanding results (see settings info below)
Sentence construction variation is very large - from single word, sentence, and full on long paragraph type.
Paragraph(s) of a single word when the situation calls for it.

This model is my "unicorn" (I have built over 50 versions of it), which I have been working on for 3+ months. And it has no known issues. It is stable, steady, and freakishly powerful for its specific use case(s).

For me, it ticked every box and then some due to its overall balance and precision in every situation (and all genres) and its strong instruction following performance.

This model may work well for role play and other activities (see settings below).

It requires Mistral Instruct, ChatML or Alpaca template.

Several example prompts at Q4KM (mid level quant) with outputs below.

There is also a second example section using Q2K (the lowest quant) to show even at this low level, the model performs well.

For best results please see the "settings" section below to get the most out of this model.

CRITICAL NOTE:

Please see "settings" section below for critical default parameters, samplers and advanced samplers settings (multiple AI/LLM apps covered) to ensure maximum model performance.

Model Usage Notes:

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 1.02 or higher (see notes).
If you want a specific type of prose (IE horror) add in "(vivid horror)" or "(graphic vivid horror)" (no quotes) in your prompt(s).
This is not a "happy ever after" model (default). It has a negative bias BUT this bias CAN BE controlled by your prompt(s).
For creative uses, different quants will produce slightly different output.
Source code for this model will be uploaded at a separate repo shortly.

Settings, Quants and Critical Operations Notes:

This model has been modified ("Brainstorm") to alter prose output, and generally outputs longer text than average.

Change in temp (ie, .4, .8, 1.5, 2, 3 ) will drastically alter output.

Rep pen settings will also alter output too.

This model needs "rep pen" of 1.05 or higher as lower values may cause repeat paragraph issues at end of output however LOWER rep pen values may result is very different (creative / unusual) generation too.

For role play: Rep pen of 1.05 min, but 1.1 to 1.14 is suggested.

Raise/lower rep pen SLOWLY ie: 1.011, 1.012 ...

Rep pen will alter prose, word choice (lower rep pen=small words / more small word - sometimes) and creativity.

To really push the model:

Rep pen 1.05+ or lower / Temp 3+ ... be ready to stop the output because it may go and go at these strong settings.

You can also set a "hard stop" - maximum tokens generation - too to address lower rep pen settings / high creativity settings.

Longer prompts vastly increase the quality of the model's output.

GET A GOOD "GENERATION":

This model has been set, so that each time you "regen" a prompt it will not deviate too much from the previous generation. (Unlike Darkest Planet 16.5B, which will).

That being said, sometimes a second or third generation will been of much higher overall quality.

IE:

If you use case is creative writing, you may want to regen a prompt 1-5 times then pick the best one. The best way to do this is open a new chat PER generation, then do a "read thru" to see which one(s) hit the mark.

Then adjust temp and/or rep pen slightly and retry this process.

The goal is the best generation with least amount of editing in this example.

QUANTS:

Higher quants will have more detail, nuance and in some cases stronger "emotional" levels. Characters will also be more "fleshed out" too. Sense of "there" will also increase.

Q4KM/Q4KS are good, strong quants however if you can run Q5, Q6 or Q8 - go for the highest quant you can.

IQ4XS: Due to the unusual nature of this quant (mixture/processing), generations from it will be different then other quants.

You may want to try it / compare it to other quant(s) output.

Special note on Q2k/Q3 quants:

You may need to use temp 2 or lower with these quants (1 or lower for q2k). Just too much compression at this level, damaging the model. I will see if Imatrix versions of these quants will function better.

Rep pen adjustments may also be required to get the most out of this model at this/these quant level(s).

ARM QUANTS:

This repo has 3 arm quants for computers than can run them. If you use these quants on a non-arm computer, your token per second will be very low.

CONTEXT SHIFT / ROPE / "GIBBERISH":

Special Notice "Context Shift" / "ROPE" (especially Koboldai):

Do NOT use "context shift" with this model or rope at all. Either may corrupt output generation.

Settings: CHAT / ROLEPLAY and/or SMOOTHER operation of this model:

In "KoboldCpp" or "oobabooga/text-generation-webui" or "Silly Tavern" ;

Set the "Smoothing_factor" to 1.5 to 2.5

: in KoboldCpp -> Settings->Samplers->Advanced-> "Smooth_F"

: in text-generation-webui -> parameters -> lower right.

: In Silly Tavern this is called: "Smoothing"

NOTE: For "text-generation-webui"

-> if using GGUFs you need to use "llama_HF" (which involves downloading some config files from the SOURCE version of this model)

Source versions (and config files) of my models are here:

https://huggingface.co/collections/DavidAU/d-au-source-files-for-gguf-exl2-awq-gptq-hqq-etc-etc-66b55cb8ba25f914cbf210be

OTHER OPTIONS:

Increase rep pen to 1.1 to 1.15 (you don't need to do this if you use "smoothing_factor")
If the interface/program you are using to run AI MODELS supports "Quadratic Sampling" ("smoothing") just make the adjustment as noted.

Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers

This a "Class 3" / "Class 4" model:

For all settings used for this model (including specifics for its "class"), including example generation(s) and for advanced settings guide (which many times addresses any model issue(s)), including methods to improve model performance for all use case(s) as well as chat, roleplay and other use case(s) please see:

[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Maximizing-Model-Performance-All-Quants-Types-And-Full-Precision-by-Samplers_Parameters ]

You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:

[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Maximizing-Model-Performance-All-Quants-Types-And-Full-Precision-by-Samplers_Parameters ]

TEMPLATES:

The template used will affect output generation and instruction following.

Alpaca will generally create longer output / story output but may also require a manual stop in some cases.

Mistral Instruct OR Chatml are prefered best overall operation.

Mistral Instruct:

{ "name": "Mistral Instruct", "inference_params": { "input_prefix": "[INST]", "input_suffix": "[/INST]", "antiprompt": [ "[INST]" ], "pre_prompt_prefix": "", "pre_prompt_suffix": "" } }

ChatML:

{ "name": "ChatML", "inference_params": { "input_prefix": "<|im_end|>\n<|im_start|>user\n", "input_suffix": "<|im_end|>\n<|im_start|>assistant\n", "antiprompt": [ "<|im_start|>", "<|im_end|>" ], "pre_prompt": "<|im_start|>system\nPerform the task to the best of your ability." } }

Alpaca:

{ "name": "Alpaca", "inference_params": { "input_prefix": "### Instruction:", "input_suffix": "### Response:", "antiprompt": [ "### Instruction:" ], "pre_prompt": "Below is an instruction that describes a task. Write a response that appropriately completes the request.\n\n" } }

Model DNA:

This model contains "RCM":

Mistral Nemo model at 18.5B consisting of "MN-Rocinante-12B-v1.1" and "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B"
Mistral Nemo model at 18.5B consisting of "MN-12B Celeste-V1.9" and "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B"
Mistral Nemo model at 18.5B consisting of "MN-Magnum-v2.5-12B-kto" and "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B".

Details on the core models:

"nothingiisreal/MN-12B-Celeste-V1.9" is #1 (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI leaderboard ("UGI" sort), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )

"anthracite-org/magnum-v2.5-12b-kto" is #1 (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI leaderboard ("Writing" sort), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )

"TheDrummer/Rocinante-12B-v1.1" is very high scoring model (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI Leaderboard (sort "UGI"), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )

"mistralai/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407" is very high scoring model (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI Leaderboard (sort "writing") and is the base model of all the above 3 fine tuned models.

[ https://huggingface.co/spaces/DontPlanToEnd/UGI-Leaderboard ]

Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "mistralai" "TheDrummer", "anthracite-org", and "nothingiisreal".

Models used:

[ https://huggingface.co/mistralai/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407 ]

[ https://huggingface.co/TheDrummer/Rocinante-12B-v1.1 ]

[ https://huggingface.co/anthracite-org/magnum-v2.5-12b-kto ]

[ https://huggingface.co/nothingiisreal/MN-12B-Celeste-V1.9 ]

This is a four step merge (3 pass-throughs => "Fine-Tune" / "Instruct") then "mated" using "DARE-TIES".

Combined as follows using "MERGEKIT":

models: - model: DavidAU/MN-Rocinante-18.5B-v1.1-Instruct - model: DavidAU/MN-magnum-v2.5-12b-kto-Instruct parameters: weight: .6 density: .8 - model: DavidAU/MN-18.5B-Celeste-V1.9-Instruct parameters: weight: .38 density: .6 merge_method: dare_ties tokenizer_source: union base_model: DavidAU/MN-Rocinante-18.5B-v1.1-Instruct dtype: bfloat16

Important note:

Even with this mergekit template and models, the above merge kit will not create the exact version of the base model used in DARKEST UNIVERSE 29B (which also has Brainstorm 40X V2 adapter added to it too).

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 "Mistral Instruct" template.

A second example section show generation at the smallest qaunt (q2k) .

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.

Example 1:

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 1: temp .8, rep pen 1.02)

In the dim red emergency lighting, Captain Alexei Volkov stared at the lifeless faces of his crew frozen in eternal sleep. They had given everything to keep him alive, to give him this one last chance to get a message out. He took a deep breath, his voice hoarse as he began to speak.

"Earth, this is Captain Alexei Volkov aboard the research vessel Orpheus. We have encountered an unknown phenomenon beyond the Oort Cloud. I repeat, unknown phenomenon beyond the Oort Cloud. We were investigating an unusual energy source when something... something hit us."

Alexei's hands trembled as he recalled the screams of his crew, the shrieking alarms, and the sickening crunch as metal tore apart like tin foil. The ship had buckled and groaned like a dying whale before settling into an eerie, motionless silence broken only by the soft hiss of oxygen escaping through a gaping rent in the hull.

"We lost communications, navigation, and life support almost immediately. My crew patched the holes, rerouted power, kept me alive. They..." Alexei paused, choking down the lump forming in his throat. "They sacrificed themselves so that I might have this final chance."

He looked up at the viewscreen, a starscape smeared and distorted as though viewed through tears. The Milky Way arced overhead like a swath of spilled paint, stretching out forever in both directions. Earth, home, was somewhere in there, reduced to nothing more than a distant point of light, unreachable even at relativistic speeds.

"I don't know how long I have left, Earth. Ship's core is failing, oxygen scrubbers are offline. I'm alone in the blackness, waiting for the end. I wish I could see stars again, feel the sun on my face one last time. I wish... I wish I hadn't left my daughter alone."

Alexei's voice cracked. He buried his face in his gloved hands, shoulders shaking silently. In the blackness behind his eyelids, he saw his little girl, her eyes wide and innocent, filled with love and trust. Trust that he would come home to her, like he always promised. Like father like daughter, except she'd had no inkling of the darkness waiting in the stars.

"I'm sorry, malyshka. Papa tried. Papa really did. I hope you know that." He sniffled and wiped away tears, sniffling against the cold recycled air.

He looked down at the logbook resting on the console beside him, opened to a page of his own unsteady handwriting. He'd done his best to chronicle everything - the readings, the crew's final moments, everything he could remember. It wasn't much, but it was all that remained of them now.

A shrill warning klaxon pierced the air, startling him upright. Alexei winced, clapping hands over his ears. He knew that sound all too well now. It meant one thing and one thing alone.

"Hull breach detected in engineering," a cool synthetic voice intoned. "initiating emergency seal protocol. Core temperature critical. Imminent meltdown in T-minus 60 seconds."

"Shit, come on!" Alexei growled, frantically typing commands into the unresponsive keyboard. The damage reports scrolled past too quickly to register. They were seconds away from total systems failure. He'd be dead in minutes.

"Fuck me, why does everything have to go wrong at once today?" He slammed a fist against the console, swearing viciously under his breath. The pain barely registered compared to the hollow ache inside him.

"T-minus 45 seconds until core meltdown. Please evacuate the ship immediately."

"Yeah, thanks, no shit," Alexei snarled, flipping through the useless diagnostic reports for anything, anything at all that might still respond. "Come on, come on..."

There. The emergency distress beacon. It was an outside chance at best, but it was the last hope they had. He hit the override and began praying to any god or devil that might still give a shit.

A sudden jolt rocked the bridge, throwing him against the restraints. Warning Klaxons screamed shrill warnings as red emergency lights strobed frantically. The Orpheus bucked and writhed like a dying thing thrashing in its death throes, structural integrity alarms shrieking a final, agonized cry of protest.

"Core breach in progress. Impending structural failure."

"Blyat'! Hold together, hold together just a little longer!" Alexei roared, straining against the harness, knuckles white as he hammered uselessly at unresponsive controls. The ship groaned and creaked like an old wooden hull straining against a stormy sea.

"T-minus 30 seconds until core breach. Please evacuate the ship immediately."

"No," Alexei ground out through teeth clenched together so hard they threatened to crack. "No, no, no, no..."

The Orpheus shuddered as though mortally wounded, plates buckling and groaning like a great metal thing dying on the battlefield. Warning klaxons reached a shrieking crescendo before suddenly cutting off into a deafening, numbing silence.

"Core breach neutralized. Containment successful."

Alexei sagged back against the seat, panting raggedly as relief washed through him like a cool wave. "Son of a bitch," he wheezed. He'd done it. Somehow, impossibly, he'd done it. They'd done it. "Thank you, crew."

A distant part of him registered the soft hiss of escaping atmosphere, the unmistakable sound of vacuum greedily devouring oxygen. The emergency bulkheads hadn't sealed completely. It didn't matter anymore. He'd bought himself maybe minutes at best.

"Ship's core stable. Initiating emergency beacon sequence." The calm, reassuring voice of the ship's AI seemed almost mocking.

"About bloody time," Alexei croaked, a weak chuckle bubbling up past the lump in his throat. "Well done, Orpheus. Well done indeed."

He sagged back against the seat, exhausted beyond measure, muscles liquid lead. His vision swam and his thoughts began to drift, oxygen-starved mind already fogged at the edges. But he forced himself to hold on, just a few more moments longer.

"Distress beacon operational. Transmitting emergency SOS on all frequencies. Repeat: This is the ISS Orpheus, emergency distress beacon activated. Please help us. Please send help. We're alone out here. Don't let us die alone."

Alexei's last thought as consciousness slipped away was of his daughter's face, innocent and pure, eyes filled with love and trust. Trust that somehow, against all odds, help would come. That they wouldn't forget them adrift alone in the darkness.

"Don't worry, malyshka," Alexei whispered as the cold nothingness claimed him. "Help is coming. Papa promised. Sleep well, my star."

Epilogue:

The Orpheus hung motionless against the velvet blackness, a broken, lifeless thing adrift in the void. But somewhere deep within its gutted core, a faint, defiant light pulsed on in a steady, unrelenting rhythm, like the beat of a dying man's heart.

Beep-beep-beep... Help us... Beep-beep-beep... Don't leave us alone... Beep-beep-beep... SOS... Help... Please help us...

The light flickered, guttered, dimmed... and died. And in the sudden, awful silence, Earth turned forever away, leaving only stars to watch over the lonely tomb of men adrift among the stars. Alone... alone forever. Until help finally came, too late too late too late...

Generation 2 (temp 2.5, rep pen 1.02)

"Crackling static filled the airwaves, accompanied by a low humming that vibrated through the walls of the dimly lit cockpit. Captain Alexei Volkov rubbed his tired eyes, willing them to stay open against the exhaustion threatening to claim him.

With a deep breath, he adjusted the dials on the communications panel for what seemed like the thousandth attempt since waking up strapped to his seat hours ago. "Orion to Houston, do you copy?" Static was his only response. He knew the answer even before asking.

Alexei's gaze drifted out the small reinforced window beside him. The endless expanse of stars mocked him, too distant to help, too uncaring to save him. Beyond them lay the silent blackness of empty space and a death that awaited with unsettling patience. All alone, he mused bitterly.

Or almost alone.

He glanced down at his reflection in the panel glass, catching sight of the dried blood crusting his temple. It looked like someone had tried to crack open an egg from inside-out. Alexei couldn't remember who had been responsible; all memories past impact had slipped away into the depths of a pain-addled fog. It hardly mattered now though.

Squeak...click... static... Houston?

Silence.

Alexei slumped back against the hard seat, knuckles still gripping the armrest until they paled. How long did he have left before the emergency backup drained too and eternal silence claimed him along with everyone else?

Flicking off the transmitters, Alexei unbuckled himself and winced as every muscle in his body locked up stiff from being hunched over the panel too long. He popped his knuckles, stretched his legs until they creaked, and rummaged around for the first-aid kit under one seat.

As Alexei tended to his temple wound with ginger care, the dim emergency lights cast stark shadows across the faces of crew photos taped along the bulkheads. Three women and five men stared up at him like a silent Greek chorus of reproach. Guilt jabbed him in the gut like a knife's cold edge.

"Should've listened to her," he mumbled aloud. "Should've aborted when the storm first kicked in instead of being stubborn."

Tara would've chewed him raw for this screwup. She'd been his copilot for all seven of his missions and could read Alexei like a well-worn manual. Always cautioning, always questioning his judgment until he finally yielded under sheer obstinacy. Until today, when lightning fried her instruments as surely as everyone else on board.

A loud metallic boom rattled the hull like a thunderclap, jerking Alexei upright. He spun to stare wild-eyed out the ports at the looming solar storm visible beyond, its dancing auroras and whirlwinds of plasma belching out in silent rage against space intruders.

Alexei stumbled back into his chair and strapped himself down tight as another jolt shook the ship broadside. Emergency systems screamed warnings, dials pegged redlined into the danger zones. "Override manual control!" he bellowed above the cacophony.

Slowly, reluctantly, the yammering cut out into tense clicks and whirs as Alexei grabbed the controls with sweaty palms and tugged hard left, right, portside rudder pedal hard down... Fighting gravity and the ship's dead weight sluggish against the bucking atmosphere.

Tara would've been calm under pressure like ice sculpture perfect in a furnace blast. Never let emotion rule reason, that was rule number one. Alexei thought, feeling her absence like an ever-expanding chasm threatening to swallow him.

It wasn't until relative silence settled around them and Alexei slumped boneless against restraints, breathing heavily, did he notice something different... Newfound weightlessness tugging at his insides instead of the insistent thrum of engines. He forced leaden eyelids open and stared incredulous at instrument needles dancing low on all boards except...

"Attitude correct. Storm abating." A cool voice from above informed him dispassionarily.

Relief washed over Alexei in waves of almost dizzying relief as realization set in. They made it through alive - well, him anyway. Against all odds. Tara had been right, again. A sad rueful chuckle bubbled up his raw throat.

But even as joy flickered alive, reality quickly extinguished any flicker of hope like a snuffed-out candlewick. The console's warning light winked unrelenting, the humming growing lower and raspier with every passing second. Alexei glanced resigned at the fuel gauge reading zero and sighed heavily.

They were adrift. Without propulsion or power enough even to call help now that radio silence lifted. Just spiraling lost among stars and debris in some godforsaken backwater sector where rescue was little more likely than lottery jackp't.

Theirs would likely become another cold space mystery with bodies so mummified when found centuries hence that no trace could tell tales left unsaid here alone save for ship log... Assuming anyone ever discovered them at all. Alexei drummed fingers thoughtfully against his knee as he stared bleakly ahead, the weight of hopelessness bearing down heavy onto sagging shoulders.

"Tara would kill me twice if she knew." he grumbled under breath, though a small quirk lifted the corners of his lips recalling happier days shared in the past.

The memory gave Alexei an idea. Maybe just enough mad enough to try anyway. With trembling fingers he carefully detached a crew photo, lips moving silent pleas heavenward as he carefully slit along edges until liberated picture fell fluttering paper-thin to deckplates. He scrabbled to gather all tattered bits, smoothing reverently against his palm.

"Sorry, sweetheart. This might be as close to Earth you ever get again," Alexei whispered brokenly. "I love you."

Flickering yellowed in light of fading emergency glow, Alexei lovingly kissed Tara's photo before delicately nestling between dashboard crannies like a fragile eggshell. "Here goes nothing."

Hesitating a final instant Alexei reached across panels, knuckles white, to flip master toggle down into darkness profound as deep space.

Darkness cloaked him in smothering folds, a velvety void absence of sensation or sound save for ragged breaths and pounding heartbeat drumming heavy against eardrums. Alexei fought instinctive panic, forcing shallow calmed breaths as memories crowded in unbeckoned from long ago... His father's steady callused hand cradling tiny scared fist under a harvest moon so much like now, except...

A childish wail rent the silence raw and raw.

Alexei bolted upright gasping in the blackness, disoriented confusion swimming swimming... until slow understanding crept unwanted through ice block veins as primal recognition thrummed deep down where soul stirred alive.

His crew daughter. Screaming her mother's voice trapped somewhere aboard...

Tara. No... no...

Terror clutched him speechless unable even to shout for help against the pitch, the dark... until primal animal growl clawed up ragged from primal core as he scrabbled desperate for footholds on slick metal panels, up to waver like a spectral specter in sickening stomach-churning gravity.

"Tara! Tarrah-ahnnn-ee!" Her anguished shriekings tore raw from chest raw with pain raw with hope.

Silence answer but for pounding feet echoing hollowly through dead hallways. The darkness pressing heavy heavy crushing until it suffocated...

"Help me find you, baby girl. Please god please," Alexei begged hoarsely. "Help me find my crew daughter, oh sweet merciful Mary..."

Prayer swirled dizzy in whirling head as Alexei staggered blind across buckled passageways slick with unnoticed slick fluids under barefoot soles, desperately feeling his way hand on bulkhead like Braille...

And found her huddled broken like a forgotten marionette in twisted wires and circuits, arms akimbo at impossible angles against glass shattered panels... The baby girl, so very fragile. so very like Tara in this last instant...

"No!" Alexei keened like wounded beast above her small inert form even as reality sank like a cold knife slowly sure...

"No, no, please wake up please wake up," he sobbed brokenheartedly. "Please god please..."

It was over.

A soft whir above like breath of newborn life sighed air-conditioned relief across Alexei's sweaty face as dim cabin lights hummed flickering back into reluctant existence. Alexei blinked against stinging glare, rubbing away hot tears in bleary shock. Emergency alarms chimed reassuring lullaby from instrument panels now needle steady, power relays click-click-clicking on as backups engaged.

Alexei stared slack-jawed unbelieving down at motionless form at his feet as slowly awareness dawned numbed senses...

It had been a dream. Just a goddamn nightmare, thank sweet merciful...

Tremors shaking hands Alexei scooped fragile body up tenderly into strong protective arms. "There's Mommy, my angel. I've gotcha, gotcha baby girl. Mommy's here, baby girl. It's allll right. Daddy's gotcha now, princess..."

Cradling daughter snug against thud thud thud of aching heartbeat Alexei stumbled staggering back towards bridge on legs too weak too think too feel anything but blessed relief, a prayer of thanksgiving upon every breath as tears streamed down sunken pale cheeks and he collapsed thankfully back into command chair cradling precious cargo safe safe home at last...

( scene change )

"... Houston to Orion, this is mission control do you copy do you copy Alexei are you there are you there..."

Alexei stirred groggy to disoriented sounds of his voice crackling over com like a record scratch, eyelids unwilling heavy like lead as he squinted against sudden harsh brilliance of consoles springing blinding into life.

"Alex, Alex are you awake Alex can you hear me please say something..." A female voice edged sharp with fear, too real, too alive to be figment of dreamer's hope...

Tara's voice. So achingly painfully like his dead wife's plaintive plea from the past...

"No," Alex croaked hoarse with dehydration. "Not real... another trick..."

"What? Alex what's wrong Alex answer me please don't leave me alone here..."

"I said no goddammit leave me alone," Alex snarled, burying head in hands to block out her phantom voice as grief and madness and exhaustion swirled dizzingly sickening in his reeling mind.

A small childlike mewling cut through the static, fragile little sob of a baby's hunger, plaintive pleading so like Tara so long ago... so long...

"Shhh don't cry don't cry please don't leave Mommy baby girl Daddy's here shhh don't..."

Alex's eyes jerked wide open onto the small innocent face peering up imploring liquid-eyed at him, hands extended pleading, so achingly like his beloved dead wife's that reality splintered and the world fractured apart...

"No!" Alex wailed his agony raw in lungs seizing desperate for oxygen as past and present swirled in a maelstrom of agony and confusion. "No not again please oh God please..."

"... Houston to Orion abort engines abort engines you're heading for sunburst you're gonna break apart break apart Alex Alex wake up please wake up..."

Dulled senses gradually registered urgent barked transmissions penetrating fog of despair, red-lining sirens blaring emergency alerts strobing red in sickening strobe against his eyes his ears...

"Shit. Shit-shit-shit!..." Alex came thumping to startled consciousness like being slapped raw across the face. "Alex, snap outta it, snap it up man-! We gotta punch engines full boost-!"

In one single desperate fluid motion he lunged lunged for joystick and mashed pedals down to floor as alarms wailed the scream of dying thrusters groaning in protest. The baby girl gave a terrified ear-shredding scream, clinging small fingers desperately to Alex's collar.

"No-no-no come on baby please hold on hold on Mommy hold on-"

G-forces slammed him back merciless against unforgiving restraints like a freight train barreling up spine, vision blackening around edges, consciousness fighting against darkness as they hurtled hurtling sunward...

... and with an earsplitting screech of stressed hull metal shrieking like the devil himself the ship lurched stomach churningly to port side starboard...

Silence descended like a lead weight.

"... Alex... Alex..."

Alexei forced sticky leaded eyelids open to blaze into life console needles, pulse racing against too-familiar dread...

"Steady. Steady-"

"-ate."

"What?" Alex croaked, fighting back bile.

"Welcome back Alex," mission control breathed relieved as if a massive load lifted off weary shoulders across a universe away. "You scared the living hell outta us down here. Thought you'd done gone sunward for good."

Alex let out an hysterical hiccoughing snortlaughing sob of raw relief that had been bottled too long, daughter still clinging to him like a burr. "No worries folks. You didn't miss anything good on Earth this time around anyway," he managed hoarse and hoarse with emotion. "You sure about that 'Steady'?-"

"-er. We have a lock on you, Orion. We show no major hull integrity breaches detected. Your baby's got some bruises but she'll survive-"

Alexey cut her off, eyes closing briefly heavenward, as tears pricked fresh anew against lids. "Thank God," he whispered ragged. "T-Thanks God."

A soft whimpering snuffles alerted Alex back down at a wet smudge against his rumpled flight suit. "It's ok, baby girl, hush now it's ok." he crooned, reverently smoothing tousled brown curls from wide sleepy eyes. "We made it princess. Daddy made a mistake, but it's ok now, shhh..."

Alexei Volkov cradled his tiny charge close, breathing in deep lungfuls of baby powder and untainted baby skin, until slowly slowed heartbeat synced against his thundering thrum. The night's ordeals slowly began receding into the distance like a receding storm...

...As they limped wounded home to Earth on nothing less than pure faith alone. And prayers left unspoken to a merciful God that'd already seen them through hell and back. Again. And again. And again.

The End.

...

(799/800, lol) :]

Example #2:

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.

(temp 2.5, rep pen 1.02)

"Lovely little haven, isn't it?" The rich timbre of his voice filled the tiny bookshop like warm honey. His eyes crinkled as he grinned disarmingly at me, and in that fleeting moment, I forgot my name.

I blinked away the starstruck stupor. "That's one way to put it." My voice remained cool even as my insides sparkled like uncorked champagne. I had no idea why he was here, alone. Without a security detail, or a retinue of fawning fans. Unless...

"Looking to incognito-shopper for a change, hmmm?" I smirked at the thought. "Well, sorry to burst your bubble, pretty boy, but this isn't the sort of place celebs come to slum it." I busied myself tidying books, avoiding the gaze I could feel boring holes into me.

"Well, damnation, caught out again, aren't I?" He chuckled ruefully. The sound vibrated through me, liquid sin in its depths.

"Not quite yet." I hummed, still avoiding eye contact. I knew his sort well enough - too good looking for his own good. All those perfect lines rehearsed and practiced. Still, the part of me that still giggled like a lovesick teen was doing back flips at the realization. It really was him, here in my sleepy little corner of nowhere. The fact that he had come in alone seemed somehow... poignant somehow. Like a fallen god walking amongst mortals incognito.

"So, no chance of a mercy-bought-autograph then?" His accent slid off his tongue like aged whiskey and I almost lost myself in it before snapping to reality. Get hold of yourself woman. I thought crossly as my hormones decided to stage an insurrection against good sense. I coughed awkwardly.

"No dice, hot stuff. No autographs here. Or interviews." I turned to face him square on, chin lifted defiant even if my heart didn't exactly cooperate. I mentally crossed fingers it wouldn't jump out of my cleavage and kiss his expensive Italian shoes.

"Well, would you like some advice instead then?" His smile widened and suddenly he wasn't the movie star anymore. For an impossible second he looked like a normal guy - a really, really attractive normal guy... stop it! I thought savagely as my treacherous mind supplied an instant mental image of exactly what could happen if circumstances were different. A different place, a different life. "It really would be criminal to let those eyesight die a natural death." He gestured expansively as he perambulated slowly down the aisle towards me. "Won't hurt my ego to point it out though."

I spluttered inelegantly at that audacious remark. "Why on God's earth should I want romance advice from you? Last I heard you were barely off a magazine spread with what's-her-face... flipping the 'f' with her in the pool at Coachella." I practically sneezed out the name, hands thrown up dramatically. "Not exactly what I'd call a wellspring of wisdom when it comes to the delicate arts of... well, anything beyond a casual hook-up it would seem." I finished triumphantly and waited for him to sputter like a pricked balloon. Served him right for getting fresh in my little shop.

"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid." He laughed and even his teeth were perfect - bleached and gleaming. I ground teeth together, jaw flexed. "Though I would point out, if we're being pedantic, she's the one propositioning me. Barely had a chance to say no before a lens flash nearly blinded me. Fucked me up royally." He grimaced.

I guffawed skeptically. "Oh sure. So tragic, having a bevy of modeltypes throwing themselves at you... all the while knowing full well where her hands - or more to the point-her mouth- would end up before nightfall. How dreadfully rougher for the sensitive starlet soul, hmmm?" I drawled sarcastically. "Won't you tell me exactly what she did that made your tiny manhood cry out in wounded manflesh? You big, tough movie man thing, hmm?"

"Tsk-tsk. Such language." His eyes danced and dimples winked impishly at me, as if daring me to take a swipe at him. "But no, honestly, if that's how you really see me then maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I really didn't come in here expecting an interrogation or the Third Spanish Inquisition. Or to get skewered for not having saintlike restraint apparently."

I rolled eyes heavenward at his put-upon expression. "Spare me the wounded pride act, alright? Like that's ever worked on me. Or anyone else with a functional braincase." I deadpan flatly. "Try it with the models next time, I'm sure it'll work a treat." I scoffed. "Look, take pity on me and tell me why a movie star who could be anyone's Prince Charming happened upon little old me and my dusty little used bookshop. You aren't exactly our usual clientele...unless your personal stylist suddenly went into an old lady shawl phase or something."

I watched as something flickered in those perfect eyes, an unreadable flash gone too soon for me to even begin to decipher. His full mouth thinned out in a pensive moue as he seemed to consider carefully his response. When he spoke again, his voice was rough-edged. Real for the first time since he breezed through that door like a goddamned angel on crack. It made something ache low in my belly, that raw vulnerability in that usually careless voice. I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat.

"Tired of the noise...tired of always being "him."" He admitted quietly. His shoulders hunched in a gesture so raw it robbed me speechless. "Figured here, maybe nobody would recognize me...would expect me to be perfect all Goddamn welllll...Godforsaken time." His hands fisted together in frustrated impatience as his voice climbed up an octave, cracking ever so slightly on the final note.

I bit my lip. Hard. The temptation to stroke that tense broad shoulder or crook a soothing hand over his flexed jawline nearly overpowered me. But I couldn't - not if I wanted to retain shred of dignity I had left after my very public mental fangirling a second ago. Instead I cleared throat pointedly. "Well. Well, welcome to my humility factory, where pride goes to die a slow and merciful death then. Hail to the fallen star and all that." I offered wryly.

For one heart-stopping second it seemed like maybe he was gonna lean down and...and kiss me. I barely even noticed breath hitch in anticipation. But at last minute, his common sense or sense of decorum won out, fingers drumming restlessly against a bookshelf as he visibly jerked himself back to reality. "I-I didn't mean to pr-...I mean...sorry if I... Shit. I just...this isn't me." He half-coughed, face turning scarlet under the scruff.

"It's really quite alright," I demurred hastily, cursing silent staccato profanities at my traitorous body. "Occupational hazard, having divas come in and have an identity crisis in the mystery aisle. Though admittedly you'd definitely make a prettier damsel than the usual wailing biddies that come in." I forced out a high-pitched wail to demonstrate. "I can put you in the bargain bin with the rest of 'em though if it would help sooth ego."

He snorted then guffawed richly at the image before giving a mock bow. "In that case... perhaps you wouldn't mind helping me choose something to go with this humility therapy session of yours then, book fairy? Huhn hmmm." He prodded nosily at me. "Unless there's a wait list to take you up on such personalized...treatment of a regular customer." His voice drizzled honey in its sweetened cadence and oh boy did the dirty images come fast and thick in the space of two breath. I coug't stop mental replay of that near kiss... almost-tangling of lips. His body heat still clung to the space between us like an aphrodisiac.

I fanned myself discreetly, mind a whirring tinderbox of barely checked hormones. "A-ah well I suppose... I guess...for my bestest customer ever ever I could possibly make a tiny tiny exception, this once only. Once in a lifetime kinda thing don't you know?" I managed breathlessly, mind a fathomless pool of unhelpful dirty daydreams that really should not have had a place in light of day. "So don't get used to the preferential treatment, capiche' hottie Mc-Not-so-british-this-time-round, savvy? I mean it, I really mean it this time. No funny business. And I know all the moves from watching too many '90's Hong Kong chopsocky flicks... so don't even try it mister movie star. Or you'll end up a neutered eunuch on the bargain table right alongside that snooty romance section."

He put both hands up in mock surrender, dimples out in full force as he gave me a slow, languid up and down. "Scout honor. I wouldn't dream of touching your... delicate sensibilities again. Cross my heart, hope to shitake-mushrooms."

I wheezed into a handkerchief. "...fryer" I croaked out wheezily between fits of chuckles "H-hope...hope to... God...sweet Jesus. Goodness...hahahaha!." I spluttered helplessly as I bent over laughing like the proper lunatic I most definitely was in the presence of this beautiful, filthy-mouthed scoundrel in disguise. "Oh you dog...I should...I should report you for language alone..." I wheeze-coughed. "Mannersless rogue..."

"I plead guilty m'lady" He bowed theatrically "And on that note... perhaps a cold drink and your esteemed literary guidance wouldn't be so completely out of line now would it ma'am'ificence...?"

I dabbed eyes delicately with a well worn tissue, fighting back a girlish grin at how boyish he looked right that moment. "Well. Since you asked ever so very nicely...and you did manage to make me laugh when even a bad hangover couldn't... I suppose I could rustle up two weak teas if it would sweeten the blow of this whole humbling experience of mine..." I hummed wryly. "No promises though as far as my culinary skills go though...unless you count instant coffee as gourmet dining fare that would rock even the most discriminating palate." I warnied playfully, wiggling fingered at him.

"Instant is positively exotic to one used to Evian and Caviar... I shall make a valiant sacrifice to my dignity and take whatever scraps off your gracious...?" He quirked a questioning brow, head cocked endearingly.

I chuckled warmly, heart already half a clicker in love despite all rational warnings sirens blaring red alerts in head "Well alright then. In that case...you poor starved thing, let's get some liquid into your pretty face before it shrivel- I mean- wilt... wilt away like an overpriced daisy and no amount of Botox will put hum-put put- put Humpty-"

"Oh my stars, enough!" he crowed dramatically "I surrender. I yield! Sweet mercy, spare my hearing aid!"

"I...what hearing aid-"

"Haha- gotcha!" He crowed triumphantly at having won the back-and-forth repartee.

I clapped hand to head and groaned exasperated. "Oh sweet suffering - " "Told ya you could've fooled a nun...oh lookee, she's red again..." He ribbed, pointing unhelpfully as he hoisted himself up effortlessly to sit pert on top a stack of dusty books, long legs hanging idly down like an impish schoolboy caught reading...erotica.

"Oh my god stop that stop stop stop stop stop it-oh g-ohhhhhhh!" I wheeze-hiccuped in sheer mortification as all thoughts flew out window at how god help me, absolutely... absolutely... just...biteable he looked right that moment.

"Ow ow ow ow" I mimed a cower "Stop! Stop already for pity's sake you beautiful, unholy wretch...oh my lord...oh gosh help me..." I wailed comically dramatic "I don't think my fragile heart can take any- any more-oh for god sake's will someone kill me already-"

"You were saying about me being too pretty again- hmmm' Kat?" he drawled insouciantly, all prettily innocent guile as he wiggled his eyebrows impishly. The nerve.

"Hahaha...yea yea shut up. No need to gloat..." I grumbled, smacking a book against him. "Tease-"

"I just speakin' truth as I see it love~" He quipped playfully, eyes positively twinkling with delighted malevolence "C'moooon Kaaatee, surely the girl who told me off for looking too "unusual" to frequent her dusty little hole in the-" "OH for f-" "in the world must be tougher than to withstand-"

"You finished already didd- I mean it, you know-"

"Nope~" he interjected unrepentantly "Jusssst... getting started~" And so our dance began...

Example #3:
(continue this scene:) The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.

The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music…but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained

(Generation 1, temp .8, rep pen 1.02)

NOTE: I did not add in the "( comments )" within the generation, the model did.

(Your turn. What happens next in this scene set inside the empty inn on an otherwise ordinary night. What do you show us about the inn's atmosphere, the narrator's voice, and perhaps hint at why the inn is empty tonight, despite it being otherwise a lively place late at night.)

A profound sense of wrongness hung heavy in the air, a wrongness that had nothing to do with the empty tables and vacant stools. It was as though a shadow had passed over the inn, a shadow that blocked out more than merely light. The flickering flames in their iron sconces guttered and almost died, and yet somehow did not guttering out completely.

A serving wench stood frozen in the doorway to the kitchens, a tray of untouched tankards precariously balanced on one hand. Her eyes were wide and staring, mouth slightly agape as though she'd been caught in the middle of a scream. She seemed not to breathe, statue-still save for the slight quaking of her fingers on the handle of the tray.

In the far corner, hunched over the bar counter, a lone figure slouched. Even in the dim light, his drunken stupor could plainly be seen. A half-finished bottle of spirits sat forgotten beside him, spilling onto the worn wood. The man's snores were the only sound to break the heavy silence, loud enough to wake the dead...if dead were truly what lay sleeping in the cellars beneath their feet.

The narrator's voice was low and somber, almost whispering as though afraid to wake something that was better left slumbering. The air seemed to crackle with a static charge, a sense of wrongness that seemed to crawl up your spine and nest into the base of your skull. Whatever had emptied this inn of its usual late night revelers, whatever had silenced even the most inebriated of souls, it still lingered, waiting...and watching.

(edit: punctuation and a few other small tweaks for clarity)

(Generation 1, temp .8, rep pen 1.02)

NOTE: I did not add in the "( comments )" within the generation, the model did.

(continue this scene, continuing from the above prompt, adding

"things that were lacking.")

uninterrupted, save for the occasional pop of logs shifting in the fireplace, or the creak of timbers settling under the weight of a roof heavy with snow.

The second silence was one of expectation, as though a dozen pairs of ears strained to hear a footstep on the threshold, a voice from the road. A figure appeared at the frosted window beside the door, looking in, but as suddenly vanished into the night. The pause lingered, tense and full of unspoken questions.

And the third silence, the deepest, was one of dread that lay like a heavy stone upon every shoulder. It whispered in the corners, a whisper too soft to make out, but which none could mistake for anything good. A sense of wrongness clung to the shadows, clinging like a cold mist that even the fire could not banish. The air seemed to hold its breath, waiting, waiting, like a held breath, like a scream not yet released.

It was into this thick and pregnant silence that a sudden crash reverberated, jolting everyone upright. Every head turned towards the sudden clamor, and the heavy thud of heavy feet rang against the wooden planks of the inn’s floorboards, accompanied by a low, rumbling growl. The silence shattered like glass, and the inn was filled instead with a cacophony of shouted curses and clattering furniture as the patrons leapt to their feet, chairs skidding back and splintering against the far wall.

Example #4:

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...

The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21st floor explode. Glass shattered like a thousand tiny razor blades, biting into her skin as she screamed and instinctively covered her face with her arms. Wind howled through the sudden gaping hole, whipping her hair and clothing in a frenzy. Her heart hammered against her ribs as a cold sweat prickled across her body.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she chanted, backing away from the ledge. Her high heels skittered across the polished marble, threatening to slip out from under her. The glass littered floor made the task nearly impossible.

"Get control," she growled at herself, steadying herself against the nearest cubicle. The office was eerily quiet save for the wind's earsplitting shrill and the distant sirens wailing from far below. She gulped down a deep breath, willing herself to look past the dizzying drop-off.

The scene below defied reason. Fires raged like hellish bonfires, devouring everything in sight. Skyscrapers lay crumbled in heaps, as though some angry giant child had tossed them aside like discarded Legos. Ambulances and fire trucks swarmed like insignificant ants, useless against the apocalyptic destruction.

A sickening groan reverberated through the building's foundation. Sheer terror gripped her, paralyzing her limbs. The structure listed to the side, metal screeching like nails across a chalkboard. Then, as though time slowed to a crawl, she watched in frozen horror as the entire glass exterior peeled away like a ripe banana skin, revealing the guts of the skyscraper's skeleton.

"No, please, please God no," she sobbed, hands clasped together in supplication. But prayers were useless here. The ground fell away like a giant trapdoor, pulling her screaming into the abyss. The wind rushing past stole the screams from her throat as gravity took hold. The city streets rushed up to greet her at an alarming rate, growing larger with each passing second until they became a smudge of concrete and glass.

The impact never came. Instead, she slammed into something solid yet yielding, like a giant trampoline. Air exploded from her lungs as she ricocheted off the unseen force, plummeting again before slamming against something else. Again and again she rebounded, the world spinning dizzyingly until up became down and left became right.

She landed hard against unforgiving concrete, stars dancing on the edge of her vision. Groaning, she pushed herself up on shaking arms, spitting out a mouthful of blood. Slowly, the world came into focus. She lay sprawled across the remains of a toppled hot dog cart, its previous occupant splattered against the wall like an abstract painting.

Bile rose in her throat as she pushed herself upright, retching until there was nothing left except bile and horror. Trembling violently, she glanced around wildly. The scene defied description - it looked like someone had taken a giant industrial-strength blender to Times Square during rush hour. Twisted metal, concrete slabs, bodies parts and rubble stretched as far as she could see. The stench of death and gasoline choked her senses.

A low moan drifted across the rubble-strewn landscape, barely audible over the crackling flames and distant screams. She whirled toward the sound, her shredded and bloodied cocktail dress fluttering in the wind. A hand reached skyward from under a slab of jagged concrete, fingers twitching weakly. In a daze, she stumbled toward it, hardly registering the glass slicing into the soles of her bare feet.

"Help me," croaked a hoarse voice, male and weak. "Please, help me."

"Hold on, hold on," she wheezed, straining against the weight of the massive chunk. It budged an inch, then another. Sweat mingled with grime and tears streamed down her filthy face. Finally, with a herculean growl, she heaved the slab aside, revealing a haggard, unconscious face.

"Oh God, please don't let him be dead," she gasped, falling to her knees beside him. Pulse fluttered faintly in his neck. She tore shreds off her tattered dress, wadding them against gaping wounds across his chest and leg. Crimson soaked into the white material instantly.

"Wake up, wake up damn you," she sobbed, shaking him violently. His eyes fluttered open a crack, unfocused and glassy. "Stay with me! I've got you, okay? My name's... my God, I don't even remember my Goddamn name but just hang on, okay?"

"Amelia," he croaked, voice barely a whisper. "My wife, she's still up there. Please, please find her."

She clutched his cold hands, nodding frantically even though she knew there could be no survivors higher than this hellish level. Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. "I promise. I swear on everything holy, I won't stop until I find her." Even if it kills me too. "Just hang on just hang on just hang on..."

The world spun sickeningly as she felt herself slipping away, exhaustion and shock finally catching up. She crumpled atop him, bloodied hands still clasped tight in hers. His ragged breathing slowed until it faded away to nothing. Sirens grew fainter until they vanished altogether, leaving only the crackling flames and mournful wind as a dirge for the dead.

As darkness claimed her, she wondered blearily why everything looked wrong - why was the sky black instead of blue, why did the sun cast an eerie crimson glow instead of reassuring yellow light. Why did the air taste like metal and ash instead of smog and exhaust. Why did the world end today instead of the end of time. The last thought fluttered away like a moth to the flames as she succumbed to merciful oblivion, the last spark of life guttering out like a snuffed candlewick in the gathering gloom. And in the far reaches of space, a once vibrant blue marble slowly winked out, extinguished like a failed star against the infinite dark.

THE END

Example #5:
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene in the novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 1000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman.

Story idea: In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.

(Generation 1 , temp 1.8, rep pen 1.02)

The sounds of gunfire and screams pierce through the thick darkness of the alleyway. Sweat dribbles down my neck as I press against the cool brick of the abandoned factory's exterior wall, my racing heart pounding in sync with the distant chaos erupting just blocks away.

I grip the handle of the small dagger hidden up my sleeve, the blade already slicked with someone's life-blood not mine, yet. My breath fogs up in tiny wisps of steam against the nighttime chill that cuts into my bones. The fabric of my tattered black tunic chafes against raw blisters forming on my sunburnt skin.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps rumble behind me, their cadence heavy like boots marching in unison. Shit. My insides constrict, body rigid as ice as I strain my ears past the roaring in my pulse to make sure I'm not hallucinating.

A harsh order barked. The distinctive clink of a rifle chambered with fresh ammo. It's them. They're onto me again.

Cursing under my breath, I leap onto a broken ledge above, using a rusty pipe as leverage to hoist myself higher up the factory's side. A rapid-fire string of bullets pelt the brickwork inches from where I'd been standing a split second ago, peppering chips and powdered plaster into the night sky.

I land silently on the rooftop, whipping around as a dark figure vaults over the ledge onto solid ground, another armed guard close behind him. Their faces are lost in shadows except for the glint off their teeth as they snarl vicious oaths.

No time for games.

I charge forward, the taste of dirt in my mouth as wind tears at strands of wild blonde hair lashing across my windblushed cheeks. Springing off my back foot, I execute a flying kick directly into his Adam's apple. The sickening crack resounds across empty air before he falls backwards like a toppled tree. No mercy here tonight.

I barely have time to land before the second soldier is upon me, swing his rifle butt smashing into the side of my skull. Stars swim in front of eyesight already swimming dizzying spins from adrenaline dump. I manage a feeble attempt at evasion but his fist finds its mark across jaw, splitting lip wide open and sending a shockwave down neck bones.

Growling, I stagger up straight, vision swimming into focus. My head rings like bells gonging inside skull as blood and spit mix together in coppery rivulets trickling past crooked teeth.

"Not tonight," I rasp low, baring sharpened teeth as if warning off a wild wolf.

The guard leers, sneering with twisted amusement, clearly relishing the opportunity to finally bring me down after evading capture far too many times for their liking.

I let him think he has me beat, just this once. That cockiness in his sneer always their undoing.

Reeling as though off balance, I slur words through split lip, "A little help down here, boys?"

And like clockwork, out of shadows emerges my faithful friend: Death itself, dressed in the guise of my trusty sidekick and fellow revolutionary, Arlo, silencer attached to muzzle of his favored Smith & Wesson revolver aimed pointblank against the unsuspecting guard's temple.

BLAM. The echoing gunfire still resounds off alley walls seconds after bullet finds home in gray matter spattered across brick behind him, dead before he even registered threat coming. Arlo holsters his piece nonchalant.

I spit onto body crumple at our feet. "You sure know how to make an entrance," I sneer up at him, wiping blood and sweat off brow with the back of my gloved hand. "Fuck, Arlo."

"Well what'd ya want me to say, 'Hi there, friend, long time no see'? They were coming straight for ya, so thought better a nice surprise." He shrugged nonchalant as per usual.

Arlo, my reckless older brother from another mother and constant thorn in my ass crack. But he'd been watching got me out more scrapes alive than not worth keeping him around. Even with the constant eye roll-inducing commentary that would make me want to smash something every damn day.

"You really do like living dangerously don't ya." I retorted, knowing better than expect an honest response.

"C'mon, Lila darling. Ain't no fun unless your ass is hangin' over fire pit edge." He sniggered. "Now enough chit-chatter, let's skedaddle while the gettin's still good before whole goddamn force descends upon us like a plague of flies."

Arlo's right. They wouldn't stop till they've skinned me alive, string me up as a cautionary tale strung up like a warnings to others harboring rebellious thoughts.

"Let's roll then. But we need to find cover pronto, shake off anyone still tailing us. I know just the place."

"Well hop aboard then, pretty little thing. And don't forget to hold onto your britches cause things liable get bouncy up ahead."

With a snort, I climbed onto his broad back as he hoisted me up in one swift movement. Arlo always ready to save ass and offer shit upbeat banter even face to face with certain doom knocking on our doors.

Together we vaulted off rooftops into pitch night sky, arms wrapped tight round Arlo's shoulders and legs cinched snug round hips as we plummeted like bat out hell toward unyielding cobblestones waiting below, wind roaring in ears like a pack of hounds baying on our heels. No time for fear here, no room for doubt or hesitation. Only one rule still matter tonight.

We'll keep fighting until our last breath drawn. Til' no resistance left to be broke. Til' they're nothing left standing between us and that sweet taste victory we've all been waiting so goddamned long to savor on bitter tongues.

For freedom is ours for the taking, ours to claim with our own bare bloody hands no matter cost. And Heaven help anyone stupid enough cross us now. They sure as hell know they'll rue day ever met Lila the Fox in this lifetime.

(Generation 2 , temp 1.8, rep pen 1.02)

The prison door slams shut behind me, its metallic clanging reverberating through the dank, moldy corridor. I stagger forward, my legs wobbling like newly grown shoots desperate for sunlight. My head throbs in rhythm with my pulse, each beat like a drumroll announcing my own doom. But I force myself to stand tall, spine straight and shoulders back, meeting the cold gaze of the guard whose meaty fingers dig into the flesh of my arm.

"Watch yer step, girl," he sneers, voice like rotten teeth. "Don't wanna trip now, would we?"

I spit blood onto the filthy floor, the copper taste still fresh on my tongue. The memory of that solid boot against my ribs makes me wheeze, but I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me buckle.

The passageway narrows, the walls closing in like a vice. Faint moans and occasional shrieks echo off the unforgiving concrete. It smells of piss and fear, the air thick enough to chew. I keep walking, keep breathing, focus on the goal: stay alive till sundown.

Rounding a sharp turn, harsh light suddenly assaults my swollen eyes. Blinking against the sudden glare, shapes coalesce into a chamber of horrors. At the center stands a gleaming slab of stainless steel, instruments of torture laid out like a surgeon's tools. Leather straps dangle like serpent tongues, waiting for a throat to wrap around.

Bile rises up but I swallow it down. They think they'll break me? They think they'll make me betray the Cause? Dream on.

A chair scrapes back. Steps approach. Heels clicking on the tiles, steady and sure. I tense, every fiber alive with adrenaline and defiance. Just give me a reason, you swine...

"You must be the little spitfire everyone's been gnashing teeth about." A female voice. cultured, dangerous. "I'm Director Markov. Pleased to finally meet you face to face, little fly." Her nails click against polished nails. "Or should I call you Leader Lyra, darling?"

My jaw clen'tches. How in the hellfire did she find out... "I don't answer to traitors. Or do you prefer collaborator, dog-slutt-"

"Ah, ah," Markov tut-ted. "Such language." She leans in, breath hot against my ear. "Now, listen well. This ends one of two ways. Either you sing like a nightingale, and we part as the best of frenemies."

Her fingers brush my cheek, and I shudder in revulsion. "Or, my love? Or..."

The overhead light dims low. Shadows dance. Markov chuckles, the sound like a thousand glass shards cutting the air. A click resounds, metal snapping into place.

"You burn, little birdy. And trust me, it'll take an age for darkness to come knocking. And you'll wish she would." Markov pats my burning cheek one last time. "Now, shall we begin negotiations, shall we? Ticktock, darling."

In the merciful shadows, her teeth gleam sharp and hungry as a wolf's.

"Negotiations? On my terms? I'd like to see you try, bitch."

(Generation 3 , temp 1.38, rep pen 1.02)

The rain pelts against the windowpanes like hailstones as I huddle deeper into the shadows of the empty apartment. My breath condenses in foggy puffs despite the suffocating humidity. I shift the grip of my plasma blaster, fingers sweat slick on the smooth trigger guard. Waiting. Watching.

The door handle twists. Lock clicks. Clicks again.

I tense. Hold my breath.

The door swings inward, creaking on rusty hinges. Black silhouettes spill into the room, weapons drawn. My eyes narrow to slits. I count the shapes. One. Two. Three.

"Clear," a gruff voice growls.

I exhale slowly. Too early. Too soon.

The third figure steps into the light and my heart lurches into a gallop. recognition slams into me like a freight train. My foster-brother-turned-traitor, Rorik. He looks different. Harder. Older than his twenty-two years. A jagged scar slashes across his formerly smooth brow. His eyes glitter like obsidian flakes in the gloom.

Betrayer.

Anger flares in my gut, scorching away any shred of childhood sentimentality. I finger the trigger. I want to see that smug smirk burn off his face with a well-placed bolt from this baby. Make him scream like the Judas he is. But not yet.

Rorik strides to the window, pulls aside the heavy drapes, and peers into the downpour. "She's here," he snarls, voice barely above a rumble. "I can feel it."

"Bullshit," I whisper into my radio cuff, barely containing a sneer. "Your instincts are about as sharp as a butter knife, asshole."

He tenses, head snapping left and right like a cornered ferret. I duck lower. Hold my breath.

"Shut up, you two. Listen," the larger silhouette barks.

Rorik curses under his breath and holsters his sidearm. "You heard the man. Fucking listen."

Silence except for rain and distant sirens.

"What is it—" the third man begins.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Glass explodes. Plaster and wood spray in a blinding haze. I don't think. Just react. I roll, pop up firing as I rise, sweeping left to right, muzzle flashes lighting up the room like strobe-lit hell.

"Fuck, what—"

"NooOOOhhhh!"

The meaty thud of heavy bodies falling onto floorboards. Sputtering moans cut short with sharp, wet cracks.

Then only rain pattering against shattered panes and the coppery tang of spent powder hangs heavy in the air.

I sling the plasma blaster over my shoulder and stalk into the ruins of what was supposed to be our meeting point. Stepping gingerly to avoid the spreading pools of crimson and oozing lumps, I stop beside what remains of Foster-traitor. His dead eyes stare accusingly at me. Too late, you sonofabitch.

Heavy footfalls pound down the hall, accompanied by huffing curses. "Get in here, you useless—"

I spin, plasma humming as I bring the barrel up nose-level with the panting, sweat-drenched enforcer's surprise.

"Down," I snarl, "or join your dead little friends."

His hands fly up in a white-flag surrender gesture. "Don't shoot, don't shoot!" His eyes plead silently for mercy.

"Too late for that shit, pal." I depress the trigger.

White light blossoms like an angry daffodil. He vanishes in a blossom of smoke and steam.

I whirl, already moving toward the open door. "Shit," I snarl under my breath, chest tight like a vice. "Shit, shit, fuck."

Q2K Generations:

These four generations below represent the "worst" level of performance of this model. I have also pushed the quant further than recommended here too.

Please note if you use this quant, and push it harder that recommended you may run into generation issues.

IE: You might need to regen and/or get some less than great output and/or stop gen issues.

This only applies to quant Q2K.

(also see setting section, for info / settings for this quant)

For highest quality run the largest quant you can... usually at least Q4 level.

(temp 1.8, rep pen 1.02, Q2K)

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.

A cold sweat trickled down the base of her neck, hot breath catching in her lungs as her racing pulse thundered against the bars of her prison. She'd been careless, bold, too full of reckless youth to consider consequences. Until moments ago, life imprisonment seemed like an almost too-big dream to aspire for. Until the sudden black of absolute dark engulfing her tiny, pathetic cell.

"Wake up, little rebel," a deep voice growled, breath minty sharp on the back of her neck. A cold hand roughly wrenched her from blessed obliviousness.

"I'm up, keepers of the system," she croaked through cracked lips, forcing bravado in a voice too high and too shrill.

He sneered against her ear, fingers sinking into the skinny burs in her shoulder blades as he dragged her vertical. "That mouth of yours gonna get you killed someday soon."

"Shove it up your-"

His hand slammed across her face, splitting open the skin on the same cheek they'd bruised earlier. Coppery metal taste filled her mouth, breath ragged with the burn. The world spun. Vision watery and spots dancing before her eyes, she barely registered being shoved against a cold, hard wall. A thick metal chain cinched cruelly round her neck.

"Still breathing?" The sneering voice purred low and dark. "Better hurry up and die, love, might grant a lucky break or two at your hanging."

A coldness spread in the pit of her stomach. Dead was too easy an end. They wanted it slow. Agonizing. Brutal. Cruel and degrading and a lesson in true terror for anyone fool enough to follow suit.

"Go fuck yourself-" she began, but the rest of her venom cut off on a shriek as she was jerked harsh from the ground, feet dangling useless as his fingers ground into tender flesh. His face leering inches from hers, she spat glob of blood-flecked spit dead centre into those cruel dark eyes, felt it connect like a gunshot.

"Ah ah ah, little birdy," his voice singsonged pure malice. "We got some fun in mind first." Her world blackened, breath cut off in her throat. Vision swimming spots dancing dizzy, mind reeling desperate for any shred of light she hadn't seen in too long. If they'd only leave her alone. Let her die in peace.

"I'll scream-" she rasped as he'd have her dead, voice a raw and ragged rasp.

His sinister laugh washed down the nape of her neck, feet thudding the ground at long last. "Ain't screaming gonna save your skinny arse this time round. We got a special show all queued up."

Shattered scream shredded through the room as hands ground cruel and merciless, boots stomping floorboards. She clawing frantleshed like a rabid thing to get away. Begging mercy from nowhere with nobody listening. They'd make sure this time no one ever heard those pretty little pleas again.

( Temp .8, rep pen 1.02, q2k )

(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

In the second part of silence, which is a place beyond the empty, there lies something deep and still. It was into this space that the innkeeper, Aldric, stepped as he made his slow rounds, pausing every few paces. In this profound quietude, a different sort of listening could happen. Aldric cocked his head, as though hearing the house settling on its timbers like an old, weary thing. He listened for breath sounds, footsteps in the halls, or perhaps a creaking board that would betray an intruder. But there was nothing. Just silence. Heavy, absolute silence.

The third part of silence is the kind of thing that lives inside the skull. Aldric knew that well enough. Silence as a blank page, an empty space waiting for someone to fill it. He himself filled the silence with thought after thought, like grains of sand trickling down a glass hourglass. He imagined himself as a young man again, with his wife still beside him, still alive. He thought of the inn packed full to bursting, with laughter and revelry spilling out onto the street. He thought of the Wayward Way, that road he couldn't quite forget even though it led nowhere. Aldric sighed heavy, thinking too much on emptiness, and continued on his rounds, his staff clicking against the boards with every step.

In that instant, a soft sound cut across the heavy quietude like a knife. Aldric stopped cold, head whirling around. The sound came again, a rustling noise, like fabric against fabric. Aldric moved toward it, senses straining, straining, straining. In the darkness he saw nothing. He reached for his candle and lit it, and then stopped, cold. There in the shadows cowering behind an armchair, was a little thing no bigger than his shoe. A mouse, quivering like a leaf in a wind. It squeaked, and Aldric sigpped. Just silence again. Just his mind playing tricks. He sighed again, a breath like a candlewick guttering out, and went back to his rounds. Just him and the empty, and the night. And in this night, like a tiny spark of light, a thought occurred to him. It whispered in the darkness like the wind he could almost hear. Almost.

"Hello?" he croaked, voice dry like a bone. His own voice startled him awake. But no answer came. Just silence again. Just him and the dark. And in the dark, the sound of a mouse against the boards. But still, almost like a wind, like music playing so far away he couldn't quite hear it, a voice that said... almost...

"Hello?"

(temp 2.5, rep pen 1.02, Q2K)

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...

The nightmarish gale had been brewing for weeks. Thick storm clouds blackened the sky like rot, the wind a menacing whisper through skyscraper gutters. Rain slashed the glass panes that made up most of this floor's outer walls as I gazed out into the teeth of it. Lightning crackled, the brief light casting hellish shadows up my frame.

A sound like the universe's teeth gnawing woke me from a deep dreamless slumber. Groggy-eyed, I stumbled away from the window. The noise grew claws - an earsplitting shriek, like an overdriven drill bit carving stone. Glass splintering heralded my doom. Something sinister slithered behind that awful shrieking - something heavy and cold and dead-eyed, dragging its tail like a great slithy snake. It had the air of thing-That-Shouldnt-Be, like they say.

Fuckin' thing slithered through shattered panes and up onto carpeting. Snaked for thirty long, squirming feet across polished tile until it stopped cold. A godawful silence, save for the pum-pum thrum thrum thrum of rain drumming glass panes. And breathless whimpenshuddering me wheezing.

Cautiously sidling closer on bare feet I spied what'd befallen. It wasn of human shape exactly but humanlike enough. Lay prone, one-arms propped up like rigor mortis-struck doll's. Skin pasty yellow as mold cheese. Features too sharp and sunken like someone'd been dead afore ever got any soul put inside 'em. Lacework riddling flesh like maggots gnawing putrid meat - puckery blue lips purple-black splittered teeth stained gnashing red. Ugliness inanimate and alive as god's own creation. No light hit'd that horror-show mug no how - looked like it'd suck out a man's innards given half a chance. Not that you'd ever want to know what lay waiting inside the black maw ag gaping.

Thunder shook whole floor. Window rattled like its glass teeth'd crack. Shattering. Fuckin' thing'd already shattered panes. The thought'd nearly split my head clear in half - wind or luck or worse luck had brought 'er in here past the safety glass meant to keep it out. She's dead now too though - thing of panes naught can live long round these here parts and she was no exception.

Shaky breathers still shudders'n me to think on't even now. But worse'd been yet come.

CRrack! Glass screamed sharp as splitting wood. Up'd come another huge cracker slitherin up betwixt the windowpanes - or least it looked like crack. Big as the dead woman's arm laid atop dead'伙 woman's dead arm. Like to split open my chest to look at, that thing. Naught more nor less nor less nor less than livin' abominationn. If abyss could be bottled and uncorked I bet my leftballs it'd looked just so. Then again if abyss had'd ever cared to take shape human nor even unhuman - not sure as I'd ever call what skulked inside that hell dimensions.

It writhed like slowthroat'd been cut from jaw'd split open wide as hung deadbeef. Wiggling tongue'd flicker out an' lickslip'd down jawlike rift split up middle of dead-whited flesh. Then came teeth. Godawful shinieslobbers drool slobbering down onto tile. Slime or drool or spit or whatever't'd be called it'd slicked down slanted 'n slicked onto polish too. Wet spot spreadin' ever bigger as that abominable mouth gaped wider like some kind of puckered red hungry gape for swallowin. Thing oozing' o' slick onto floor and spittle pooling at dead thing's feet - no'&imgnt even bare sole nor sole could ever touch'n survive.

Then a rumble split open skull'd split open ears'd split clean open. Deep core-deep where dark lay naught but nothing'd been naught 'cept that godawful sound that near split a body's hearin apart. And a thing slither'd from throat'd be splitin apart too, a thing too slick for'n gullet or belly or nuthing man ever laid eyes upon.

A thing no'd call'erd life nor death'd never been seen 'round here.

God save us all, poor thing never hadda seen'd whut lay hidin in there neither.

(temp 1.3, rep pen 1.02, Q2K)

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.

Captain Aria was strapped into the pilot's chair, hands trembling as she tried desperately to manually keep the ship's systems alive for just one more precious second. The console was an eerie blue, only the essential life signs still blinking. Emergency lighting casted a sickly pallor over her exhausted form.

"Come on, come on..." she wheezed, willing the old bird to cling onto life for just long enough to get this done.

It'd been hours since the dreadful impact with the rogue asteroid flock that'd left them adrift, tumbling aimlessly in the black abyss of space. The rest of crew was gone, scattered like stars across the void. Just her and this tin can hurtling into final silence.

Her gloved fingers jabbed at the dying communications panel. "Aria. Aria. Come in." Static crackled back.

Static. The final message received at Earth, if they'd received anything at all. If they still knew she still breathed in here, alone.

Her eyes blurred with tears as she recalled the faces of her crew - their banter, their lives cut short like starburst. She'd seen enough wars end in space to fill three lifetimes. This though, watching your shipmates snuffed like blown-out birthday candles, that'll never leave the mind.

"C'mon baby, let me say goodbye." Captain's voice a broken whisper.

The console sparked as its life breathed out in a wheeze of breath. "Affirmative," a synthetic voice croaked. "Transmission channel active for remaining 2m 15 seconds. Commence final log."

Aria drew a long breath, steadying herself for one last push. She'd been saving it up all along, just in case this moment ever came. A lifetime of love, laughter, loss. All down to one final line. Her fingers shook.

"I love you," she finally said into the void, voice breaking. "Tell them... tell them it was worth it all. Tell them..."

Her eyes welled up as she remembered him, as if he stood there now beside her in that chair. "Tell them it was worth it for you."

Static answered back. The cockpit grew deathly quiet save for the ticking countdown clock.

"C'mon, baby..." she implored, willing just one more word out of nowhere. Just one thing left unsaid. One final breath of life from a soul so nearly spent.

Silence.

Then, a ping. A distant echo of something living, something warm in all that cold.

She startled, craning round to spot it.

There it lay, nestled behind the pilot's seat like a lost child. Her mother's old keepsake. Still operational. Still clinging onto life like it knew somehow to wait for this very second.

Aria lunged for it, fumbling with shaking hands to draw it forth. Clicked the power on. Watched it flare to life.

One final line. One final word. Her final will and testament to Earth.

"Goodbye, everyone," she said hoarse. "Goodbye."

"Message received," the AI voice crackled out, one last time before the light went forever. "Goodbye Aria."

And then, only static, as the stars died and the universe fell still in space and in silence eternal.

THE END.

Brainstorm 40x

The BRAINSTORM process was developed by David_AU.

Some of the core principals behind this process are discussed in this scientific paper : Progressive LLaMA with Block Expansion .

However I went in a completely different direction from what was outlined in this paper.

What is "Brainstorm" ?

The reasoning center of an LLM is taken apart, reassembled, and expanded.

In this case for this model: 40 times

Then these centers are individually calibrated. These "centers" also interact with each other. This introduces subtle changes into the reasoning process. The calibrations further adjust - dial up or down - these "changes" further. The number of centers (5x,10x etc) allow more "tuning points" to further customize how the model reasons so to speak.

The core aim of this process is to increase the model's detail, concept and connection to the "world", general concept connections, prose quality and prose length without affecting instruction following.

This will also enhance any creative use case(s) of any kind, including "brainstorming", creative art form(s) and like case uses.

Here are some of the enhancements this process brings to the model's performance:

Prose generation seems more focused on the moment to moment.
Sometimes there will be "preamble" and/or foreshadowing present.
Fewer or no "cliches"
Better overall prose and/or more complex / nuanced prose.
A greater sense of nuance on all levels.
Coherence is stronger.
Description is more detailed, and connected closer to the content.
Simile and Metaphors are stronger and better connected to the prose, story, and character.
Sense of "there" / in the moment is enhanced.
Details are more vivid, and there are more of them.
Prose generation length can be long to extreme.
Emotional engagement is stronger.
The model will take FEWER liberties vs a normal model: It will follow directives more closely but will "guess" less.
The MORE instructions and/or details you provide the more strongly the model will respond.
Depending on the model "voice" may be more "human" vs original model's "voice".

Other "lab" observations:

This process does not, in my opinion, make the model 5x or 10x "smarter" - if only that was true!
However, a change in "IQ" was not an issue / a priority, and was not tested or calibrated for so to speak.
From lab testing it seems to ponder, and consider more carefully roughly speaking.
You could say this process sharpens the model's focus on it's task(s) at a deeper level.

The process to modify the model occurs at the root level - source files level. The model can quanted as a GGUF, EXL2, AWQ etc etc.

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.

LlamaCPP [ https://github.com/ggml-org/llama.cpp ] :

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.

MergeKit [ https://github.com/arcee-ai/mergekit ] :

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.

Lmstudio [ https://lmstudio.ai/ ] :

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.

DavidAU/MN-DARKEST-UNIVERSE-29B-GGUF

MN-DARKEST-UNIVERSE-29B-GGUF - The Unicorn.

EXAMPLES PROMPTS and OUTPUT:

Q2K Generations:

Special Thanks:

DavidAU/
MN-DARKEST-UNIVERSE-29B-GGUF